Chapter 96 Hope Blue Diamond (Thirteen)
◎Opposition◎
On the day of Raphael's surgery, Emperor Calais formally proposed his claim to the throne of Assyria and made it clear that he would not give up the use of force.
This statement, which was tantamount to a declaration of war, shocked the Syracuse Peninsula once again. Roman still maintained "polite calm" and said nothing about it.
So everyone's attention was once again focused on the Papal States.
The person at the center of the vortex was lying tiredly on the bed. Even in the drowsiness brought by the drugs, he still had a frown on his face, with an expression of restless anxiety.
Julius touched his forehead, took off the ring and gloves on his right hand, reached his hand through the quilt under Raphael's clothes and touched him. The Pope's back was covered with wet sweat. Julius took out a dry linen towel, wiped the sweat off Raphael's back, and then straightened his wrinkled clothes for him.
This set of movements seemed overly skilled. It was hard to imagine that His Excellency the Duke of the Rhine, who was born in a noble family and had always been served by others, could do the work of a servant so naturally. He looked like a man who couldn't even wring his own towel.
There is nothing wrong with this.
At least thirteen years ago, he was still a traditional noble who had never wrung a towel by himself. If someone had told him at that time that you would take care of a homosexual without the help of others, and even change his clothes and wipe his body with your own hands - then Julius would definitely send this hysterical guy to the most strictly guarded monastery with a smile.
But - yes, fate always likes to add this dramatic word to everyone's footnotes, just like Raphael's disappearance to Amenra, or Tandol's betrayal to Delacroix. When Julius took over the future of the thin child from his cousin, he never thought that he would have such a "humble" day.
But maybe people just have strong adaptability, and the bottom line is meant to be constantly lowered.
Julius had initially only promised to be Raphael's teacher, but soon he went from being a simple teacher of religion, philosophy, literature and rhetoric to teaching Raphael all the knowledge he needed in his daily life; when he thought that was all, the student who had undergone surgery and was unable to move in bed unknowingly taught him the "little help" of occasionally fetching him a cup and a book; when he was accustomed to taking care of Raphael in small matters, the sudden death of his cousin and the entrusting of his orphan to him forced him to focus more on the child who was the enemy of the world; when he was sure that this was absolutely the key point, he became the only one he could rely on and trust for his ward who was exiled to the Castle of Cantrera and was frail and sick.
What else could he do?
Was he going to stand by indifferently and watch Raphael, who was suffering from a high fever and unconsciousness, take care of himself?
When the noble Lord Portia resigned himself to picking up the dry linen for the first time and clumsily wiped the sweat and tears from the boy's hot cheeks, it was destined that this would never be the last time.
But countless times of breaking the bottom line made Julius more determined than ever before to think that the only person who could serve him like this in his life was Raphael.
Extra treatment, special attention and excessive love will always be given to Raphael alone.
He cherished Raphael like a father cherishes his hard-earned child, the only one in his life, like an older brother dotes on his smart and pretty younger brother, and like a mature lover dotes on his young and ignorant partner.
The emotions were so complicated and twisted that Julius couldn't fully distinguish the difference between them, but he didn't need to distinguish them. He just needed to know that Raphael was the only one, no matter what his identity or relationship was.
Only Raphael.
It could only be Raphael.
In contrast, after he had given his all like a stingy miser, Raphael must also belong to him in equal exchange.
The Secretary General wiped the sleeping Pope's body with skilled and gentle movements, pulled the quilt for him again, bent down and intimately touched Raphael's soft and hot face, and his thin lips gently brushed the corner of his lips, leaving a kiss that lasted for a moment.
There was silence all around. Julius straightened up, put on his gloves slowly and leisurely, and put the ring on the bedside back on his finger. He performed this set of movements with the same grace and gentleness. After putting the ring on his finger, he suddenly clenched his fist and raised his hand. A heavy and fierce force hit him. The blade and the hard ring scraped against each other, making a teeth-grinding squeaking sound. Tiny sparks flew out, and it seemed that his neck was about to be cut. Julius' other hand had already pulled out the slender silver sword from the cane, and it collided with the sharp weapon coming from behind. The sharp and smooth slender sword faithfully reflected the faces of the attacker and the defender.
The deep purple eyes and the sea blue eyes looked at each other in the thin mirror light. ﹌
One was arrogant and indifferent, the other was violent and angry, but the same thing was that both pairs of eyes were filled with a ferocious desire to tear apart and devour any outsider who invaded their territory.
Seeing Julius blocked his attack, a hint of regret flashed in Ferrante's eyes.
Who would have thought that the seemingly frail and dignified patriarch of Portia was actually quite skilled in martial arts, especially since no one knew that the walking stick he always carried with him actually contained a sharpened rapier.
But at least so far, this is the first time Julius has pulled it out passively.
"Dear Mr. Ferrante," the Secretary-General greeted politely, "good afternoon."
Even though Ferrante's knife was at the edge of his neck, precariously blocked by his rapier, and judging by the force coming from his hand, it was obvious that if he relaxed a little, Ferrante would happily and "accidentally" cut his neck, but he still maintained his calm and composed look, as if they were just meeting in the garden at this moment.
Ferrante sneered. He did not like this kind of pretentious aristocratic behavior, especially... when he thought of the scene he had just seen, the anger in his heart burned like a raging wildfire.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Portia, who is not worthy of respect." Ferrante said sarcastically.
Julius remained calm. He exerted force on his wrist and blocked Ferrante's dagger. The rapier shone like a solidified ice spike and was placed between the two men.
Ferrante stared at him solemnly. The man with iron-gray hair pushed his glasses politely and raised the hand that had just blocked Ferrante's blade in front of him.
A twisted and concave scratch appeared on the ring on his hand that he had put on just a few seconds ago. The shield-shaped ring face was engraved with a sword, a cane and a crown. It was simple and luxurious, and the corners were inlaid with gems. Fortunately, there were gems, and the blade only left a shallow mark on it and slid onto the decoration next to it. This slight hesitation dissipated a lot of force, so that Julius did not have half of his hand cut off on the spot, but Ferrante's attack came swiftly and silently. In desperation, he had to raise his hand to block it. This ring, which symbolized the power of the Portia family, was just a decoration. How could it possibly compete with Ferrante's sharp blade? Only a thin layer of metal was left in the concave part of the ring, and it looked like it would break with just a slight touch.
Julius held the sword and rubbed the scratch on the surface of the gem with the tip of his little finger. He took off the ring that was about to break in two, held it in his hand, and slowly applied force with one hand. The power ring with heavy symbolic meaning and passed down for hundreds of years broke into two halves.
“…Can I regard your actions as a provocation and betrayal to the Pope?” Julius asked softly, looking at the broken ring in his palm. “As the Holy Father’s bodyguard, you drew your sword beside his bed while he was unconscious—pointing it in his direction.”
Ferrante looked at him coldly: "I think the Holy Father will be more interested in the reason why I drew my sword. There is no doubt that I am doing my best to protect the Holy Father."
As he said this, he looked like he was about to strike again.
“Oh, it sounds like I made a mistake.” Julius finally took his eyes off the ring. For the first time, the secretary-general’s sharp eyes behind the lenses looked at Ferrante so seriously—a man he had never paid much attention to before.
Even during their recent collaboration, the two of them had not communicated much. In Julius's opinion, this young man from the slums was just a burden that Raphael brought back out of a moment of kindness. His ability to help Raphael was a pleasant surprise. Some nobles liked to do charity and adopt decent children as their confidants. There was nothing wrong with Raphael's behavior, but Ferrante...
Julius labeled this lucky guy as "Raphael's bodyguard", "good skills", "person in charge of the Holy Crow", "lucky", "unfamiliar", etc., and then threw him aside.
But now it seems that something has exceeded his expectations.
Julius looked at Ferrante carefully for the first time and found that
I discovered something I had never noticed before.
How ridiculous, he thought to himself, with a touch of absurdity and anger, what gives you the right? You lowly, penniless, ignorant, greedy...
He was almost stung by an inexplicable emotion.
It was unbelievable that Julius Portia, who had always been envied, actually tasted the taste of jealousy one day.
As bitter and sharp as poison, and as smelly as rusted iron.
“No matter what the reason is, you shouldn’t have swung a knife at the Secretary General of the Papal Palace. I think with your judgment ability, you may no longer be suitable to stay with the Holy Father.” Julius suddenly lost all interest in dealing with the matter. He just felt irritated and wanted to vent his anger.
"This is not decided by you, sir. All my appointments come from Your Majesty." Ferrante replied with a smile.
“Oh, it seems that you are very confident that you can make Rafa hostile to the Portia family for you - after you killed the head of the Portia family and destroyed the most important token of the Portia family.” Julius held the broken ring in the palm of his hand. The broken cross-section had extremely irregular sharp tips. They pierced his palm, but he didn’t feel anything at all.
"That was my personal behavior and has nothing to do with Your Majesty."
"As long as you are around him for one day, your behavior cannot be unrelated to him."
"Then in what name are you guiding me, Your Excellency? Your Majesty's blood uncle? I'm sorry."
Perhaps all of Ferrante's actions and words combined were not as devastating to Julius as this one sentence.
For a moment, a sinister murderous intent arose in his heart.
But this murderous intent was quickly wiped out by a hand reaching out from behind him.
The hand grabbed Julius' right hand. The secretary general was distracted and looked down, only to see a pool of blood on his hand.
“…Rafa? When did you wake up?” Julius asked subconsciously.
The Pope glanced at them both and replied calmly: "I am asleep, not dead, and your voices are not as quiet as you think they are."
Hearing this, a trace of embarrassment flashed across the faces of the two people standing.
But Raphael actually told a little lie. Their voices were not loud. It was just that Polly did not give him a large dose of anesthetic to prevent him from becoming addicted. And he instinctively resisted the sleep that made him lose his defenses, so he woke up much earlier. But there was no need to tell them about this.
The pale Pope lowered his eyes and brushed his fingertips across Julius' hand, with the wet, warm blood staining his snow-white fingers.
“Don’t be angry with Ferrante,” Raphael said under the gaze of two pairs of eyes. The first sentence he said made Julius’ face change. “He has always been loyal to his duties. This cannot be his crime.”
Julius's face looked even paler than Raphael's at this moment. He stood with his back straight and his posture arrogant, like a fully armed knight standing on his battlefield, ready to defend himself with a spear at any time.
"Oh, so it's my fault," he said sarcastically through his teeth.
"...You know that's not what I meant." Raphael sighed, his eyes falling on the miserable ring in his hand. "Give it to me, I'll have someone repair it."
As he reached out to take the broken ring from Julius's hand, Julius took a step back.
The same two pairs of purple eyes stared at each other, and after a while, Julius placed the ring on Raphael's hand.
“—I’m not giving it to you because you asked me for it,” Julius said in a voice as light as a gust of wind that was about to be blown away. “I’ve always wanted to give it to you after you took this position.”
There must be a "but" behind such a tone, but Julius did not utter the word. Their eyes met and then missed each other, and the heavy meaning in the words was buried in the brief silent gaze.
"Don't give it back to me," the Duke of the Rhine said, a rare plea, though it sounded like an order. "Rafa."
Julius turned around and left decisively.
Raphael held the broken ring. The blood on it had slowly dried and turned cold. He gently wiped off the blood and said to Ferrante, who was standing beside him, his expression and movements were the same as usual, but his eyes were faintly shining, "Is there a suitable craftsman in the Papal Palace?"
“Yes,” Ferrante answered without hesitation, although he didn’t know whether it existed or not, but he knew it would happen soon.
Raphael looked at him indulgently and helplessly: "Why did you provoke him? Julius usually doesn't get angry with people, and I don't want to hear outsiders say that there is discord within the Papal Palace."
Ferrante knelt obediently beside the bed, like a big curly-haired dog, clinging to his master obediently, closing his eyes and feeling Raphael's cool fingers passing through his hair.
“They won’t know,” Ferrante said firmly.
"That would be best."
Raphael stroked Ferrante's hair gently, his tone was soft, and there was no emotion in his eyes.
He was thinking calmly, because he had not paid attention to strengthening his power within the Papal State for a long time. Although the Papal State achieved unprecedented unity after the lords were purged, it was always Julius who exercised power in the name of the Pope.
When he was away, everyone took it for granted that the Secretary-General's orders were supreme, and there seemed to be nothing wrong with this. But when he is now facing conflicts with Calais and Assyria, this seemingly insignificant imbalance is revealed as never before.
If the Papal States went to war with Calais and he went to the front as a leader, would the Papal States still be his when he returned?
Raphael didn't want to speculate maliciously, but he really couldn't control himself. It was like an incurable disease eroding the area of his brain that controls trust. He couldn't help but look at Julius, Ferrante, and Lesherte with suspicion...
He needs a little check and balance, and perhaps Ferrante is a good choice.
At least without Raphael, he would have nothing.
And Raphael knew what he wanted most right now.
The young Pope had a mess of thoughts in his mind, but when Ferrante leaned over and touched his forehead to test his body temperature, he cooperated with a gentle smile.
Ferrante was stunned.
Raphael raised his hand, gently pressed his fingers against his forehead, and said without thinking: "I forgive."
Ferrante stared at him blankly, and the Pope covered his eyes with his hands.
In the darkness, Ferrante felt something warm brushing against the corner of his lips, and then separated.
The author has something to say:
Raphael sometimes has a bit of a bottom line... Well, that's it.
I feel like the name of this chapter should be "Love-Brained and Career-Brained"... Among the three people, two of them are thinking about their wives and love affairs, and only Raphael is focused on his career.
Oh, by the way, regarding the fan creation of this article, I personally don’t mind. You can support any CP you want. Because I’m not very good at writing romance dramas, I quite like to see other people write about this, hahahaha. But it cannot be used to gain profit, darlings, just remember to indicate the source [heart]
Tomorrow is the midterm exam again. Exams, exams, exams every day. [Angry]
It's the hell of marking papers and invigilation again. I want to die [lie down]
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
