Chapter 103
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Claude felt certain about that much. His own history of stirring up trouble allowed him to recognize the same spark in others instantly. The only real distinction between himself and those people was the weight of their titles.
As the heir to the throne, Claude possessed a unique immunity. No one would ever truly dare to hold the Crown Prince accountable for his antics.
A playful smirk had been dancing on Claude’s lips, but his features suddenly set into a hard line as he observed the man entering the room.
“Count, a visitor has arrived for you.”
A youthful chief steward announced the newcomer from the doorway. In the hall behind him, a dark outline was visible.
“Shouldn’t you be heading back as well, Your Highness?” Spencer Grimaldi inquired.
“I think not. It feels like things are about to get very interesting, and I wouldn’t want to miss it.”
Claude kept his eyes fixed on the noblewoman who was now entering, flanked by four senior maids. Back at Pallesa Palace, her retinue was usually much larger, but the protocol of the Ionad royal residence dictated more modesty. She was forbidden from outshining the Queen or the Princess in her number of attendants. Nevertheless, she remained one of the few high-born women entitled to such a large personal staff.
“Isn’t that the case, Marchioness?”
Claude directed his attention toward Marchioness Connolly.
“Your Highness,” she acknowledged with a shallow, respectful dip of her head. Then she turned her gaze. “And Count.”
“To what do I owe this visit, Marchioness?”
“I couldn’t depart without clarifying a specific matter,” she stated.
The Count signaled for her to step further into the room. As Marchioness Connolly walked inside, her maids remained in the hall. Claude watched with growing curiosity as the heavy door swung shut with a soft click.
“Count. You,” she began, the words leaving her mouth before the latch had even settled. “Your daughter is alive, isn’t she?”
There it was. She had pieced the puzzle together. Claude wasn’t entirely surprised; he had suspected she knew something ever since she brought up the Malvina name during the gala. He cast a look of mock concern toward the Count.
“Adrina Dean.”
Spencer Grimaldi didn’t even flinch. He met her accusation with a face of total stone.
“She is the spitting image of Yvette Malvina.”
The Marchioness ground her teeth, incensed by his calm demeanor.
“That explains why you were so quick to write off your son, Count.”
While Spencer did his best to keep his mask from slipping, Marchioness Connolly was a veteran of decades of social warfare. She was an expert at reading the tiny fractures in a person’s composure. She let out a sharp, mocking laugh.
“Tell me, when did you manage to buy Bert Dean’s loyalty?”
For a fleeting second, Spencer’s eyes tightened, but then a smile began to play at the corners of his mouth. It was clear to him that she had reached the wrong conclusion.
Claude was also watching her, fascinated by the spectacle. She was completely off the mark. He wondered how she had made such a leap in logic, though he had to admit—did Adrina truly resemble the Countess so perfectly that her lineage was written on her face?
He thought of the elder Countess Grimaldi, a woman of striking beauty. Adrina was simply a younger version of her mother. To be honest, Claude found the mother’s sophisticated charm more to his liking than the daughter’s. It would be a delight if she ever returned to the capital’s social circles.
As he stood there lost in his own appreciative thoughts, the Marchioness suddenly snapped her head toward him. Claude just gave her a wide, cheeky grin. Her eyes were burning with a demand to know if he was part of this conspiracy.
“I assure you, I am hearing this for the very first time,” Claude lied smoothly.
She glared at him with such intensity it felt like she was trying to run him through with her gaze.
“So, Count, your girl is still among the living? Is it wise to speak of such things while I am in the room?”
She didn’t believe for a second that Claude was in the dark. The Count was pushing for Claude to take the crown. To ensure the prince didn’t turn out like the current monarch, the Count would need to bind him with secrets. Sharing a vulnerability was the most effective way to forge an unbreakable bond, as a shared secret is no longer a threat.
What caught her off guard was the revelation that the girl was hiding in Woodpecker.
Was the private funeral just a setup for this? Why bother with a fake death at all? Had this plan been in motion for years? And when had she been sent south? How had they secured Bert’s cooperation?
She remembered the whispers at Pallesa Palace about the Duke and the Count’s son. Had the daughter been sent because the Duke had a preference for the brother’s features? Was the post in the Escort Knight Division just a cover? Perhaps she was there as a secret lover to ensure a blood tie between the families. If that were true, Woodpecker and Grimaldi were already deep in an alliance.
“Has my own nephew turned against me?”
She searched for a motive. The Count was backing Claude. Was the Duke doing the same? Had Luigi’s cause been doomed from the start?
If she had foreseen this, she would have left him in Konya. A wave of bitter regret washed over her. She had made a catastrophic error in judgment, and she was realizing it far too late.
“Who can say?” the Count replied.
The Marchioness looked at him, thinking he was a cunning old predator.
“I have no knowledge of these things,” he continued.
If they hadn’t been baited into this, Luigi wouldn’t have met such a tragic end. She should have waited for a more stable moment to bring him back.
“My daughter rests in a grave in Grimaldi, and my son’s body is in Pallesa Palace. Is that not the truth?”
Hearing Spencer Grimaldi lie so brazenly without even a blink made the Marchioness let out a dry, hollow laugh.
“Do you really expect me to buy that? Not when Yvette Malvina’s double is walking the halls of this palace right now!”
“My spouse is currently at our estate in Grimaldi, focusing on her health and the administration of our lands. I have no idea what you’re talking about regarding her face being seen elsewhere.”
“Count—”
“Are you departing for Pallesa Palace today?” he interrupted.
She remained silent.
“I sincerely hope you have a safe journey. A very safe one.”
Spencer’s eyes raked over her, starting at her feet and slowly climbing back up to her face. It was a cold, predatory look that made her feel like a snake was coiling around her lungs.
“Have a pleasant trip, Marchioness,” he finished.
She gripped her skirts until her knuckles turned white. The message was unmistakable: if she didn’t leave immediately, he would make sure she never left at all.
*
The Duke made his return just as Bert and Adi were switching their guard duties. The capital’s nobility were locked in sessions from dawn until late at night, and any gaps were filled by exhausting, formal banquets. He had been forced to eat with the Council, the Elders, and the royals.
Joel, who had been at Yuls’s side, looked like he was about to collapse from fatigue. While the stewards could rotate their duties, the Duke had to endure the entire marathon.
Dimitri fetched a glass of water for Yuls, who had slumped onto the couch in a state of total burnout. It was a rare sight to see him look so drained. Even as Bert gave his daily briefing, Adi found her eyes drifting toward Yuls. Bert noticed her concern and followed her gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly.
He noted that the two seemed to have developed a surprisingly genuine bond.
“My Lord.”
Billy stepped forward, and Yuls opened his eyes. He happened to catch Adi watching him and gave her a faint, tired smile before standing up to address Dimitri. “Tristan Delbek is arriving in three mornings. See that everything is ready for him.”
“We will also need to call up more staff from the territory.”
Yuls realized that following the formal protocols of the court required far more people than he was used to. He usually avoided these long-drawn-out events.
“Bert, I’ll need you with me as well.”
With that, Yuls began walking toward the inner hallway. Adi stood still, her eyes following him.
“It would be wise to have Gavin here,” Yuls added. “With so many people arriving from Pallesa Palace, we should use his network to keep an eye on things.”
Billy took the Duke’s outer coat. Now in just a thin shirt, Yuls began to gather his long hair. Billy stepped in to tie it back. While pinning it up was more traditional, Billy kept it in a loose tie to avoid making the Duke look too feminine, working carefully to stay out of the way of Yuls’s movements.
“Should we delegate the estate business to Werner then?”
“Yes. Inform him he’ll need to handle the heavy lifting for a while.”
“I’ll draft the letter immediately,” Dimitri said. “I’ll include any other staff we might need.”
“Let Gavin choose his own team. He has a good eye for talent.”
Dimitri acknowledged the order, then added, “By the way, My Lord.”
“Sir Lev Zid was here looking for us earlier.”
Billy, who had been fixing Yuls’s clothes, stopped and stepped back. Yuls went rigid. Sensing the sudden drop in temperature, Billy moved even further away from the Duke.
“Who did you say?”
“Sir Lev Zid, My Lord.”
“What was his business?”
“I’m not entirely sure. He pulled Adrina aside for a private talk, but…”
Seeing the dark look on Yuls’s face, Dimitri hurried to finish.
“I went after them to keep watch. But the meeting was over by the time I caught up, so I didn’t hear what they discussed.”
Yuls felt certain it wasn’t a pleasant conversation. Lev had never looked at Adi with anything resembling kindness. Adi might have been oblivious to it, but Yuls saw it clearly—that look was fueled by something much sharper than simple dislike.
“My Lord, if I may make a suggestion.”
Dimitri’s voice broke through Yuls’s dark thoughts.
“Would it be acceptable if I began teaching Adrina the proper etiquette of the court and the manners expected of a noblewoman?”
Yuls looked at him, surprised by the request. He hadn’t even considered it. Adrina was a capable knight, but she was undeniably lacking when it came to social graces. Since Dimitri shared the Grimaldi name, he likely found her lack of polish embarrassing.
“I’ve already mentioned it to her, but I realized I hadn’t secured your approval first. I apologize for the oversight.”
“Go ahead and teach her. She’ll need it to survive the court, and it’s useful regardless.”
“Understood. I will make sure her conduct is beyond reproach,” Dimitri promised.
Billy, standing nearby, felt a sudden shudder. He looked at Adi with deep sympathy. The idea of her being subjected to the grueling lessons of a man as demanding as Dimitri was a truly pitiable prospect.
