Chapter 40: The Grand Tribunal
After watching the Pope’s back disappear at the end of the corridor, Ferrante stood there for a while before returning to the reception room.
The lord was still kneeling on the ground, staring at the stack of blank parchment. Cold sweat had dripped down his neck, soaking his expensive silk shirt. He kept tugging at the collar that clung to his skin, his anxious eyes darting around the room.
He knew very well what the Pope wanted. Things with a clear price tag often had room for negotiation. The most terrifying thing in the world was a blank contract. No one knew what would be written on it, and now he was being forced to sign his name on that blank contract.
When Ferrante walked into the room, the lord immediately looked at him for help, but his gaze lasted less than a second before he quickly looked away – he remembered who this handsome young man was. They had fallen into this predicament largely due to this young man’s efforts.
But he didn’t dare show any emotion.
Ferrante stood a short distance from him, looking at him quietly.
Feeling the pressure of the gaze, the lord reluctantly picked up a quill. A white hand holding a crystal inkwell appeared beside him at just the right moment.
“Your favorite gemstone-inlaid inkwell, of course. And the ink is specially customized for you, with the addition of your favorite laurel leaves,” the young man said with a smile, his words incredibly considerate, but the lord couldn’t smile at all.
Not only could he not smile, his face began to twitch uncontrollably and his eyes widened as if they were about to pop out of their sockets. In his eyes, the handsome black-haired boy looked like a living devil.