When Seeker arrived back at the cottage, Miss Cheerful greeted him with a wave. “Just in time for dinner, Seeker. Grab a bowl and some stew!”
At the table, Faint-Resolve sat stiffly, scowling, his shoulders tight with unease. Across from him was a man Seeker hadn’t seen before—handsome, well-dressed, with immaculate blonde hair, a well-trimmed mustache, and piercing blue eyes.
“…you should have seen how she wiggled and giggled.” The man leaned back, relaxed, eyes flickering with amusement. “Her face might be kissed by the sun,” he added in a lower voice, “but her breasts—soft, and pale as cream.”
“Shame!” Faint-Resolve snapped, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. “You call yourself a Pilgrim?”
“What?” A hurt look crossed the man’s face. “I serve this King just like you. I can’t help if I’m weak for shepherd girls.”
Seeker’s bowl clattered as he set it down on the table and took a seat beside Faint-Resolve. He shifted uncomfortably, and toyed with his stew, stirring without appetite, eyes fixed on his bowl.
“I know you,” Faint-Resolve said, his voice steady but tight. “Aren’t you the son of Lechery, called Lechery yourself?”
“I didn’t take her honor.” Lechery protested, but he didn’t deny the name. “And I promised her. If anything were to happen to my wife, I would marry her.”
“Shame.” Faint-Resolve said again, softer this time. “There’s no place in the cottage for the likes of you.”
Seeker’s face began to burn as Stern’s warning echoed in his mind—then Steadfast’s words followed. He’d assumed Steadfast had meant Faint-Resolve. And he’d condemned Steadfast for being judgmental… when it was he who had judged unfairly. All along, Steadfast had been speaking of Lechery.
“My friend,” Lechery said, having regained his composure. “It’s you who don’t understand the King’s grace.” He smirked. “Besides, if she let you, you’d be no different than me.” No names spoken, but he lingered on the word she, as if Faint-Resolve knew exactly whom he meant. “But she only likes the attention.”
Faint-Resolve’s face flushed red. He opened his mouth to speak but only sputtered. No words came.
Lechery picked up his bowl and stood. “He who is without sin, let him cast the first stone.” He gave a slight nod. “Good day.”
Neither spoke. They just finished their stew in silence, the weight of the moment hanging heavy in the air.
