Translator: Nox

Chapter 123

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The medical practitioner had tended to Lev’s injuries, but the massive inflammation on his face resisted any immediate cure. Once the sanguine streaks were wiped away, the true extent of the devastation became clear; his features were a ruined mess.

“My instructions were for you to operate within your own limits.”

Lev lifted his gaze to meet Spencer’s. The Count’s face was a mask of indifference, a common sight. It was the look of a man who viewed everyone else as fundamentally beneath him.

“Ultimately, you were unsuccessful.”

Spencer’s voice remained flat, devoid of any melodic rise or fall. Lev had been privy to the earlier exchange with the Duke, yet he found it hard to believe. After their long history, he hadn’t anticipated such coldness from the Count. He had nursed a quiet hope that the man might be orchestrating a subtle recovery behind the scenes. If he could just be granted one more opportunity to prove himself.

“Had you secured a victory, I would have had the leverage to claim the girl from the Duke as restitution.”

As Spencer spoke, Lev looked away, unable to maintain eye contact.

There was a distinct disadvantage to knowing someone for years: one became hyper-aware of the hidden meanings buried in their vocal nuances. To Lev’s ears, Spencer sounded like a man preparing to discard a broken tool. Panic rising, Lev blurted out, “Your Excellency.”

“We are obligated to provide compensation, so there is no alternative.”

The Count was swifter with his verdict. From the sidelines, Claude let out a sharp whistle, clearly finding the drama delightful. The Prince was notorious for his lack of empathy, but his current display of amusement felt particularly pointed.

Lev’s heart sank as the reality of his predicament took hold. He had initially dismissed the Duke’s threats as mere posturing, but the truth was now undeniable.

“Your service has been noted, Lev.”

Lev’s mouth hung open. He had never envisioned his journey ending in such a hollow fashion.

“You are to return to Grimaldi.”

“If I go back there…”

“I shall not prevent you from residing on the lands.”

The message was clear: he was no longer an employee of the house. Had Spencer intended to retain him in any other role, he wouldn’t have used the past tense regarding his labor.

Images of his life at the estate, spanning from his earliest childhood memories to the present, flickered through his mind. He had viewed the Grimaldis as his kin. Even without the legal right to their name, he had assumed his place beside them was eternal. He had expected to draw his final breath on that soil.

“This is unjust.”

He had been convinced that his own efforts would be woven into the fabric of their family’s legacy.

“Do you truly not recognize the depth of my devotion to Grimaldi over the decades?”

Spencer’s expression didn’t flicker at the outburst. He looked at Lev with a vacant stare that seemed to ask why any of that mattered now.

“I never requested such a sacrifice from you.”

Claude, who had been grinning at the spectacle, suddenly grew serious. The Prince was well aware of his own flaws, but Spencer’s brand of cruelty was different—it was an innate, oblivious coldness. It was as if the man lacked the biological capacity for warmth.

“Did I not give you the freedom to act as you saw fit?”

Lev wondered why, as a young boy, he had ever looked at this man and seen a better figure than his own father.

“The path was your choice, and the failure is yours alone. Why should I offer you sympathy for a mistake of your own making?”

“I gave everything to this house.”

“Then continue that devotion to Grimaldi from wherever you end up next.”

“……”

Lev’s face twisted in a grimace. He had spent his life practicing restraint in the Count’s presence, but his composure finally shattered. He couldn’t discern if the order to remain loyal from afar was a cruel jest or a genuine command. The Count stood up to leave.

“Be gone by morning.”

With that final decree, Spencer walked away. Lev watched his departure with a hollow gaze. Nearby, the clink of a porcelain cup signaled the Crown Prince enjoying his tea. The cruelty of the moment felt more vivid and painful than any nightmare.

He had stumbled once. It seemed impossible that a single lapse could erase his entire existence. Grimaldi was his world.

Lev’s chin hit his chest.

He didn’t weep, but he looked like a man whose very essence had been siphoned away. The silence was broken when Claude placed his cup back on the saucer. The sharp noise forced Lev to look up.

The Prince was beaming. The mocking curve of his mouth suggested he found Lev’s misery to be the height of comedy. Lev remained silent, knowing better than to challenge him. This was the man known throughout Ionad Palace for his sudden rages and unstable mind.

Lev had observed him since his arrival at court. He remembered a time when the Prince was more composed, but the current version of Claude Dalkatir was a chaotic enigma that no one dared to cross.

Lev struggled to his feet. The psychological blows dealt by the two royals felt far more agonizing than the physical punishment he had taken from Adi, yet he fought to keep his face neutral. He had only taken a few steps toward the exit when Claude called out. “Hey.”

Lev paused. That single word was all the Prince offered. The look on Claude’s face made it obvious he hadn’t bothered to remember Lev’s name. Indeed, the specific identity of the man meant nothing to him. After a brief pause, the Prince settled on a generic title. “Sir.” Lev bowed low in response.

“I am listening, Your Highness.”

“Should I take you in?”

The suggestion hit Lev like a physical shock. Claude’s permanent, eerie grin made it impossible to tell if he was being sincere or merely playing a game. He was famous for making grand promises and forgetting them seconds later. Under normal circumstances, Lev would have ignored the offer, but his desperation was a drowning weight. He found himself wanting to believe.

“Only joking.”

The flicker of hope died instantly.

“I have zero use for a man whose heart belongs to someone else.”

To remain loyal to a house that had just exiled him? Spencer Grimaldi’s arrogance was staggering, uttering things even a monarch might hesitate to say. The Count was utterly delusional, hiding his madness behind a veneer of sanity. To Claude, the Count was far more unhinged than he himself could ever be.

At least my behavior has a foundation. The Count is simply a void.

“Furthermore.”

Claude looked at him from the corner of his eye. Lev had the look of a man who had been plundered, but the Prince saw through it. The man was too consumed by his own desires to be a useful subordinate. That expression of loss was a lie; he had never truly possessed the things he craved. He had lusted after Adrina Grimaldi and now felt betrayed by a patriarch who had never viewed him as anything more than a stranger.

“My loyalties lie with Yuls.”

The very idea of a Viscount’s son pursuing the daughter of a Count was a fundamental error in logic. The only way such a thing worked was if he were a secret paramour after her marriage.

Every bit of this misery was self-inflicted, though Lev was blind to that fact. The Count shared that same blindness. Only Claude saw the situation for what it truly was.

“I do, however, know a man who might find a use for you.”

Lev’s focus narrowed on Claude’s mouth, waiting for the name to drop. The Prince didn’t prolong the suspense.

“Pasalis Macauliffe.”

The name resonated with Lev. He recalled the Count ordering a secret inquiry into that very man. He wasn’t sure what the investigators had uncovered, but he knew Spencer viewed Macauliffe as a threat to be monitored.

“His only metric is talent,” Claude explained. “Go find Macauliffe.”

If this results in both of them burning down together…

“Traveling all the way back to the northern border is a waste of your time, isn’t it? It’s much too far. I’ll send word to Macauliffe ahead of you, so your arrival won’t be a surprise.”

“Will he truly take me in?”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“Because of my ties to Grimaldi?”

“The man is incredibly well-informed. He’ll understand exactly why you’re available. Besides, he is known for his charitable nature.”

Claude’s face twisted as he said the word ‘charitable.’ It was a blatant lie. Macauliffe was the sort of predator who broke people down until they had no choice but to be subservient to him.

“Macauliffe is also a man who knows what it feels like to be cast aside. He’ll find your current state quite relatable.”

Lev bit down on his lip until the scabs broke, a fresh bead of red tracing a path down his chin. He blinked, ignoring the pain as a new fire lit in his eyes. Seeing that spark of resolve, Claude’s smile widened.

“Well then.”

It would be a masterpiece of irony if the Count’s own discarded weapon eventually found its way to his throat.

“I am in your debt, Your Highness.”

The mere thought of the impending chaos was intoxicating to the Prince.

“I shall carry this favor with me forever.”

*

The morning air was heavy and damp, a steady rain having begun before the sun rose. Steam curled off the surface of a fresh cup of tea like a ghostly fog. Claude hummed a soft melody as he sipped the brew provided by the lead servant. A moment later, a knock preceded the entrance of another attendant. The man carried a set of garments so opulent they practically shouted the wearer’s status. Claude rose, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

The period of the Crown Prince’s isolation had finally reached its end.

The grand assembly of the Council was drawing near.