“You are somehow responsible for their deaths?”
The old man was trying to understand the details Stephen could not speak. He’d trusted him with a secret six years ago, but he could not betray the Defense Ministry’s classified files again. He was the Prince of Brighton, after all.
“Indirectly, yes.”
“A wrong decision?”
“Indirectly.” Asif appeared to be a stellar choice at the start. But . . .
“You cannot tell me more, can you?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
“I’ve enough to understand, I believe.” The archbishop reached for a scone, then settled back in his chair. “Would you care for one?”
“No, thank you.” He thought he did, but the conversation had filled his empty belly.
“As I see it, whatever transpired over there has left you feeling responsible, perhaps guilty, and you cannot face Corina.”
“Not as my wife, no.” A soft, blue word slipped from his lips, but he didn’t apologize or wish it back. “Her brother, the others, did not deserve to die, not for the cause that spilled their blood.”
“You alone survived?”
He nodded, dropping his chin to his chest, his eyes filling, a peppery heat trailing along his emotions, burning his thoughts. “I’m not worthy. I–I hesitated. They died.”
“And this hesitation makes you responsible in some way.”
“Yes, precisely. And betrayed by someone I’d once considered a friend.”
“Quite a sticky wicket.”
“Quite.” Slumping forward, Stephen crashed his head into his hands. “I dream of them, their suffering.”
“And you can’t forgive yourself, can you?”
“Never!” He fired to his feet, leaning on his wounded ankle, pain striking his bones, spiking down through his foot. “I am not worthy.”
“No man is worthy until Christ makes him worthy.”
“Don’t you see? They died in vain.”
“Did your Lord, the Christ, die in vain as well?”
“Pardon? I don’t follow. The Christ had nothing to do with my men.”
“He has everything to do with you, and your men. If he counted you worthy of his death, then you were worthy for those men. No greater love is this than a man lay down his life for his friends.”
“Stop!” Stephen pressed his palms to his ears. “Lie. It’s a lie.”
“But you count yourself as unworthy, and therefore not worthy of a woman like Corina and unworthy of Christ’s love.”
“Because I am unworthy. I may be a prince on the outside, but on the inside I’m a man like every other, and war or no . . .” He hesitated, on the brink of sharing too much. “My life is not worth that of another. And I certainly don’t compare to Christ. He perhaps is worth men giving up their lives, but not me.”
“He was also man. With emotions. He was also betrayed by those closest to him.”
“He’s also God.”
“But he was also a man.”
