Chapter 119
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The sudden physical transformation of Julius Woodpecker left everyone stunned, though a heavy silence reigned regarding the matter. Gossip had been simmering for some time, and pointing out the shift in person would have been a grave breach of palace decorum.
Under different circumstances, his current stature would have been considered standard for his years. The sense of wrongness stemmed from the long-held assumption that the Duke was destined to remain small. Theories of a hex were common, while others pointed to his maternal lineage—though in their eyes, being born of a Witch was a malediction in itself.
His presence had always inspired a mix of wariness and avoidance, but Yuls had never projected an aura quite this daunting before.
The unease was fueled by the Duke’s apparent high spirits.
He seemed to have secured some invisible leverage, though the specifics remained hidden. The political tides weren’t entirely in his favor, yet observers couldn’t help but recall yesterday’s private meal between the Woodpecker and Connolly houses. Suspicion grew that a formal alliance had been forged behind closed doors.
“Because of these factors, I am convinced Dalkatir requires a designated trade hub, much like Peillasode.”
Macauliffe took the floor, describing the evolution of Peillasode from a minor coastal village into a sprawling urban center that dominated its neighbors.
He spoke with fervor about Tuberosa’s strategy for western expansion and investment, noting that the region had once been as underdeveloped as Dalkatir’s frontier. Macauliffe emphasized that his own roots in eastern Tuberosa gave him a unique perspective on such growth. He argued that while the proposed area lacked a deep cultural legacy, its potential was unmatched. The veteran lords of Dalkatir, however, were far from convinced.
“That success belongs to a different era. Surely those conditions no longer apply?”
“The fiscal side is equally troubling. You propose a period of tax immunity, but how is the crown supposed to function without that revenue?”
“It isn’t a simple matter of losing income,” Macauliffe countered. “Establishing a Special Economic Zone creates a magnet for global trade and capital. We would offer temporary tax breaks on the profits of the elite and the merchants who fund the city’s growth. This initiative would circulate stagnant wealth and breathe life into the provincial economy.”
“Investors are not so easily swayed. And where would this happen? Long-term gains are fine, but the immediate burden would be massive. Who would volunteer their lands for such a risk? Besides, a trading hub needs a harbor. Perhaps coming from Dunbar has clouded your view, but Dalkatir is not known for its naval prowess.”
A few nobles murmured in agreement, while others scoffed at Macauliffe’s perceived ignorance. The implication was sharp: a local lord might understand the kingdom’s nuances, but what could a foreigner from the East truly grasp?
“That is precisely my point.”
Macauliffe paused for effect.
“I am proposing we utilize a city within the Woodpecker holdings. It is a location that presents no financial hurdles, possesses the right geography, and carries the necessary prestige.”
Yuls shifted his gaze toward the speaker just as Macauliffe offered him a knowing smile. Every eye in the chamber darted toward the Duke. Yuls remained unreadable, his face a mask of calm that could have been interpreted as either satisfaction or cold indifference.
People wondered if this had been orchestrated beforehand or if Macauliffe was acting on his own.
Many assumed it was a done deal. They concluded the Duke’s upbeat mood wasn’t just about the Connollys; he wouldn’t look that pleased over a minor social victory.
Macauliffe’s public declaration made one thing clear: he had thrown his lot in with the South. The chilling thought that Woodpecker was poised to dominate everything began to spread through the room.
From another perspective, however, it seemed clear:
“What is your stance, Your Grace?”
Joining forces with the Duke was the only logical path forward.
*
Elsewhere, Adrina was wrestling with a wave of regret over her behavior the previous evening.
She felt foolish for wasting her hard-won favor on a demand that he avoid dining with other women. Though she rarely dwelt on the past and usually focused on fixing her mistakes, she found herself wishing she could undo that specific moment.
Perhaps the darkness of the night had simply made her overly sensitive. As she sat with her head in her hands, a shadow fell across her.
“Adrina.”
Two palace guards stood before her. These were men who usually ignored her existence unless a direct order required a few brief words. Seeing both of them approaching her with such purpose was unsettling. They stared at her with total resolve.
“We need a moment of your time.”
“Is this for me?”
“Correct.”
“Then speak,” Adi said.
The guards scanned the area, their eyes searching for someone specific in the distance. Adi followed their gaze. The palace was always teeming with staff and soldiers, but today the density of armed men seemed strangely high.
“A more private setting would be appropriate.”
“Is there a reason we can’t speak here?”
“Well…”
“If it’s a secret, I’m not interested in hearing it.”
“……”
The two men exchanged a significant look, and Adi didn’t miss the silent communication.
She wasn’t wearing her primary blade during her downtime, but she had a dagger strapped to her leg. Her fingers brushed the hilt. The guards mirrored the movement, reaching for their own weapons. They were carrying longswords, which put her at a distinct disadvantage.
“Please cooperate while we are still being polite.”
Against one, she might have stood a chance. Against two, and with more hidden eyes watching from the wings, it was a losing battle. No one in Ionad would step in to help a commoner girl, even if they served the Duke. Their loyalties were complicated. Adi slowly pulled her hand away from her belt and held up her palms in surrender.
“Fine. Lead the way.”
She knew only one person would use such blunt force to get her attention: Lev. The Count or the Prince would have at least maintained the illusion of grace.
“If that was your version of being polite, I’d hate to see you being rude,” Adi remarked. The guards offered no reply.
“Is this because of my status? Do you enjoy bullying commoners?”
“Just keep moving and stay quiet.”
“And if I refuse?”
She continued to needle them with complaints the entire way.
They led her down an unfamiliar path, away from the grander sections of the palace toward a cluster of functional, weathered buildings. These were the low-level quarters for servants and trainees.
The structures were noticeably dilapidated compared to the elite barracks. The sight was nostalgic for Adi; put enough young men in one place and things inevitably got broken. It was a universal truth of military life, from Pallesa to the training halls.
Any fine decorations had long since been destroyed, leaving the architecture bare and utilitarian. It was a tradition of destruction that spanned generations.
They entered the courtyard, where the guards stopped and gestured for her to continue alone.
A familiar figure waited in the shadows of a nearby walkway. Lev stood up as she approached, stepping out into the sunlight. His features were sharp and clear in the midday heat.
As she expected, it was him.
“Next time you want to talk, walk over and find me yourself,” Adi snapped.
Lev winced, looking as if he were swallowing a sharp retort. He moved toward her, and for a second, she thought he might strike her. Instead, he reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear with surprising gentleness. The touch made her skin crawl. She stared at him as if he had lost his mind, but Lev spoke before she could lash out.
“It is time to go back.”
“You’re insane.”
“We have to leave.”
“I am going nowhere with you.”
“We aren’t going to Grimaldi,” Lev clarified.
“No?”
“We are going back to Adrian.”
The mention of that name caught her off guard. Adi searched Lev’s face, a nagging suspicion finally beginning to take shape in her mind.
“Let’s both return to Adrian,” he repeated.
She had always interpreted Lev’s hostility as pure hatred, but there was a pattern to his obsession that felt hauntingly familiar. It was the same way she acted toward the Duke. Seeing her own reflection in his desperation made her realize the truth.
“You…”
The thought seemed impossible.
“Don’t tell me.”
There was no way a man like him felt that way.
“Were you actually in love with Adrian?”
The words left her mouth before she could stop them, followed quickly by another thought.
“Or is this about me? Do you actually have feelings for me?”
