Porisco cast a haughty gaze over Ghislain, sizing him up from head to toe.

"So, this whelp is the so-called rising star of the North? The one they’re calling a ‘Divine Figure’? Just some young fool basking in glory thanks to Marquis Branford."

He'd heard the rumors of the recent war victory, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it had been a stroke of luck, perhaps due to the drought.

"If he were truly remarkable, Countess Aylesbur and Lady Branford wouldn't have had to rush to send a priest his way."

Porisco’s narrow view of the world made him …