Jenkins shook his head, stopping the two ladies before they could act. He spoke again, not giving them a chance to object.
"My position is extrely sensitive right now," he explained. "If I were to actually die, the Church—and I an the Twelve Orthodox Churches—would find themselves in a world of trouble."
He was the only Savior candidate among the Orthodox Churches. Even if their interests weren't always aligned, the twelve churches could never accept his death. That would an leaving the Orthodox Church completely at the rcy of the Believers of Lies.
"Don't do anything," he urged. "Soone else is bound to act."
He was certain of it. As he spoke, he stroked his cat and leaned back against the plush carriage seat, which was almost as comfortable as a small sofa.
He let out a long sigh, his face sinking into the shadows of the carriage.
"I'm... not a simple man," he murmured.
Even though both won knew Jenkins well, they couldn't help but feel a certain pressure when he acted this way. It was a difficult sensation to describe—not the pressure of authority or status, but sothing emanating from his very presence that left them feeling breathless.
And yet, it was also exceptionally alluring, like a candle fla drawing a moth to its own demise...
Miss Windsor, Dolores, and Julia all blushed simultaneously. Miss Windsor rembered the night she had run through the alleys, her hand in his. Dolores thought back to their very first eting, so long ago. Julia, for her part, recalled their cozy conversation in the little tavern.
Having advanced to the 7th level, his physical body was now more easily influenced by his soul, and the fluctuations of his soul, in turn, affected the world more intensely. Whether by design or by accident, the very essence of a god was enough to drive mortals to madness. A mortal could not look directly upon a god, yet they were irresistibly drawn to glimpse that ineffable power. It was pure instinct.
Though the morning's welcoming ceremony had suffered a small mishap, the one restarted in the afternoon went off without a hitch. Jenkins had seen King Tackwen, "the Proud One," in the newspapers before, but this was the first ti he had laid eyes on him in person.
He appeared even younger than Dolores's father, making him the youngest of the three kingdoms' monarchs. He possessed a powerful presence, and he handled his conversation with Queen Isabella and the reporters' limited questions with considerable skill.
If Jenkins hadn't known that Cheslan was riddled with more internal political strife than any other nation, he might have believed it was the most promising of the three kingdoms.
Of course, he had little interest in foreign, middle-aged n. What he truly wanted was to et the author of the era's most popular novel, the *Detective Knight Biography*. That woman was an undeniable genius, the very pinnacle of contemporary popular literature.
Jenkins didn't know her personally, but Miss Windsor had shown him her photograph. However, attendance at the city hall's reception wasn't mandatory for everyone. As an unimportant mber of the entourage, the author didn't make an appearance. Jenkins was slightly disappointed, but it was hardly a matter of great importance, and he soon put it out of his mind.
A small reception followed the welcoming ceremony, and Jenkins was obliged to attend. Holding a glass of specially prepared pear juice disguised as champagne, he accepted the enthusiastic toasts of the southern nobles.
They seed to see him as a key figure, soone who could sway the course of the coming war. After all, he was now first in line to the throne of the Fidektri Kingdom—not counting his older brother, Newman, or his father, Robert. And in truth, he was a key figure, just not for reasons related to the crown.
It was already four in the afternoon by the ti the reception ended. Dolores had other matters to attend to, so she departed with Julia, though her maid was to call on Jenkins later that evening. Miss Windsor, however, stopped Jenkins. She had sothing important she needed to discuss with him.
"I know I'm eting with those old dukes tomorrow afternoon," Jenkins said wryly. "Even if I'd been drinking heavily, I wouldn't forget that."
He said this as he followed Miss Windsor toward the carriage waiting at the mouth of the alley.
"It's not about that," she replied. "And were you really drinking just now?"
Miss Windsor asked, her tone curious. When Jenkins didn't answer, she didn't press him.
"This morning, you told you were an Enchanter. So, I was hoping you could et my mystical advisors—or at least tell if they truly are Enchanters. As you know, an ordinary person has few ways of telling for sure. I've witnessed their power, but I've always harbored a suspicion that I'm just being fooled by clever circus tricks."
Jenkins nodded. He glanced toward the carriage ahead and, just as he'd expected, saw the very people he had been thinking of.
"I know that Enchanters don't usually like to reveal their identities, especially one like you with such a respectable, noble status in society. So, in a mont, I'll find an excuse for them to step out of the carriage. You can just take a look from a distance. The princess from the northern kingdom told your power is formidable and that you helped her deal with quite a few Enchanter-related troubles back in her holand."
It was a very considerate proposal, but Jenkins shook his head.
"I'll et with them myself."
"But... wait. How did you know there were two of them? And that they're both won?"
Miss Windsor caught his phrasing.
"You could call them acquaintances,"
Jenkins explained, straightening his collar as he spoke.
"They're old friends, and they're trustworthy. But if you get the chance, I suggest you apologize to Magic Miss for what happened at the docks a while back. The lady can be a little petty, even if she is genuinely kind-hearted."
He offered the well-aning advice, then gave Miss Windsor a reassuring look. He knocked on the carriage door and, without waiting for a response, ducked inside.
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