Chapter 102
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The Count concluded his administrative tasks sooner than the rest of the nobility. Since the monarch had stripped away much of his influence, the number of sessions he was permitted to join had dwindled.
Spencer had expected this decline, yet the speed of his return caught him off guard. While that was a minor annoyance, the day seemed determined to vex him in other ways. Upon reaching the drawing room, he found Lev Zid waiting by the entrance.
“I require a moment of your time,” the knight stated.
“Unless it is urgent, it can wait,” Spencer replied.
“There are matters I must verify immediately.”
Spencer stared at Lev, his silence heavy with irritation. Nothing was proceeding according to his wishes, and the struggle to maintain a composed mask was becoming exhausting. Despite the Count’s clear displeasure, Lev did not budge. Resigning himself to the interruption, Spencer glanced back at the head chamberlain who trailed behind him.
“I will speak with him alone. Enter only after Lev has departed.”
“As you command, Your Excellency.”
“Step inside, Sir.”
A stiff breeze rolled through the drawing room from a window left completely open. Spencer couldn’t recall if he had opened it himself before leaving or if a servant had done so for air. The grounds outside were eerily still, devoid of even a bird’s song. The heavy, dark drapes cast a somber shadow over the interior.
“What is this urgent verification you speak of?”
Spencer began to unfasten his cravat. He wondered what could possibly justify such a breach of etiquette. Under normal circumstances, he might have been more patient, but the day had left him on edge. Perhaps it was the oppressive atmosphere; while Pallesa Palace had its own climate, the summer heat in Ionad felt far more suffocating than the northern air of Grimaldi. The fine silk around his throat had felt like a noose all afternoon.
“Adrina.”
The name hung in the air. The Count fixed a flat stare on Lev, who continued without hesitation.
“Is your promise to hand her over to me still valid?”
Spencer’s eyes widened slightly. Had this man truly intercepted him at his doorstep just to repeat such nonsense? He noted with growing annoyance that Lev hadn’t even stepped aside to let him sit; they were standing like commoners in the middle of the room.
“You gave me your word back then. You said Adrina would be mine.”
Spencer’s gaze sharpened into a squint.
“Indeed. You claimed you wanted to extract a debt from her. Revenge for Adrian, was it not?”
As he studied Lev, the Count began to doubt that vengeance was the sole driver here. He looked the knight up and down with clinical detachment.
In truth, Lev had no standing to demand retribution. His behavior, acting as though Adrian were his own flesh and blood, struck Spencer as a pathetic overreach of his station.
The Count had only entertained the knight’s proposal originally because he had been blinded by rage. In hindsight, it was a rash agreement, but at the time, his world had been falling apart.
He had been exiled from Ionad for his stance against foreign subsidies—specifically the massive wealth being funneled into Thuringen, a kingdom that was a constant thorn in Grimaldi’s side—and then his son had perished. The blows had landed all at once. Society had looked for a scapegoat, and they found one in Adrina. Spencer had been no different.
He had required a target for his fury, and since she was merely a girl, it seemed only right she pay the price for outliving her brother.
However, that did not mean Lev Zid was her superior.
“Adrina has fled,” Spencer noted.
“And?”
“Should she not be retrieved?”
“For what purpose?”
“That is…”
“I recall the promise,” the Count interrupted. “I said I would give her to you. But I believe there were terms attached.”
He leaned in slightly.
“You had to prove your worth.”
Spencer mentally tallied Lev’s recent failures. The man had successfully molded Adrina into the likeness of a male knight, and his role in her martial development was undeniable. Yet, Spencer knew it wasn’t just the teaching.
“She is the child you cast aside.”
The thought surfaced unbidden. His daughter had clearly inherited the family’s natural talent. She had mastered the blade, foolishly shared that knowledge with a stranger, and then watched as that student bested her own teacher. That prowess was a mark of his own blood.
“If you can actually find her and take her back, I might consider honoring the deal,” Spencer said, his voice laced with skepticism. “Do you honestly believe you are capable?”
“I am certain—”
“You were defeated by Gallardo. You let my daughter escape your sight. And now you expect me to believe you can snatch her from the Duke of Woodpecker?”
“I will bring her back.”
“I find that hard to credit.”
Lev had exhausted his credibility. A man who had practiced the Grimaldi style for a decade had been toppled by Roy Gallardo, a man who had glimpsed the technique for a few days at most. It made Spencer wonder if Lev was mediocre or if the Grimaldi style was simply so potent that even a novice could win with it. Besides, there was no legal lever to pull. How could he possibly extract her from the South?
She had discarded her heritage and taken the name Dean.
“Try if you must. But do not expect my assistance, Sir.”
Spencer doubted she would go quietly even if a miracle occurred. He still intended to bring her back to the fold eventually, but he was still weighing the most effective strategy. Ultimately, Spencer’s goal was singular: the preservation of the Grimaldi line.
He needed a successor. A flawess,
“Should you fail,” the Count added.
perfect male heir.
“The consequences will rest solely on your shoulders.”
A muffled snort erupted from the shadows nearby—the sound of someone failing to suppress a laugh. Lev’s hand flew to his sword hilt as he spun toward the noise. Spencer, however, remained calm.
“Your Highness,” he called out.
He had spent enough time around the man to recognize his presence from a single breath. Moreover, in the Crown Prince’s own residence, there were few other candidates.
“My apologies, Count,” Claude said, sitting up. He draped his arms over the back of a sofa, peering over the cushions at the two men.
Had Lev not blocked the Count’s path, they would have been seated, and Claude’s hiding spot would have been discovered immediately.
“You’re losing your edge, Spencer. You didn’t even notice someone else was in the room.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Spencer asked, refastening his collar.
“I was merely relaxing. I used to frequent this room for my own amusements before I assigned it to you. It’s one of the finer chambers, you know.”
Spencer felt a wave of revulsion. He could easily imagine the “amusements” the Prince referred to. He was suddenly glad he hadn’t sat down.
“I could not dream of occupying a space so dear to Your Highness. I would prefer a different room, if it’s all the same.”
“A simple request to grant,” Claude said easily. “Regardless, that was a fascinating chat you two were having.”
Claude shifted his focus to Lev. “Was the prize of this bargain Adrina Grimaldi?” When the room stayed silent, Claude’s grin widened, confirming his suspicion. He looked at the knight with a predatory glint in his eye.
“Tell me, Sir Knight. If I provided a more tempting reward, would you switch your allegiance to me?”
“…I beg your pardon?” Lev stammered.
The knight couldn’t conceive of a better offer. What could the Prince give? A higher rank? Lev was a soldier; titles without land or a powerful patron were nothing but empty words.
But Adrina was different.
“No. My blade belongs to the House of Grimaldi.”
It was a hollow sentiment. Knights abandoned their lords for better prospects every day, hiding their opportunism behind the thin veil of formal resignations.
Claude watched Lev’s immediate, desperate refusal and reached a conclusion.
“Your heart is set on Adrina, then.”
“……”
“You have feelings for her.”
Spencer’s head whipped toward the knight. Claude reached out and playfully poked the Count’s arm. “See that, Count? Your man is in love with Adrina.”
“I am not.”
Lev’s eyes darted around the room, frantic and unstable, before he finally found his voice.
“I despise her.”
His words shook with a hidden tremor.
“Because of her, Adrian—”
“That will do.”
Spencer cut him off. He didn’t care about the internal turmoil of a subordinate. Lev was a pawn, and a currently useless one at that.
“Leave us.”
The Count had more pressing matters to discuss with the Prince.
“Your Excellency, please—”
“I said leave, Sir.”
Lev’s hands balled into white-knuckled fists before he forced them to relax. He was surrounded by his superiors, men he was sworn to obey. He had no standing to argue. He turned to go, but the resentment on his face was impossible to mask.
Claude let out a sharp whistle as he watched the knight retreat. “A bit of a rebel, isn’t he?” Breaking people like that was Claude’s favorite pastime. As he considered how he might eventually break the knight to his own will, Spencer spoke up.
“Your Highness.” Claude looked back at him.
“Are we truly alone?”
“The others were dismissed. Only I heard your little negotiation.” Claude gestured toward the exit. “But you should keep a tighter leash on that one.”
He nodded toward the hallway where Lev had vanished.
“His eyes are drowning in obsession.”
If he wasn’t controlled, the man was a walking disaster.
