Cardinal Moros didn't wait for the Prince's reply. His unusually bright eyes swept over the surroundings, his gaze finally landing on the commoners wolfing down their food. He heaved a theatrical sigh, his tone thick with condescending pity and unconcealed smugness.
"Behold, Your Highness. This is the power of faith." He gestured to the eating crowd, a smile he seemed to think was benevolent spreading across his face. "When the nobility could not fill the people's hungry bellies, it was the Church that produced real gold and silver. These humble souls retain their human form entirely through the grace of the Holy Light. Don't you agree that this, rather than those fleeting decrees that die with the men who make them, is the true art of governance?"
This was both a boast and a warning. Normally, when faced with such an aggressive posture from the Church, Prince Willandar would choose silence or a diplomatic retreat to maintain a semblance of peace.
