With great reluctance, Frollo treaded down the long corridors and made way for the foyer below. He quickly tried to temper his irritation with the gypsy girl, knowing he would need all his patience for the day ahead with the King's proctor. He muttered a rushed prayer before forcing himself down the stairs.

Frollo forced a neutral expression as he approached the proctor waiting below, beaming at the judge. "And good morning, Minister!" Lemoyne chirped in a commanding voice, his large arms raised jovially.

Let's get this over with, Frollo thought ruefully as he adjusted his chaperon and joined the man down below. "And you sir," he greeted respectfully, nodding and flashing a stiff smile.

Lemoyne clapped him on the back. "Shall we begin this little tour of the city?" He and the judge exited, those long steps out of the Palace seeming endless.

Frollo scanned around, looking for his horse when he noted the judicial coach out front. Hoping it wasn't what it looked like, he remarked, "One would think the horses have been brought out by now."

Lemoyne waved his hand at this. "Please, I spent the last two and a half days on horseback. I asked your staff to prepare this instead. Now, come—we're burning daylight."

Frollo's eye twitched minutely. Truly he could think of nothing worse than being stuck in such close proximity with this man—who holds your fate in his hands like a small bird, he mentally reminded himself. Begrudgingly, he followed the proctor into the small wooden coach.

The vehicle lurched forward and the Minister instantly felt his stomach match its movement. He could practically hear his heartbeat pulsating in his ears. It was a bit unnerving to see the proctor so relaxed as he lazily stared out the window. Frollo, on the other hand, felt anxiety tighten around him, evidenced by his stiff and rigid back.

After the longest minute, the Minister spoke, "May I ask, my lord, where this tour begins?" Removing his hat, he locked eyes with the small, cold eyes of Lemoyne.

He brushed back his receding, light-brown hair. "I thought we'd start at Notre Dame."

The judge's face flushed, clenching his jaw at the very mention of the name. But he made sure not to let his uneasiness show. He asked, "The cathedral, sir? Couldn't I interest you in another one of Paris's sights: maybe Chartres, or Saint Victor's abbey, even the University?"

Lemoyne smirked. "Notre Dame has been hailed as one of the jewels of the city for over a century. Riding in yesterday, I just knew I had to see it for myself."

Frollo's fingers curled tightly around the hat in his lap. "Yes, but…what's one cathedral to another? I'm sure you've seen your share of them during your tenure."

Lemoyne turned his attention back out the window, taking in the sights of the busy Paris streets as they rolled over the cobblestones. "Come now, Claude. You know that it's not as if you've seen one, you've seen them all. I've been told that Notre Dame de Paris is, well…special. Would you disagree?"

Not in the least, Frollo conceded to himself, not wanting to indulge any of his personal history with the church. Diplomatically, he answered, "It certainly has its charm."

Lemoyne scrutinized the Minister. A round face like his tended to characterize warm and welcoming souls, but not this man. Offhandedly, Lemoyne said, "His Majesty was certainly accurate when he described you as "cagey"."

The judge's lips quirked humorlessly. "I prefer "tactful"," Frollo retorted.

A heavy silence pressed over the men, both eyeing each other with some suspicion and exchanging condescending smiles.

Steepling his jeweled fingers before him, Lemoyne finally broke the stillness. "I'll level with you, Claude: before I was in His Majesty's inner circle, I was an officer in the army—fighting to keep the Valois in power in Burgundy. And after that, I spent years as an interrogator for Louis—you know, weeding out spies and traitors. I've done my share of studying law and executing it." He leaned forward on his knees, his eyes empty and piercing as they bore into Frollo's own wary ones. "You're not the first magistrate to clam up as soon as I walked through the door."

Frollo felt his skin prickle at the veiled threat. But he would not be intimidated by a mere soldier turned clerk. Smoothly, he said, "Then I'm sure you'll agree that being a public official comes with a certain sense of discretion. I'm sure a man with your military background can understand."

"Hmm, yes and by the look of it—and smell of it—Paris is going to be a battle in itself." Lemoyne wrinkled his bulbous nose as he leaned back in his seat. "My associates told me that you can smell the city a mile away—my God, how can you people live like this?!" He offered a dramatic wave of his hand, as though his very eyes would burn right out of his skull.

Frollo tapped his fingers methodically, unmoved by the slight against his home. "Living on the Seine's path isn't for the faint of heart, my lord. Its air has gifted her citizens with stronger stomachs."

"Well, they must be made of iron—if the river's stink doesn't kill you, the streets might do the trick. I about fell out of my saddle yesterday getting a whiff of the lepers."

Now Frollo felt himself getting increasingly annoyed. "And until the Lord makes His grand return on Judgment Day, those people are the city's burden."

"They must be some of the few who didn't have their homes decimated," Lemoyne coldly added, a low chuckle escaping him.

With great restraint, Frollo forced himself to remain silent as he let the proctor's swipes sit. Unwittingly, his other hand gripped tensely at his knee. Frollo studied the man across from him: no doubt he used his husky build and shark-like eyes to coerce weaker men.

The two sat in meditative silence, Lemoyne scanning the streets while the Minister's eyes stayed on him with caution. After what seemed like forever, the pair of officials finally pulled up to Notre Dame.

Lemoyne stepped out and drank in the magnificence of the cathedral, beady eyes traveling high as they inspected the two towers. "Impressive, I must say," the man remarked, hands on his hips and craning his neck back to get a better look.

"For our humble city, it'll do," Frollo said hollowly, smoothing out his black robe.

Pointing up the towers, the proctor added, "In Tours, our cathedral's towers are going to be a bit more ornate, considering it isn't complete yet, but…beauty in the eye of the beholder and all that. Shall we?" He indicated towards the entrance, striding up the steps.

"Please." Before entering, Frollo glanced up at the portal carved above the doorway, where Christ sat center with the Rapture unleashing behind Him.

Inside the church, Frollo instantly felt his heartbeat begin to race again. The juxtaposition of his past and present—Notre Dame—invaded by the perilous future—the proctor—was terrifying. He watched with unwavering eyes as Lemoyne ambled about, studying the great cathedral.

"You must be quite familiar with the church, Claude," Lemoyne raised, as he strolled past numerous arches above them with the Minister in tow.

Guardedly, the judge answered, "No more than anyone else in this city."

"Well, I for one would love to meet the head of this cathedral. You know him?"

Suddenly Frollo felt another flush of heat in his face. "Certainly. But I'm sure he's occupied with a myriad of things today…"

"Claude!" The stern voice nearly knocked the wind out of the Minister, turning to see the Archdeacon pacing towards the pair almost as a blur of white.

Oh, for the love of all things holy, the judge inwardly cursed, straightening his back. "Father," his voice rumbled, greeting him with a nod and expressionless look.

"You've got some nerve coming here after everything you've done," the Archdeacon warned, his usually amiable face fraught with anger.

Brushing past the judge, Lemoyne stepped before the older man. "Excuse me, Father, but are you the head of this church?"

The Archdeacon examined the man glistening with royal colors and jewels. He balked, quickly collecting himself after his heated words thrown at the Minister. "Oh, um…yes, yes I am," he stammered out.

"Well, an honor, Your Grace." Lemoyne shook the man's hand heartily. "Jean Lemoyne: proctor to His Majesty."

"Augustin: Archdeacon." While the Archdeacon smiled at Lemoyne, he managed to sneak a warning glance at the judge, indicating that he hadn't the last of Augustin's reprimand. "May I assume you're a guest of Minister Frollo?"

"In a sense, yes. I've asked Claude here to show me your fair city." Lemoyne threw an arm around the judge, whose fists instantly tightened at the gesture. "After all, a fair assessment can't be complete without a firsthand look. And I was curious to get a look at the famous Notre Dame de Paris."

Frollo bit the inside of his cheek as he fought to remain stoic, even though nothing would delight him more than to rush out of this suffocating space…or breaking the fingers resting on his shoulder. He hated the sound of his name on the proctor's lips. Suddenly he felt positively disarmed standing between these two men of power.

"I hope it's to your liking," Augustin added with cordiality. Directing a hand towards the high vaulted ceiling, he remarked, "She has a very rich history."

Lemoyne released the judge from his grasp. "Yes, and I am rather curious about one matter here, in particular, if you gentlemen could indulge me," Lemoyne raised, his lips stretching into a wide grin. "I'm fascinated by a tale that's been floating around the council for twenty years…tell me about this bellringer of yours."

Frollo felt as though his face was on fire at the man's prying. He quickly glanced to Augustin, who offered an unsure expression.

"What was his name again?" Lemoyne inquired, his expression knowing. He tapped a large finger against his chin, as though stumped. "For the life of me, I've heard it and it's already escaped me. Refresh my memory, Claude."

Frollo swallowed hard and turned his eyes down at the polished checkered floor, knowing he must have looked like some scolded child. "Quasimodo," he answered in defeat, suffering through the syllables. Though the tale of his forced guardianship had come to light before his peers years ago, such gossip eventually faded away from public interest. Admitting to it again only served to sicken him like it were yesterday, being the center of such mockery.

"That's it. I would love for you to introduce me to your son." Lemoyne's calculative eyes never left the Minister and he was sure to punctuate the last word.

Augustin noted the anxiety on the judge's face, something most uncharacteristic of him. The Archdeacon stepped in. "My lord, Quasimodo has chores to attend to and we would be imposing to distract him."

Lemoyne took a step closer to the Archdeacon, who noted that the imposing couple of inches seemed to make the proctor loom over him. "I'd still enjoy meeting the young man. After all, a story like theirs is one of legend."

Before Frollo could offer some choppy, stilted excuse, Augustin came to his rescue once more. Not deterred by the proctor's title or stature, he countered, "The boy has been through a great deal of emotional hardship in the last few weeks. What he needs is his privacy."

Lemoyne fell silent as his eyes bounced back and forth between the two adversaries. Then he shrugged, waving at the Archdeacon's words. He conceded to simply try and meet the hunchback another day. He then decided to go inspect the trio of stained-glass windows above the altar at the far end of the church.

Arms crossed tightly over his chest, Frollo stepped close to the Archdeacon. Under his breath, he reluctantly said, "You didn't have to do that."

Augustin glared at the judge. "I didn't do it to spare you the humiliation, just Quasimodo. He shouldn't have to suffer for your madness anymore."

"Well, no doubt we've piqued this man's curiosity and he'll be back to get a good look at the boy." The idea of asking Quasimodo to stand before the proctor only to be ridiculed nauseated the judge. And likely followed by some amused jeers by Lemoyne at Frollo's expense.

"Let's agree that he does not wish to be under your charge any longer," Augustin bit, briefly eyeing the direction of the bell tower stairwell. "And Quasimodo can decide on whether or not say hello to this man."

With despair, Frollo exhaled deeply. Still trying to keep his voice low, he added, "You understand that that man greatly outranks me. Presently I am at his beck and call, and his mercy."

There was no joy in the Archdeacon's expression when he spoke. "Then you are certainly reaping what you have sown." He studied the proctor from afar. "I take it he's not simply passing through Paris?" Augustin asked, sensing the answer.

Frollo hung his head morosely. "His Majesty demands a report on the current state of the city. And apparently it's crucial for this man to drag me around, answering his questions like some valet."

A heavy look of disappointment crossed the Archdeacon's face. Now there was a sharper edge to the older man's voice. "Did you honestly believe that this wasn't to be expected? That you could almost destroy the city and not face repercussions? Really, Claude, how could you have been so short-sighted?"

"Louis had second thoughts!" the judge bit back in a hushed tone. "Now his conscience is weighing on him and it extends to my actions."

"You know it was only a matter of time. I just hope you can clean up this mess before anybody else gets hurt." The Archdeacon's words were met with a look of resentment by the judge.

Lemoyne was on the other side of the cathedral, chatting away with a nameless monk. Frollo considered Quasimodo again. The words weighing heavily on him, Frollo placidly added, "I'll do what I can to deter him, but if he is adamant, I can't help the boy."

"If there's any empathy to be found in that man, hopefully it won't come to that. I'd hate for Quasimodo to be put through any more cruelty. He's always worried these days. Always praying that he might see the gypsy girl again, asking if I've seen her recently. He only wants to know that she's safe."

Frollo understood the implication: his word alone was no good to the boy, and that Quasimodo wanted to see for himself that his friend was safe and sound. "If that's the case, tell him—"

"You must speak with him." The Archdeacon's usually kind eyes burned with damnation against the judge. "You owe him that much, after all that you've put him through. And speak to him as a man, not a child."

Frollo let those words sink in. Not since he had ordered his soldiers to release the hunchback from his bonds had he spoken to the boy. He knew that Quasimodo loathed him now, and to face the boy would require an astronomical amount of denial.

"I hope you make the right choices, Claude," Augustin said, his words aggravating the Minister. The Archdeacon leered cautiously at the proctor now making his way back to them.

Frollo desperately whispered out, "Pray for me."

The Archdeacon deadpanned, "I have."

Lemoyne rejoined them, not commenting on the shared sullen expressions. "Well, I'd be remiss if I didn't admit that it's even more breathtaking than I had hoped," he said pointedly. "I'd like to attend at least one Mass while I'm here. You'll accompany me, won't you, Minister?"

Tightly locking his fingers before him, Frollo bowed his head and answered, "I would be delighted to, sir." Pandering to this man was like swallowing a pint of vinegar.

"Good man." Lemoyne promptly cuffed him in the arm, bidding goodbye to the Archdeacon as the two had more of the city to see. Exiting, Frollo's eyes glanced up and barely registered a hunched figure watching them from the second floor, who quickly shrunk behind a column.

X

"I've seen some magnificent churches in my time," Lemoyne remarked brightly, studying the saints above their heads. "And this one did not disappoint."

"I'm glad you approve, sir." Frollo hid his annoyance that this was only the first stop of the day, inwardly praying that the proctor would find some reason cut his trip short.

Lemoyne brushed his colorful doublet with a beefy hand. "It begs the question, though, Claude," he began, locking eyes now with the judge. "All that space at the Palace of Justice…why keep your adopted son here, on his own?"

Frollo knew what the man was doing: trying to intimidate him—not with violence, like some prisoner of war—through personal jabs, each scrutinization a briar piercing him. He would be damned if he let this agent of the King menace him in his own domain. Especially since the proctor seemed considerably more animated than their meeting yesterday, which only served to make Frollo more wary of him.

"Cagey", Frollo mentally repeated, maintaining an indifferent expression. We'll see to it then. "The Palace of Justice is a hub of law," he spun. "And just as much, it still has people constantly bustling in and out, let alone criminals. There are simply too many eyes, and I couldn't subject the boy to such treatment—all that unnecessary attention."

"And Notre Dame isn't immune from the local scum? Especially with the sanctuary clause?"

The man's ability to see through these pathetic ruses rattled the judge. "At least the boy can feel safer in God's house than above the Palace's dungeons." Frollo again prayed that this would be enough to satisfy the proctor's curiosity.

Lemoyne nodded at this. Stepping back into the wooden coach, he was quick to comment, "And I suppose gypsy girls make for better bedfellows, right?" He cackled to himself as he took his seat.

The words sickened him and Frollo shook his head as though it could cast away the faint shame that suddenly filled him. With a breath to collect himself, he joined the man inside.

"Remind me to make my acquaintance with the young lady before I depart," Lemoyne taunted, again turning his attention out his side window.

Frollo's heart picked up pace once again at the image: Esmeralda would sooner spit in the proctor's eye than smile and listen to his insults. No, he would do everything in his power to ensure the two didn't cross paths.

He chose to divert the proctor's interest of the girl, changing course of their discussion. "Tell me, my lord: how familiar are you with Paris? Surely a man as yourself would have ventured here at least once."

Lemoyne reclined easily, rubbing at his chin. "Well, Paris has a certain reputation. Something about these large cities carries a darkness, and I've seen my share of them: Rome, Prague, Ghent. I prefer a smaller venue, such as Avignon and Tours, of course."

"Well-traveled, I see. But why the reluctance to visit Paris?"

"Think about it: a few centuries of invasions, coronating bastard kings, plagues—wolves, for God's sake!—Paris seems to have a perpetual black cloud hanging over it."

Frollo had to admit that his home indeed had quite a colorful history—No worse than any other city. "I see…then how, may I ask, did you come to be granted your assignment here?"

Lemoyne looked as though he wanted to laugh again. "A bit of a shortest-straw situation."

Frollo's brow creased. Surely his great city was not so undesirable among men of the King's council? After a beat, he tested this. "You're not really implying that nobody wanted to undertake the journey here? That to be stationed here is a punishment?"

"Many of us have our reservations about Paris, not in the least because the stench," Lemoyne said with a shrug, much to the chagrin of the Minister.

There was something off about this response. Frollo felt as though the man was keeping another reason to himself, as any interrogator might. There had to be some other—some greater—reason he was sent here. But until he could figure it out, Frollo decided he would play along.

"Speaking of ramshackle holes, tell me about this "Court of Miracles"," Lemoyne prodded, not even bothering to look at the Minister anymore, choosing instead to toy with the gold chains around his neck.

Frollo was taken aback. "You're familiar with it?"

Lemoyne smiled coldly. "Well, you've staked your professional reputation on it for some twenty years. Now that you've found it, I'd like to see the fruits of your labor."

The judge wanted to shudder at the idea of leading this boorish man to the den of gypsies. Frollo understood that while he hadn't promised Esmeralda that he would ever return to her former home, something inside told him to preserve its mystery.

He quickly thought up a deterring lie. "Much as I would enjoy showing you, it's long been plundered and left as desolate as any cemetery. There simply isn't anything left."

Lemoyne studied him expressionlessly. "Your men left nothing?"

"Absolutely nothing. It's a shell of its former glory."

Lemoyne tapped a finger against the knuckles of his other hand in thought. "Well then…I suppose a home for the local undesirables is the least of the city's concerns. But on a hopefully more promising note, I would very much like to see your battalions."

Frollo offered a hesitant look. "Sir, I'm not sure what meeting the troops will accomplish."

"The true mark of a good leader, Claude: the efficiency and loyalty of his men. A man of your reputation, that wouldn't be a problem, would it?"

Truly the men in his barracks were the least of his worries in these last few weeks. After all, what did he have to hide?

X

As soon as the door to the barracks swung open to reveal the Minister and his guest, there was a great collective clanging of chainmail as the soldiers quickly assembled to attention. One could hear a pin drop as each man stood as obediently as dogs at the foot of their beds, the pikes in their hands pointed straight up in unison.

"You certainly have them well-trained," Lemoyne noted, scanning over the soldiers. "And you say you didn't serve in the military?"

Frollo grinned, proud to see one aspect of his city still intact. "Well, we employ a rigorous system to ensure that only the best men are chosen for the job, my lord. And I can promise you, ours is one of the most reputable forces in all the kingdom."

The proctor strode through the parallel lines of soldiers flanking him, continuing to study them like a child holding an insect. "Most impressive indeed," Lemoyne noted, boring his eyes into those of some nameless guard and making him flinch a bit. At the end of the rows, Lemoyne turned his attention back to Frollo, who was brimming with pride. "Quite a pity that you didn't serve in the ranks yourself, Minister. You would have made a fine officer in the army." He strolled back to the judge, remarking, "But…city law enforcement might be more your speed."

Frollo's smirk quickly disappeared at the backhanded slight, clocking the subdued sound of a guard's snicker. He ordered them to get back to their posts, the men scattering to collect their remaining weapons and gear. The last thing he needed was to be spoken down to in front of his subordinates.

Lemoyne gently pulled Frollo aside, unexpectedly asking, "So, Claude…what's all this about problems you've had with your Captain of the Guard—a certain "Phoebus" something or other?"

Frollo stiffened, but maintained his composure while ignoring the bustling of soldiers around them. "Simply demoted," he attempted to downplay, schooling his expression.

"'Demoted'?" Lemoyne tested, scrutinizing the judge. "The punishment for treason is death, unless I'm mistaken?"

"Well…an effective soldier is still that." Frollo's heart once again raced in his chest. "Our units need the absolute best men."

Lemoyne paused, chewing on the response. "You seem to have quite a heart for forgiveness," he clipped. "First the gypsy girl, now your Captain—you truly believe a leopard can change its spots, don't you?"

Frollo felt his throat tighten. "I…only try to follow the lessons set out by our Lord."

Lemoyne offered a squeeze of the Minister's shoulder. "Then I hope you'll grant me the pleasure of letting me meet this fallen Captain," he said, an oily grin stretching across his wide face.

Instinctively, Frollo tried to shake off the man's hold on him and nodded reluctantly. In the blink of an eye, Frollo pulled aside a passing soldier, hissing out, "Where is Cap—Private de Chateaupers?" The man quickly pointed to a soldier at the end of the barracks, who was tying his silver breastplate on.

Frollo and the proctor ambled to the man, who turned and immediately saluted the two. Phoebus was still a bit bruised and worn-looking after his time in the dungeon, but seemed to have regained some of his color and confidence back.

"Phoebus," Frollo said lowly, forgetting for a moment that Lemoyne was standing beside him. As usual, he could only glare with contempt at the former Captain.

"Minister," Phoebus greeted just as coldly before regarding the other man.

Regaining his voice to its usual timber, Frollo recomposed himself. "My lord, this is Phoebus de Chateaupers—former Captain of the Guard."

Lemoyne took the opportunity to introduce himself, an amiable look in his eyes gleaming as he shook Phoebus's hand. "The Minister has certainly put you through the wringer before putting you back in the ranks, hasn't he?" he said, noting the fading cuts and bruises on Phoebus's face.

"Well, nothing in this world is free," Phoebus quipped, choosing his words carefully.

"Indeed. I hear he pulled quite a few strings to take you away from the frontline. I just can't believe he snatched up a man with your track record—very impressive, I must say." Phoebus nodded, humbly offering his thanks. "You must be truly worth your salt if he's decided to forgo the standard death sentence," Lemoyne continued, again slapping the judge hard on the back. "Yes, I'm learning quite a bit about the Claude's benevolence."

Frollo remained stone-like to mask his embarrassment, furrowing his brow a bit.

Phoebus squared his jaw at the words. "Well, he uses it sparingly." The soldier noted Frollo's warning frown. "But, credit where credit is due: I really have Esmeralda to thank for it."

"Is that so?" Lemoyne cast a glance aside to the judge, who kept his focus on some point at the wall. Frollo's jaw ached from forcing back his bitter words. He cursed the way his heartbeat quickened at the utterance of the gypsy's name.

"She made a good case for me," Phoebus said, noting Frollo's silence. "I just wish there was some way I could repay her."

The proctor's eyes again bore into the Minister at his side, who kept his own gaze averted. "My, my…the mystery of this gypsy girl just continues to grow, doesn't it?" Lemoyne said, more to himself than either of them. "I'm sure you weren't expecting this kind of chaos when you took the position, Phoebus."

"Paris is a different kind of beast, I'll admit," he said, keeping his voice even. "It's certainly not the same from what I remember."

"Oh, I'm sure!" Lemoyne laughed heartily, even eliciting a chuckle from Phoebus. "What kind of grunt work have they got you doing?"

"Sentry, general patrols, but a soldier's work nonetheless, right?"

"It's not glamorous, I know. If I was overqualified for my position, I would miss all those catapults and swordfights. Don't tell me you don't miss the rush of battle?"

Phoebus's eyes darted briefly to the Minister's. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss it every now and again."

Lemoyne patted Phoebus on the arm. "God knows sitting in those council meetings can make me miss my days in Burgundy."

With this, the two began exchanging details on their respective services, all the while Frollo watched with great suspicion. He was unnerved by their new rapport, instantly suspecting a potential alliance that could threaten his future.

After a few minutes, Phoebus and Lemoyne were still laughing at their war stories before the proctor looked back over at the silent Minister. "Tell me, Claude: you never heard the call of duty, beckoning you to battlefield?"

The judge frowned. "None whatsoever. Education was my calling and I don't regret it for an instant," he answered bitterly.

"Ah, who says you can't have it both ways?" Lemoyne prodded, his smile infuriating the Minister. "I did; most of the men on the King's council have. I've heard tell that even your father did."

Frollo's throat instantly tightened again, causing a miniscule hitch in his breathing. He caught Phoebus shifting his eyes away uncomfortably while Lemoyne never broke his stare. He felt more exposed than ever. Frollo wanted to bash the proctor's face into the barrack walls and have him thrown out of the city gates. He quickly placed his hands back behind himself, attempting to steel himself.

"Louis has told me your father was a respected soldier and Minister of Justice," Lemoyne continued, ignoring Frollo and Phoebus's equal discomfort. "Perhaps he'd agree that Phoebus's talents are wasted as a foot soldier. After all, a good captain can tip the scales when a city's future is at stake."

"Yes, well, perhaps this is something to be discussed at length later," Frollo haltingly said, waving an arm towards the exit. "There's much to be seen and the day is still young, sir."

Lemoyne bid farewell to the former Captain and made his way back to the doors. Frollo found himself momentarily frozen in place, remarking that he needed to give Phoebus more details on the day's schedule.

Left alone in here with the Minister, Phoebus shifted awkwardly. He cleared his throat and lowly started, "Sir, I…I'm sorry but he just—"

"Stop," the judge clipped without looking at him, raising a warning finger at him. "Not a word of this to anyone—understand? Do so, and I'll make sure your days as a soldier will be marked by digging and cleaning privies."

"Of course," Phoebus answered, pretending to tighten his arm braces as he waited for the judge to leave or to be dismissed. "I'll, uh…I'll make sure to keep out of his way."

His hand now on the iron door handle, Frollo paused and turned back. "Phoebus," he barked, snapping the man's head back up. "Not a word," he repeated menacingly, eyes narrowing.

Exiting and making his way back to the coach, Frollo instinctively twisted around his blue signet ring. How he was going to get through the rest of this inspection with Lemoyne needling him at every turn was unimaginable. He felt so helpless to be at the mercy of this man who seemed to have an alarming amount of information on him.

Inside the coach, Lemoyne rubbed his hands together and let his gaze wander up to the ceiling above. "Now…where to next?" he asked, a slimy grin adorning his face.

X

*A/N: Thanks for reading! R/R!