Dedicated to priyankapandey533 for their continuous support. You're always one of the first to read and show some love for my mad little world and I can't thank you enough! You're wonderful.

Amand and Marius fell through the evening into night.

Just one more step, Marius prayed. Please. One more. Just one more.

He had to fight for every inch. It felt like a serpent had wound itself around his chest, slowly constricting, pressing all air out of his lungs. White spots danced through his vision.

One more step. One more.

The familiar rumble of Amand's voice led him through the corridor of his small villa, the bishop muttering about murder and mayhem. The carriage ride back home had been hell, but this -- Marius had to battle every fiber of his being to keep his façade up.

Amand mustn't find out.

The cut on his temple throbbed and the dried blood itched on his cheek, but it was only a faint scratch at the back of his mind. But Amand must assume they had hit him far harder, why else would Marius be pale as a ghost, cold sweat running down his neck?

Amand didn't know. And he wouldn't find out.

It wasn't what the Medici Guards had done to Marius, it was what Marius did to himself. He took his bandages off every night, as much as he hated it, hated the softness on his chest, hated the curves it suddenly added. But now ... two days. He had worn them for two days.

Why had he been so stupid? He hadn't wanted anyone to get hurt because of him, the guards would've taken him anyways. He just wanted to do the right thing.

But now ... It was too tight. God, it was too tight. He felt the urge to claw at his chest, rip his ribs open until he could breathe again.

One more step. Marius swayed, feeling the room tilt around him. Amand stopped immediately. Marius had to fight to keep his eyes open when Amand's face appeared in his vision, smiling at him, a little tired around the eyes, mustache a little off, but his hand was strong and sure when it wrapped around Marius' waist, silently taking on most of his weight.

"Silly," Amand tsked, "I don't mind swooning, but don't you faint on me."

"I'm fine –"

"And I'm the French queen, ange."

Marius hid his gasp for air in a cough. "Not with that mustache."

"It gives me a certain swashbuckling air, don't you think?"

Marius didn't have the air to reply, masked his rasping breath with a chuckle.

"I have to show you something." Amand suddenly turned back to him, something giddy pulling relentlessly at his lips. "You'll like it."

"Cake?"

Amand laughed. "Better than cake."

"Blasphemy," Marius tried to smile. He didn't think he was fooling Amand.

Amand tugged him closer. Marius found he liked the weight of his hand, the fine white silk gloves, embroidered with a golden sunburst, heavy with a ruby ring against the plain black of Marius' robe. He had kissed those hands a thousand times. This ring, he reminded himself.

"Alright?" Amand murmured, eyes softening.

Marius nodded. He never knew what to do with this look on Amand. It ... confused him. He never saw Amand looking at anyone else like that. It didn't fit his crude jokes and haughty laughs, his sharp smiles and dangerous mind. It was too soft, too warm. Too precious.

Amand hovered near him like a watchdog, dark eyes trained on any servant who dared near them. What did they look like? A priest with blood on his face and a bishop with hellfire in his smile. A silent march from hell. Or to hell?

Amand was too fast, even if he walked slowly, Marius legs threatening to give out any second. He tried keeping pace, tried keeping his composure, but after the third door passed, his lungs gave out.

He couldn't. Keep going.  He couldn't breathe.

He had to breathe. Keep up the appearance!

He had to rest. He had to take it off -- keep walking. Smile. Walk.

His chest ached. It felt like those last desperate seconds before breaking through the surface of a lake after having gone for a dive, the sunlight so treacherously close, lungs imploding and exploding at the same time. There were spots dancing in front of his eyes. Just keep walking.

He could feel every heartbeat against his skull, every breath a knife through his ribs. Keep walking.

Marius was starting to panic. There wasn't enough air. Bright spots swam through his vision, brightening with every desperate gasp.

Amand looked at him with narrowed eyes. Keep walking. Smile. Keep walking.

It felt like his chest was caving in. He had to stop. He had to breath – keep walking.

The hallway shifted to a tunnel before his eyes, edges of his vision darkening until he blindly followed the blurred purple of Amand's robes. The staircase. Amand must be leading him to Marius' bedchambers on the upper floor, but Marius' legs turned to lead at the sight of the stairs.

"Hurry, we need to patch this up," Amand waited for him on the first step, offering his other arm. "I'm carrying you. No time for pride, ange."

He was tired, Marius realized. He had to smile. Amand's accent was always strong, but when he was angry or tired it thickened. He liked his rolled r's. He waved it off. "I'm fine."

He set a foot onto the stair, then another. His lungs were on fire. He couldn't stop and gasp for air, couldn't rip his cassock off – Amand was right there.

Amand mustn't see. Amand mustn't see. Please, god, Amand mustn't see. Please. Please.

Marius was faintly aware of a tear slipping down his cheek. He couldn't breathe. Please. One more step. Please. Please.

One more step. Just one more – Marius fainted.

He slipped back into consciousness a blink of an eternity later, the world slowly reforming around him in a sea of purple. He blinked slowly. Rays of gold shifted through the deep lilac. The room spun. He must be on his bed, the smell of fresh linens surrounding him. He closed his eyes again. It took another small eternity until he could drag them open again against the weight of two sleepless nights, to resist the comfort of white silk and sunbursts and the low rumble of Amand's voice.

He was safe. Everything had went well.

A man had died. He furrowed is brows, pained. The captain may have betrayed them, but still, he had a family, he had just been scared, his actions hadn't been his own – something tugged at his chest.

Marius shot up, choking on his breath. The flash of fear cleared his vision. Amand leant over him, the shadow of a stubble against his cheeks, darkness smudged under his eyes. His smile was reassuring.

Marius fell for it, before the tug was back. He jerked violently. He knew Amand was much stronger than him, even if he was smaller (Amand hated that one inch with all the fury of hell. It was rather endearing.).

"Marius," Amand's voice was stern. "Still." His hands found the buttons lining Marius' cassock again.

"No!" Marius rasped, slapping his hands away.

Amand frowned. "You can't breathe properly, you fainted. I enjoy the view, ange, but this bloody robe is too tight."

"Amand – " Panic. Blind, cold panic.

"Bishop's orders." Amand smiled down at him, the genuine smile that crinkled around his eyes, the smile somehow reserved for Marius alone. "It's alright, I'll take care of you. Just rest."

Marius wanted to. He wanted to so badly. He wanted to close his eyes and fall asleep with the warmth of that smile wrapped around him. No! This was punisheable by death. But worse – it would cost him Amand.

"No," Marius rasped. "It's fine. I can do it myself." His mouth was dry, throat itchy.

Something dark curled in Amand's eyes. "They will pay for that, Mar." His voice was gentle, a dagger hidden beneath velvet robes. He nudged him back against the sheets, fingers slipping the buttons open with far too practiced ease.

Marius wasn't going to think about that. "Stop."

"Marius. You're pale as a shroud –"

"I'm always pale as a shroud."

Amand ignored him.

"Amand, stop!" Marius' voice caught. The black silk fell open halfway down his chest. There was only a plain white shirt keeping him safe.

"Marius. Be glad I didn't use a knife on you the second you fainted. You were barely breathing!"

Marius weakly battled his hands. Amand knew how sensitive Marius was about this, he must have carried him upstairs to avoid the servants. It was so hard to not give in. You will loose him, he had to yell at himself. "Stop. I will continue this myself. You may leave."

"Nonsense, you're –"

"Get your fingers off me!" Marius shouted. He shoved Amand's hands away, pushed back, scrambling away from him.

Amand froze.

Marius closed his eyes. He hadn't meant to -- it had burst out of him in blind panic. He was so scared.

He couldn't loose Amand. But the hurt in his eyes – no, good. Hurt him. Make him go away. He will get over it, he won't see, everything will be fine. Marius didn't want to hurt him. Hurt him. "Find someone else for the night." Marius could barely breathe now, throat tightening in a pain that had nothing to do with his bandages.

Amand's hands fell like Marius had spat in his face. "Mar –"

"Get out." Please. Please let me save myself. Save us.

Amand's smile twisted into an ugly sneer. "Suit yourself. Shall I send a servant if I hear you collapse again or leave you to rot in your pride?"

Marius wanted to hide from the confused hurt in Amand's voice. He didn't sound furious. Why couldn't he be furious? He was angry, but there was this almost childlike confusion underneath.

His weakness must have shown, Amand's eyes softening. "Mar. I would never –"

"Leave."

Amand just nodded quietly. "I'll wait outside. If you – just call."

Marius shot up in bed and tore through the silk the second the door clicked shut, buttons jumping over the floor. He gasped, ripping through his shirt off, fingers straining against the bandages. His hands kept slipping, he had to breathe, he clawed at his chest, it just wouldn't open, please, please, he needed to breathe – the fabric tore, fell away, ribs aching in a first shuddered, deep breath.

He felt light headed. Everything is fine. You're fine. No one knows. You can breathe now. Marius doubled over, clawing at his chest, sucking in deep breaths against flashing pain.

He closed his eyes. Breathe. Breathe. Just keep breathing. Marius blindly reached to steady himself on his nightstand, jerking when something cool hit his fingers.

A crystal glass shattered on the floor. Amand must have --

The door burst open. "Marius!"

Marius was too slow, freezing like a startled deer. He scrambled to yank the torn silk close over his chest – too late. His heart beat out of his chest.

Something hit the floor with a soft thud. "Mar –"

Marius desperately clutched the torn robe close, eyes wide, hands trembling.

No. No, no, no.

Amand just stared, mouth hanging open. Marius finally regained control over his limbs, opening his mouth to find any excuse, tripping over his own feet, heart hammering so hard he thought it would knock him over. "Amand, please listen –"

Emotions raced over Amand's face, shock, confusion, anger, betrayal, hurt. "Who are you?"

It hit harder than the Medici guard's punch. "Your friend," he whispered. "Please, I can explain –"

"You need to leave."

No. No. A weak tremble shivered in his chest, longing for the comfort of his friend. He clenched his jaw. He wouldn't cry. Anger clawed it's way up his spine. Amand had no right – he had every right.

"Maria –"

"Marius. I'm Marius." He straightened up against his aching ribs. "I'm Marius Fromm."

"Why are you doing this, mon ... You know I saw –"

"I know!" Marius cried out, stumbling forward to catch Amand's sleeve. The French pulled away. "But I'm – I swear, I'm Marius. I'm just – I don't know! Please, Amand you have to – please, I'm just, I'm not, this feels wrong!" He clutched the fabric over his chest and tears did start falling.

He was scared. He was so, so scared.

Amand looked torn, hand raised and Marius wished for nothing more than to feel the cool silk brush away the tears, but Amand curled it back into a fist and lowered it again. "I don't – I don't understand."

"You don't have to," Marius whispered. "Please just, just believe me. I'm not a woman. I'm Marius. I'm your archdeacon."

Amand slowly shook his head. "Sleep. You're leaving with de Vito tomorrow." He turnt on his heel and strode out.

The ground was pulled from beneath Marius' feet. A sob tore through his throat as he slumped to the ground, muffling the raw scream ripped from his lips against his robes.

It couldn't be. He couldn't leave. This was his home. He was a priest. He was always by Amand's side. This was his. This was his world. He couldn't leave. He couldn't leave.

This was all he knew. This was his home.

Something red swam in his vision. Red? He wiped his cheeks, a pathetic sniffle escaping him.

Red. On the ground before him, fallen and forgotten, laid a red cardinal's hat.

That's what Amand had wanted to show him. He had been so exited.

Sobs shook him and he blindly curled up to a ball, pressing his hands over his mouth to muffle his voice.

He didn't know how much later it was when de Vito found him, poking him with his cane, sighing, poking him again. "Up, boy. Misery is for Greek heroes."

Marius slowly raised his head, joints stiff and aching against the motion. The old man hobbled over to the bed, smoothing out the covers like a grouchy old fairy godmother, cursing random Medici ancestors and returning to poke Marius until the priest dragged himself up.

"Was that so hard, eh? I'm the old man, I get to lay on the floor half dead, not you," De Vito crowed, herding Marius to the bed. For an old man, he was still surprisingly strong, shoving Marius into his pillows, practically rolling him up in the blanket until only his head poked out.

Marius let him, limply following along with the elder's orders. "He knows," he whispered. "He knows."

"Sure he does," De Vito grumbled, "Sent me up all those stairs. In my age. That should be illegal. Your man serves the devil, I'm telling you." But there was a tiny, wrinkled smile hiding in the corners of his lips.

Marius shot back up, only to be poked back into the blanket wrap by an offended De Vito. "He told you –"

"Stairs. So many stairs." De Vito swatted at Marius' attempts to escape. "Pity me."

A choked laugh bubbled out of Marius. He was silent for a moment, then wriggled a hand out of De Vito's blanket burrito, grasping the priest's wrinkly hand. "I love you, Pa."

De Vito squeezed back. "I'm too ugly to be your father."

Marius chuckled. "You raised me."

De Vito had found him after the attack, shivering and wet in the middle of the forest and hidden him as a choir boy when men had pounded on doors that night. And he had let him be a boy when they had long gone. He had made him his student, then his archdeacon.

"And I did a bloody good job with it." De Vito nodded.

Then he had gotten sick, forced to retire to the country side when strange seizures would have him drop spasming any moment. No one knew what it was. But he couldn't risk whispers of possession, of devils and witches. Everyone had assumed Marius would follow him as archbishop.

Instead a sneering, mustache twirling heretic had arrived in all the pomp of the French court, pure white horses, kings guard, golden banners. The first time Marius had to kneel for this godless man, it took him a minute to force himself down and pretend to kiss his ring.

Amand hated his simplicity, calling him everything from fake, prude and wannabe saint to plain pretentious.

Marius had sneered at his drinking, celebrating, flashy gold, nonchalant attitude – when he rehearsed his masses, he would mutter the most terrible sarcastic comments to himself.

Why would he become a priest if he clearly didn't believe in god? Amand had laughed – he believed in the church. There was time for piety on one's death bed.

They had disagreed on everything. Their fights had echoed through the cathedral like the hammers of the masons carving saints into the high stone pillars. Until one evening, the scaffold had collapsed.

In a deafening wave of splintering wood, screams and echoing rain of stone shards, it had buried a group of nuns. The church goers had fled screaming and trampling each other half to death, only two merchants, a peasant, Marius and Amand remaining.

They hadn't even said a word, digging through dust and debris, desperately pulling at the heavy wooden beams, side by side. Amand's luxurious robes, Marius' plain black cassock had been torn and smeared with white dust all the same, their fingers had bled the same blood.

Two nuns had survived. Marius would never forget the other bodies, staring up at them with shattered chests and empty eyes.

Marius had surprised them both when, after everything was found and lost, in a field of dust and ruins, he had knelt and kissed Amand shattered ruby ring in earnest for the first time.

Anyone could have held their funeral. It was far below an archbishop's standing to bury a group of low, nameless nuns. But Amand had appeared with his terrible mustache and gold and held service.

Marius' heart ached. He couldn't lose Amand. He had lost Amand.

De Vito poked his cheeks. "He's dumb, but he's not that dumb."

"But I – "

De Vito sighed, leaning forward onto his cane. "There is nothing wrong with you, Marius."

Marius stayed silent, feeling the tremble in his chest rise again. He wanted to cry. De Vito had never questioned him. He'd rage every time Marius stumbled – Jesus said love unconditionally, not hang people.

De Vito was an odd archbishop, battling half the city when he ordered the artists working on the altar to darken Jesus' skin – did you ever see a cheese colored Palestinian, Medici? No? Me neither!

Marius loved the old man to death.

"Your my boy, and I love you. I'm proud of you."

At that, Marius did start crying again, hiding his face in his blanket. He felt De Vito's hand brush through his hair, like he had done when Marius had come to him during thunderstorms, all the way until Marius had fallen asleep again.

"He goes to war with the most powerful family he could find, because one of their men laid a hand on you. That bearded frog loves you. And if you were the mother of devils, he'd still love you the same."

De Vito suffers from epilepsy, something believed to be demonic. What do you think about this grouchy sweetheart?

Amand and Marius ... will they sort it out? Why did Amand tell him to leave? Does he truly despise him -- but wouldn't he have handed him over to the court immediately then?

The cardinal's hat is a symbol sent to whoever the pope chose as successor after the death of a cardinal: Amand. He is clearly ambitious and this is the highest position after pope... he was so exited ... what do you think will happen?

I hope you liked this chapter! Even if it didn't focus on our main characters, these two are incredibly important...

Thank you so much for reading and supporting my little book, it means the world to me! You're the best, eat some chocolate (you deserve it), stay lovely!

Avis.