Beyond the deacons and nuns who served the Pope and the secretaries handling administrative work, the largest personnel in the Papal Palace were the Papal Guards. These guards are stationed at every corner of the palace, dedicating their lives to protecting the supreme spiritual leader of the city and even, the entire world.

    Most of them are proud of their work, considering it the pinnacle of their lives and those who were granted the honor of guarding the Pope’s bedroom were even more so.

    The two men standing outside the door stood ramrod straight, their eyes and ears alert following the secretary-general’s parting instructions, wishing they could grow another pair of eyes to observe their surroundings.

    So when a strange noise suddenly came from inside, they were the first to hear it.

    The two men quickly turned their heads, staring at the double doors carved with angels holding cups, and exchanged hesitant glances.

    What was that sound?

    They communicated with each other through their eyes.

    It sounded like something heavy hitting the floor... Did His Holiness fall off the bed?

    One of them tilted his head in thought.

    The bolder one gently knocked on the door, cleared his throat, and tentatively asked, “Holy Father, are you alright? We seemed to hear a noise. Is there anything we can do for you?”

    There was a long silence from inside. Just as he was worried that this was a false alarm and that his bold behavior had disturbed the Holy Father’s rest, a low, hoarse voice came, “...No, it’s nothing. I’m fine.”

    After a few seconds, he added softly, “Thank you.”

    The Holy Father’s voice sounded very tired. The guard who had received the Holy Father’s gratitude was flattered and thought that, in fact, the Holy Father was about the same age as his younger brother. That brat still liked to linger in the rose garden, doing mischievous things with his peers, but the Pope was already a great figure who shouldered the world’s faith. Was this the difference between people?

    The guard muttered to himself, but... how to say it, the Pope looked very busy every day. There was a constant flow of business in the Papal Palace, involving matters of faith from various countries and the entire continent, all converging at the heart of this holy city. As the Pope’s guard, he knew very well that the Holy Father’s rest time is so short that it can be ignored.

    If this is the price to pay... forget it, let that brat go and waste his excess energy in the rose garden.

    The soft, dim gas lamp cast a steady glow on the silk curtains, stretching long shadows across the carpet. The bed was empty, its linens in disarray. The young master of the Papal Palace lay on the floor, his chest heaving violently. His golden hair was damp and clung to his face, neck, and the collar of his shirt. His pale purple eyes were wide open, swirling with fear. He curled up with difficulty, rubbing his snow-white cheek forcefully against the woolen carpet until his skin stung.

    This insignificant pain finally pulled him out of his nightmare. His screaming soul was stuffed back into its empty shell, filling the still-trembling body.

    Rafael hugged his knees tightly again, like a baby in the womb embracing itself. From this unfamiliar posture, he drew a bit of faint familiarity. Relying on that slight glimmer of reason, he answered the guard’s words outside, forcefully suppressing his rapid breathing.

    Be quiet, be still, Rafael, he told himself, there’s nothing to be afraid of, you’re still alive.

    Trembling, he touched his heart, then his throat.

    His skin was smooth and warm, and his fingers felt the wet sweat. The blood flowed vigorously beneath his skin, and his heart was still beating rapidly.

    The violent breathing caused a moment of darkness before his eyes. Everything in his field of vision was stripped away. In his dream, he saw the assassin who silently came from outside again. The cold blade pressed against his neck, and he could only struggle helplessly in the excruciating pain. After waking up from the dream, the identical setting in reality gave him a sudden shock, and for a moment, he couldn’t tell the difference between reality and dream.

    So he fell off the bed.

    The deacon said, “Redrick Portia, His Grace the Duke of Lusanne is waiting for an audience outside the Papal Palace.”

    Julius raised his eyes and heard Rafael refuse without hesitation: “No, tell him my schedule is full for today.”

    The deacon withdrew after receiving the order. Rafael turned back to look at the head of Portia and raised an eyebrow: “Why, do you want to speak up for your nephew?”

    Julius smiled and sold his good nephew without hesitation: “How could that be? He does need a little exercise – the irises in the Portia Palace, these are their first batch of flowers this year. You used to like reading in the garden, and the gardener would complain to me several times that you were disturbing his work.”

    Rafael glanced at the bouquet of delicate blue flowers and nodded indifferently: “Very beautiful – has Francois agreed to attend the Feast of Divine Grace?”

    Princess Sancha, who represented Assyria and Rome, had already left Florence. The only person in the Holy City with an important and undeniable status was Duke Franc?ois of Calais. As a matter of courtesy, Florence’s major events naturally required sending invitations to this important guest, and ideally, Rafael should personally extend the invitation to him.

    However, this matter was taken over by Julius. As the Secretary General of the Papal Palace, the Head of the Portia family, and the Chairman of the Council of Thirteen of the Free Cities Alliance, this was not considered impolite.

    “He accepted the invitation, but did not make it clear whether he would attend.” Julius replied, pausing for two seconds. Seeing that Rafael had already stood up, he also took the cane handed by the servant and followed Rafael slowly, maintaining a distance of half a step behind.

    “Is that so?” Rafael sneered, “What new idea does he have?”

    It wasn’t that he didn’t respect the foreign duke, but Franc?ois was simply a terrible person. In the short month he’s been in Florence, he’s already hooked up with several prominent women, one of whom is even the wife of the former Pope’s illegitimate son.

    An arrogant man who is lustful, ambitious and unrestrained.

    Rafael hated people who couldn’t control their primitive desires the most.

    It just so happened that because of Franc?ois’s status and power, countless women were willing to be his mistresses – of course, there were also some smart men among them. In addition, Franc?ois himself was considered handsome, tall and strong, a very popular type at the moment, so sleeping with him wasn’t exactly a loss.

    And Franc?ois... he was proud of his charm and never refused anyone who came to him.

    Rafael had already sensed the subtle anger among the Florentine nobility towards Franc?ois.

    Of course he was having a good time, but are these women’s husbands, fathers, and brothers all dead?

    Although lovers were a common thing in this era, it didn’t mean that his simple pursuit of pleasure would be accepted.

    Rafael was afraid that if something really happened, it would eventually be brought to him and he would have to solve it – and as the ruler of Florence, this outcome was very likely.

    Rafael now really wanted to drive Franc?ois, this scourge, back to Calais as soon as possible and let him trouble his unfortunate nephew, the little emperor of Calais instead.

    “He doesn’t seem like he’s willing to leave Florence any time soon.” Julius worthy of being the mentor who taught Rafael, said, his thoughts almost in sync with his.

    “If he doesn’t want to go back, then find him something to do and send him back.” The young Pope said impatiently and coldly, “Throw this scourge back to Calais. Florence doesn’t need this kind of scum.”

    He rarely said such explicit dirty words. Julius slightly widened his eyes in surprise, but soon he began to laugh. A strand of his iron-gray hair fell on his dark red lips as he nodded. “I understand, Holy Father.”