chapter 3 THE PRIEST’S QUESTIONS
1557 Words
The kitchen was warm in a way that felt almost offensive.
Heat from the ovens. Steam rising from boiling pots. The rhythm of knives against wood. Life continuing as if nothing outside these walls had fractured.
That was the first thing I noticed when I entered.
Not safety.
Normality pretending to still exist.
Besa saw them first.
She didn’t speak immediately.
She wiped her hands on her apron once—slow, deliberate—and went still.
That stillness changed everything in her posture. The kitchen did not stop moving, but she did.
“You’re early,” she said at last.
The priest stepped in without acknowledging the comment.
“I am on time.”
Behind him were two guards.
Not decorative presence.
Functional weight.
A third waited in the corridor like a closing door.
His eyes moved past the tables. Past the girls working. Past the motion of food being prepared.
He stopped on me.
That pause was intentional.
I set the knife down slowly.
The sound it made on wood felt louder than it should have.
Besa stepped slightly forward.
Not enough to block me.
Just enough to exist between us.
The priest noticed immediately.
“Matron,” he said.
Besa didn’t lower her eyes.
“Priest.”
A thin smile passed over his face. It didn’t reach his eyes.
“I need a conversation.”
“With me?” she asked.
“With her.”
That shift changed the kitchen.
No one stopped working.
But attention stopped dispersing.
It collected.
Like heat.
I stood fully.
“If you have something to say,” I said, “say it.”
The priest’s gaze returned to me.
Direct.
Evaluating.
“You were present at the ceremony,” he said.
I didn’t answer.
“That is sufficient,” he continued.
Besa let out a short, dry breath. “Sufficient for what?”
His eyes flicked to her.
“This does not concern you.”
“It does,” she replied immediately. “When you bring guards into my kitchen.”
That landed.
Not loudly.
But precisely.
The priest ignored it anyway.
That was his method.
“I need to know what you experienced,” he said.
The phrasing made the room tighten.
Experienced.
Not witnessed.
Not observed.
Experienced.
I held his gaze.
“Experienced what?”
The pause was deliberate.
“During the ceremony,” he said. “Before the interruption.”
Before the interruption.
As if the interruption was the only event worth naming.
I studied him carefully now.
This wasn’t curiosity.
It was collection.
He was extracting consistency from memory.
Not truth.
Pattern.
Besa spoke again, quieter this time.
“You always speak to women like they are evidence?”
The priest didn’t look at her.
“That is not relevant.”
“It is when you’re standing in my kitchen,” she said.
One of the younger girls behind her slowed her movements slightly. Not stopping. Listening.
The priest finally turned his attention back to me.
“Were you in pain?”
The question dropped into the room like a weight.
Everything paused around it.
Even the rhythm of cooking seemed to hesitate.
I noticed every gaze shift toward me.
I answered carefully.
“No.”
“Not at all?” he pressed.
“No.”
The priest studied my face longer than necessary.
Not satisfied.
Never satisfied.
“What about the night before the wedding?”
That changed the room.
Besa’s head turned sharply.
So did mine.
There it was.
Not inquiry.
Targeting.
He wasn’t asking about ceremony anymore.
He was trying to isolate a variable.
I understood it immediately.
The question was not innocent.
It was structured.
Designed.
I exhaled once, slow.
“The night before the wedding was long,” I said.
His mouth tightened slightly.
“That is not an answer.”
“It is,” I said.
Just not the one he wanted.
One of the guards shifted behind him.
Besa’s voice cut clean through the tension.
“You will not interrogate her like she is property.”
The priest finally looked at her fully.
“This is not interrogation.”
“It is when you bring soldiers into a kitchen,” she said.
Silence stretched.
Heavy now.
The priest adjusted his stance slightly, as if settling authority back onto his shoulders.
“There are matters the house must clarify.”
“Clarify what?” I asked.
He hesitated.
Just briefly.
Then—
“The possibility that the prophecy was incorrect.”
The word landed differently than the others.
Prophecy.
That changed the structure of the conversation.
Not politics.
Not marriage.
Something older.
The kitchen shifted around it.
I felt it immediately.
Besa stopped moving entirely.
The priest continued.
“Or hidden.”
That second word deepened the silence further.
Hidden.
That implied intent.
Not error.
Control.
I folded my arms slowly.
“And if it is?” I asked.
The priest didn’t hesitate.
“Then the house adjusts.”
Adjusts.
Not reacts.
Not suffers.
Adjusts.
That framing was everything.
I understood now.
This wasn’t about me as a person.
It was about me as a condition inside a system that was still trying to decide how dangerous I might be.
Besa let out a short laugh.
It was sharp.
Unfriendly.
“You speak as if she belongs in your equations.”
The priest finally looked at her directly.
“She belongs in the structure now.”
That sentence changed something in me.
Not emotionally.
Structurally.
Something hardened.
I stepped forward.
“You’re wrong,” I said quietly.
The priest tilted his head.
“No.”
“You are speaking about me like I am already defined.”
His expression remained calm.
“That is how the house survives uncertainty.”
Uncertainty.
That word again.
Everything here was being reduced into variables they could tolerate.
I felt anger rise slowly now.
Not explosive.
Controlled.
“You think silence is the same as truth,” I said.
The priest didn’t answer.
Because he didn’t need to.
Silence, in his world, already had meaning.
Besa stepped closer to me now.
Not protective.
Present.
“That is enough,” she said.
The priest ignored her completely.
He turned slightly, as if concluding a section of thought.
“The house requires clarity before continuation.”
Before continuation.
As if everything after this moment was already scheduled.
Then I saw it.
The guards were no longer just standing.
They were repositioning subtly.
Not surrounding yet.
Preparing.
That realization made my body go still.
Not fear.
Recognition.
This conversation had already moved beyond conversation.
The priest continued, “If there is deviation, it must be identified early.”
Deviation.
That word carried weight.
I looked at him again.
“And if I refuse your clarity?” I asked.
His expression didn’t change.
“Then the house will assume silence means confirmation.”
That sentence hit harder than anything else so far.
It wasn’t threat.
It was policy.
Besa’s hands curled at her sides.
I felt something cold settle behind my ribs.
They had already decided how to interpret my silence.
Before I even gave it.
I opened my mouth to respond—
But stopped.
Because something changed in the air behind the priest.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Presence.
The guards straightened instantly.
The priest turned too late.
Julian stood in the doorway.
He looked at the priest first.
Then at me.
Then at Besa.
No expression yet.
But the room had already changed alignment.
The priest inhaled once.
“Your Highness—”
Julian cut him off.
“Leave.”
The word was simple.
But it didn’t allow interpretation.
The guards moved immediately.
No hesitation.
The priest didn’t.
That was the first fracture.
“I was only—” he began.
Julian stepped fully into the kitchen.
Now the air itself felt displaced.
“I said leave.”
The priest’s jaw tightened.
He tried once more.
“This concerns the future of the house.”
Julian’s gaze stayed steady.
“That is why you will leave.”
That logic ended the argument.
Not force.
Structure.
The priest hesitated one last moment.
Then stepped back.
The guards followed.
The kitchen exhaled only after they were gone.
Silence returned.
Different now.
Not tension.
Aftermath.
Julian didn’t speak immediately.
He looked at me first.
Not Besa.
Not the room.
Me.
That attention was heavier than anything else in the room had been.
“You were right,” he said quietly.
I didn’t respond.
He continued, “They’re moving faster than expected.”
Besa crossed her arms. “We noticed.”
A flicker—almost amusement—passed Julian’s face, then disappeared.
He turned slightly toward me.
“Come with me.”
I didn’t move.
“Why?”
His jaw tightened once.
“Because something upstairs is no longer stable.”
That was not an explanation.
It was a warning.
I held his gaze for a moment.
Then said, “If this is another command, try again.”
Something shifted in his expression.
Not irritation.
Recognition.
Then—
“This is not a command,” he said.
“It is containment.”
That word stayed in the air longer than the others.
Containment.
Not protection.
Not guidance.
Containment.
I looked at Besa.
She gave a small, almost invisible nod.
That was enough.
I set the knife down.
And followed him.
- Writer
