Aric's reply was calm, direct.
"Wealth. More than any of you have ever known."
The priest's brows lifted, a faint smile playing at his lips, skepticism plain across his face.
"The pockets of the fourth prince, deep as they may be, are hardly as vast as those of your brothers or the greater lords. Why should I believe you could offer us anything more?"
"Just tell me a price," Aric replied, unfazed.
The priest chuckled, his gaze drifting from Aric to the bronze statues along the cathedral walls. "The church is fractured, your highness," he said, his voice dropping to a grave murmur.
"The Council of Saints—each of them bends to a different power, each saint swayed by a different benefactor." He glanced sidelong at Aric, almost pitying. "If you want even a single saint under your thumb, you'll need a fortune."
"I don't want just one saint," Aric replied, steady and clear. "I want all of them."
