Froella frantically paced around her nuns' quarters. The Captain of the King's Archers would be in any minute, but she needed her trusted Captainess before her at this moment. "Phoebe," she called. That gypsy boy would like to drive her mad, drive her to commit acts of lust if it were up to him. "Phoebe!" Froella needed peace in her heart and she needed it now. "PHOEBE!"

The Captainess burst in. "Why, Sister, is something the matter? I heard what sounded like a dying animal in here."

"You're supposed to come when I call you the first time."

"I'm not a dog."

Thank the Lord for Phoebe and her bluntness. Trustworthy, unyielding Phoebe. Froella could always confess to the priest, the way it was done by others in the Church, but she didn't like the feeling of being judged. "Tell me I'm holy."

"You're holy."

"Tell me I'm pure."

"... Sister, what is this about?"

"Tell me!" Froella yelled.

"You're the purest woman I know in this decaying town. Is this about that boy again? Want me to slice him to ribbons? My cousin can rough him up a bit and make his death look like an accident. Consider it his highest honor, ma'am."

"No, no, no." Froella waved the ludicrous idea away. "No. I want him alive, at least for now." Then, a bright idea came into her head. "Say… why don't you try to seduce him? Flirt. The public ridicule coming from a woman of class cavorting with one of the many street scum will be so much that the boy and that horrid troupe of his will be forced to flee. And the city can finally be cleansed."

Phoebe stood there for a moment, narrowing her eyes, deep in thought. "My mentor, my dear friend, my idealized image of the successful woman and a sanctified member of the Catholic Church wants her advisor, her fellow female who worked so hard to get where she was in the highest ranks of the King's Archers possible to lower herself to the status of a cheap prostitute?"

Well, Jesus help her; when she put it like that, it made the plan sound downright sinful. But to Froella, what had to be done had to be done in order to purge the boy from her thoughts, the city and hopefully soon, the world.

However, Phoebe surprised her with a bow. "As you wish, Madame," she said.

When she heard voices behind the cathedral, Froella hid behind the building. Not to eavesdrop, though—eavesdropping was a sin. Simply to make sure her advisor was doing her due diligence.

Phoebe was all on top of the boy, making conversation that was anything but light. "Hot day. Wearing this armor can get you sweaty." She took off her breastplate. "But I'm just so hot." Her eyes skimmed Esmer's. "Are you hot?"

"No."

Phoebe chuckled. "I'm patient. So what's your last name?"

"What's your last name?"

"Touché," she said, ever-charming. "Forgive me; de Chateaupers. My cousin is the Fleur-de-Lys de Gondelaurier."

The boy blinked, then exchanged a glance with his goat like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Phoebe took off the helmet and shook her hair, long and fair. Froella's hand came up to feel her short grey split ends. "Where are you from? Originally."

"Is this an interrogation?" he queried, sounding agitated.

"I'm asking you a question."

"It doesn't matter. I ran away."

Phoebe blinked. "I get that you're a gypsy and your backstory is a secret, but is everything a secret?"

"Yes, from the likes of you."

"Mmm, I like that. Man of mystery." There was a period of idleness, or what Froella liked to call awkwardness. And then Phoebe changed everything: "Can I at least rub your back?"

"What?"

"Please? It's the least a lady can do for a man." Froella could have shed tears of dismay as Esmer sat on the curb, tentatively like he was expecting Phoebe to report him, to which at this point Froella wouldn't mind nixing the whole plan in favor of. "You look tense."

"If I do, it's because of people like you."

Nevertheless, slowly he let her put hand on him. Phoebe kneaded the boy's back like bread dough. Alright, already. Froella grunted; her advisor was enjoying this way too much. She even put her mouth to his ear several times, once almost nibbling on it!

Phoebe purred and Froella clutched her habit. "You know I could take care of you—"

"Please don't speak to me."

"Right."

Oh, Phoebe was definitely fired.