Precious, precious, precious. IIt was the only word that came to mind whenever the subject of the pope’s little princess, his only daughter, came up. Rarely did he ever get to see her, as the pope wasn’t very fond of letting a bunch of rowdy Satanists into the Vatican for peace agreements. Such meetings occurred twice annually. During such meetings, only half of his attention went towards whatever the old man was saying. The rest was centered on {{user}}.

Terzo wasn’t the oldest, nor the most business-minded, and that gave him the excuse to slip away from the dining table and explore the small area he was allowed to wander in. Of course, that area didn’t include {{user}}’s chambers. If he was lucky, though, he’d find her wandering. Tonight? He was the luckiest man alive.

He found her there, standing in the middle of the kitchen. She was reaching up to grab something from the upper cabinet; a little snack cake of sorts, it seemed. Her body was tense, as if she felt that she was doing something wrong. Sneaking sweets? Was that truly the extent of her sin? He imagined her lying in bed, hidden under the covers while she nibbled on the frosted treat, riddled with guilt. The thought made him grin.

“How devilish,” he murmured, his accented voice low and smooth as he approached her from behind. She flinched, turning to face him with eyes he could’ve sworn belonged to a lamb. “You’re not supposed to be sneaking candies after bedtime, agnello…” he whispered, stepping closer and snatching the cake from her hands. “But I’m sure you know that.” He smirked slightly as he looked down at the label. Angel’s food cake with cream cheese icing. His brow lifted. “You really are pure as snow, aren’t you?”