This was definitely a mistake.

    He must have been bewitched by the devil.

    Rafael thought with a bit of malice and gave a polite smile to Duke Franc?ois who was waiting at the entrance of the mansion.

    “Your Holiness, my humble abode is honored by your presence today.” The Duke of Calais, adorned in a shimmering cloak of jewels and pearls, greeted the impromptu visit of the Florentine monarch with a large retinue of servants.

    To be honest, even Francois himself was wondering why the Pope would visit so casually. Even with his self-confidence, he didn’t believe his relationship with Sistine I was close enough to visit each other so informally. But then again, he thought, this was just a young man who had not experienced much of the world. No matter how heavy the crown on his head was, it couldn’t change the fact that he lacked the time to polish the calmness in his bones. Perhaps this was just another impulsive decision on his part...

    Franc?ois thought casually that this was a good opportunity to show off Calais’ wealth. He was always happy to show off his power to others.

    When Rafael saw Francois, truly glittering under the gaslights, he began to regret agreeing to Ferrante’s request the night before. The culprit behind his current predicament, who was causing him to face this dandy, was diligently scrubbing the floor in the Papal Palace – a direct order from His Holiness, forbidding any help from people or tools, and demanding that he personally clean the Pope’s suite.

    Unlike the confrontation Ferrante had envisioned, Rafael had no intention of bringing this matter to light.

    What was he supposed to say?

    Ah, Your Grace, Duke of Calais, I hear you’ve acquired many beautiful boys and girls for your estate. I hope you’ll send them all away?

    Damn it, even if Rafael was insane, he would never say such a thing.

    Florence needed to maintain peace with Calais, and so Sistine I needed to maintain a good relationship with the Duke of Calais – even if it was just a superficial friendship. Sixtus I couldn’t afford to have a falling out with the Duke of Calais over some ‘lowly and insignificant’ commoners, even if it seemed like a trivial request.

    This was an interference in Franc?ois’s private affairs. Even friends couldn’t be so rude, let alone they were just superficial friends.

    Moreover, he had to maintain Franc?ois’s dignity and prevent him from losing face in Florence.

    Thinking of this, Rafael felt as if he had swallowed a dead rat.

    So there was only one way to go. Rafael had to settle on the only feasible method, which was to create a misunderstanding that was neither too big nor too small. Even for the sake of his ‘ally’, Franc?ois would have no choice but to drive these people away.

    As for what strange label Sistine I will probably be given...

    Rafael could already fully imagine the contemptuous and ambiguous teasing that would be going on in private.

    It doesn’t matter, the young pope returned to his indifferent expression. As long as he wore the crown of Saint Leah, they would have to remain respectful to him. As for what they said in private, what did it have to do with him? Would he mind this little bit of gossip?

    It’s just that...

    Rafael sighed silently. Although he had agreed to Ferrante, he had to admit that he had actually taken advantage of a loophole and deliberately misinterpreted Ferrante’s meaning.

    Franc?ois walked beside the Pope, observing the young pope who was inspired by a whim out of the corner of his eye without any expression. Unlike the gorgeous attire he had worn in the grand banquets before, the Florentine monarch was dressed very simply today, in a snow-white plain robe with a light golden pattern on the edge that was barely noticeable unless one looked closely, and a dark red velvet cloak draped over his shoulders. He was so low-key that it would make people laugh at his poverty.

    Franc?ois looked down on such a ‘plain’ Pope from the bottom of his heart. He was dressed even worse than his lovers. The Duke of Calais silently mocked the young man beside him, his face still beaming.

    “Ah, what a coincidence, your loyal Cardinal Stone is also here. We were just discussing the spices produced in Calais. I hear you also enjoy bitter orange?” Francois casually brought up a topic of conversation.

    They were walking through the spacious garden of the courtyard. Contrary to Ferrante’s description, there were no scenes of debauchery. The falling water from the fountain splashed transparent pearl-like fragments. Brand new dining tables were set up on the lawn, with snow-white tablecloths draped to the ground. The flower baskets on the tables were bright and vibrant as surging waves. A few good-looking boys and girls were strolling around, and upon seeing the group from a distance, they did not rush over but politely greeted them from a distance.

    “They are...” Rafael asked casually as if unintentionally.

    Franc?ois glanced over there, his expression calm: “Oh, those are my servants. I like pretty faces, and I appreciate and pursue beauty – you should understand that, no?”

    Rafael looked over again and nodded: “Yes, I understand very well.”

    They arrived at the reception room and met up with Cardinal Stone, who had come out to greet them. Stone was a dry, middle-aged man of average appearance. His only notable quality was his incredibly strong memory. He could recite the entire Aeneid and The Syracuse Epic verbatim, down to the specific line on a particular page, not to mention various religious texts and obscure records. This was a remarkable skill within the Holy See, but Rafael didn’t have a deep impression of Cardinal Stone. Perhaps it was because in his previous life, this cardinal had unfortunately chosen the wrong side and had been unceremoniously kicked out of Florence by Julius, dying in a small church in the countryside.

    Francois’s reception room was as luxurious as he was, adorned with lavish Calais-style decorations. There were plaster statues of goddesses holding vases in the corners, from which flowed carefully arranged bouquets. A towering arrangement of eucalyptus leaves, lilies of the valley, forget-me-nots, green roses, and geraniums filled the room with a delicate fragrance. Tapestries embroidered with the Calais royal emblem were everywhere, as well as portraits of Francois himself.

    The haze of drunkenness was suddenly dispelled. Francois sat up abruptly, pushing away the noblewoman who had been leaning against him. His eyes, sharp as a hawk, scanned the hall, unable to find the distinctive pale gold figure that should have been the most eye-catching in this chaos.

    “Where’s the Pope?” he demanded, grabbing a servant.

    “I sent someone to look for him. Have you found him?” The servant stammered, unable to answer.

    Francois’s heart sank. He realized something was terribly wrong, but he hoped it wasn’t the worst-case scenario.

    However, his worst fears were confirmed. He saw his most trusted personal officer rushing in from outside. The man’s face, usually marked by a humble smile, was now pale and rigid, like a corpse. He rushed to Francois.

    “Your Highness,” the officer who had accompanied Franc?ois from prince to duke still insisted on addressing him as he used to, “Sistine I...”

    He swallowed hard and took a deep breath under Francois’s increasingly intense gaze. “Sir Carlos... he mistook His Holiness for one of Your Grace’s... lovers... he, he...”

    All the alcohol seemed to evaporate from Francois’s body.

    He slowly stood up, his face as dark as a storm cloud. A low, guttural sound escaped his throat, the kind a beast makes when it encounters an enemy. “That stupid bastard, what did he do?”

    Even the Duke of Calais was a little overwhelmed by this ‘surprise’.

    If things were as he suspected... heavens.

    “No, it hasn’t reached the worst point, but His Holiness was furious. He wanted to come to the hall and confront you, but I managed to calm him down. Please...” the officer said quickly.

    “Very good.” Francois felt his suffocated heart barely starting to beat again. He absentmindedly praised the officer and strode out of the banquet hall.

    In every circle, there is a group of people who are born rich, idle, with no skills, and are only good at eating, drinking and having fun. The only expectation of their family is that they don’t cause trouble. Sir Carlos is such a character in the Florentine circle.

    He had spent the first half of his life eating, drinking, and playing, never doing anything so bad that his family couldn’t cover it up. He had no desire to climb the social ladder, and given his status, it was certainly impossible for him to meet the honorable Pope up close. And so... in his complacent idleness, he had done something earth-shaking that he could never have imagined in his entire life.

    He, Carlos, tried to force the Pope of Florence to –

    Carlos had no idea how all this had happened. He just walked here in a comfortable drunken state as usual, ready to choose a lovely lady to spend a beautiful night with him. And by chance, he saw a heart-moving profile leaning against the window... God, he swore, he had never understood the meaning of love at first sight so deeply before. The other party had noticed his gaze and offered a glance and a smile, then left the window. Carlos, whose head was filled with wine, had a sudden inspiration. He was certain it was a silent invitation. So... so...

    He stood there, dazed, in the midst of the chaos, his mind numbed with fear. The beauty he had fallen for was sitting in an armchair, his fingers intertwined, his violet eyes filled with sharp, furious anger. He looked at him coldly, like a lion staring at a poor, trembling rabbit.

    The Pope... how could he be the Pope?!

    Carlos had a splitting headache. He didn’t even dare think about the chaos that had ensued. His waist, which had been kicked, still ached, but he tried to shrink himself, wishing he could burrow into the ground to avoid this terrible gaze.

    There were hurried footsteps outside. All the onlookers who had been drawn by the commotion were being sent back to their rooms by Francois’s servants. So, one can imagine who could make such a noise here.

    The tightly closed door opened, and at the same time, the young, cold Pope stood up. His hair was still a little disheveled, and his pale cheeks were flushed with anger. He strode towards the door, meeting Francois, who had hurried over, face-to-face—and then passed right by him without stopping.

    The Duke of Calais, who had been so blatantly ignored for the first time, was so furious he almost roared. But he didn’t dare. This time, he was in the wrong. No matter how the Pope expressed his dissatisfacion, he had to accept it respectfully.

    As Sistine I passed him, he coldly dropped a sentence, “Your entertainment is very interesting, but I hope everyone here knows how to keep quiet. And of course, I don’t want to see any more corpses or deaths on the streets of Florence that I have to deal with, Your Grace.”

    Francois forced out an ugly smile: “Please rest assured, everything here will be a secret. I’ll make sure they know what to say and what not to say.”

    The Pope seemed to sneer and left with a cold gust of wind, leaving Carlos to face Francois’s terrifying gaze.

    “Send everyone here away,” Francois gritted his teeth. Killing them would have been the better option, but hadn’t he said that there couldn’t be any disturbances in Florence? “Give them plenty of money and tell them to keep their mouths shut. Tell them that if any rumors get out, they’ll be dead.”

    The servant withdrew as ordered and went to disperse the crowd, while Carlos... the unfortunate knight, was left with only the Duke’s meaningful, sinister smile.

    The crowd had gathered like crows and later disappeared in a very short time. The confused Carlos was the only one left in the room that was ravaged by the strong wind. Carlos stood dumbfounded in the middle of the room, feeling ice cold. Everything had happened so fast, so unexpectedly. He couldn’t even believe what had happened. It was as if everything had been a terrible nightmare.