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The whole conversation between Melchior and his highness the inquisitor, Hinric could not help but fiddle with his rosary beads. Those beads no longer meant much to him. He simply wished for the cross that had long ago given him hope, to keep his heart from shattering after seeing Melchior’s broken state. The monk finally snapped out of his thoughts as he felt the cursed omen of the black fabric cloaking the Inquisitor flow past him as his name was called to follow. Hesitation drowned him. While turning towards the door he allowed himself a final glance at Melchior and now he was stuck.
He had known and seen too much of the man he loved to not recognise the look, the silent rage boiling in those seemingly empty eyes. Hinric knew what position he was in, he knew that Melchior really did care for Katheryn. He would have the same look when Hinric told him that they could no longer meet each other in the moonlight due to the risk of what could happen if they were seen. Hinric also knew what Melchior was capable of. Melchior has had blood on his hands, and now that it was that of his wife, he would no longer be afraid of tainting them a deeper shade of red. Somewhere at the back of his head, Hinric hurt from the lingering question, would Melchior feel the same way if something were to happen to him? Thankfully he was able to stop the thought before it progressed, at the moment he was not of importance.
The Inquisitor had been clear in his implications and the two knew all too well the dangers of going against the church. Melchior either sold his soul or watched it leave his body. Yet there was a third option, one that Hinric did not want to accept but that could still save the tender soul of the man staring him down right this moment. He did not want to say it.
“Run away Melchior.”
No more than a whisper. Without waiting for an answer, Hinric finally backed out to follow the Inquisitor. All he could do now was pray to a God that had not listened in years.