The news spread not like fire but like rot — slow at first, creeping through the cracks of rumor and pigeon-borne letters, until every hall of power tasted the stench of it.
It had been mere days but even without Romanus herself spreading news, it still got out, and all the surrounding nations already learned of the development with the ripple quickly spreading outward further.
The Concordat was broken.
~
Britannian Monarchy
High upon the cliffs of Dover, the wind howled through the great stone keep of Caerwyn.
Queen Isolde sat draped in wolf-furs, her hair braided with pearls, her eyes fixed on the messenger kneeling before her.
"Poisoned wells?"
she asked, disbelief curling around the words.
"The Francians stooped that low?"
The court murmured.
Lords in heavy cloaks shifted uneasily, while bishops clutched their sacred objects.
