Chapter 124
The Courtroom sat in the most secluded reaches of the palace, a dual-purpose chamber designed for passing legislation and hosting high-stakes trials. In the absence of legal proceedings, the space transformed into a grand assembly hall. A massive table stretched across the center for the primary participants, while tiered seating rose along the perimeter to accommodate the various observers.
At the central table, the Judicial Nobles took their places, encircled by a flurry of busy scribes.
Claude appeared to be in exceptionally high spirits. It was hard to say if his radiant mood stemmed from the end of his house arrest or simply the pleasant weather, but his presence was undeniable. He had dressed with more flair than usual, his attire so striking that it would have outshone even the King. He was easily the most conspicuous person in the room.
Duke Woodpecker sat right beside him. With his vivid, natural hair and sharp features, the Duke commanded attention even when he remained perfectly motionless. His choice of understated clothing only served to highlight his natural handsomeness.
Given the royal blood in his veins, those who hadn’t realized the Duke was on good terms with the Crown Prince kept casting curious looks their way. It seemed the bond between the two cousins was far stronger than the rumors had suggested.
Because Julius Woodpecker had only arrived in Ionad for this concluding week of the Council, few had managed to forge a real connection with him. Most of the nobility remained skeptical of him; regardless of his high standing, they viewed his physical condition as a significant liability.
Claude Dalcatir was always positioned next to the Duke, a man most others were too intimidated to approach. While people once assumed Claude was there to monitor a potential rival, his constant smiles suggested a genuine familial warmth. The observers were beginning to realize they had misjudged the situation.
Indeed, Claude was feeling triumphant.
“How has life been treating you?” Claude inquired.
Yuls gave him a fleeting look before returning his gaze to the front of the hall.
“I’ve been dying of boredom.”
The Duke had been overwhelmed by a relentless wave of social invitations and a mountain of administrative tasks. This year was a sharp contrast to the last. Previously, he had avoided social obligations entirely, finishing his work early enough to tour his own lands. Now, he was swamped. To make matters worse, he was still trying to determine if Lev Zid’s departure was truly permanent.
Lev had vanished from Ionad forty-eight hours after their confrontation. His destination remained a blank. He certainly hadn’t returned to the Grimaldi lands. It made Yuls wonder if the Count had truly severed ties with the man.
If positions were reversed, Yuls wouldn’t have discarded such a talent. Lev was a knight he had trained with precision; Yuls would have simply tucked him away for future use. While a total exile was the best possible outcome for Yuls, he had expected the knight to just go into hiding. The fact that the man had completely disappeared was genuinely startling.
“Well, the end is in sight,” Claude noted. “Just a few more days of misery, and then you’ve got nothing left but the closing ball.”
Yuls let out a dry, mocking sound. “I couldn’t care less about a dance.”
“I, on the other hand, care deeply.”
Yuls shifted to look at his cousin.
“There are specific guests who only make an appearance at the very end,” Claude explained.
“Isn’t the debutante season in the winter?”
“Please,” Claude scoffed. “I have no interest in those unseasoned girls. I’ve always preferred the company of married women.”
Yuls met this with a stony silence.
“But more to the point,” Claude continued, “Lea Lintu—actually, I should call her Connolly now.”
The name felt wrong on his tongue. Lea Connolly didn’t fit the girl at all. Claude was certain that this adoption would bring her no real benefits, making her new status a hollow gesture. In the past, he might have felt some sympathy for her situation.
“Word is she’s been training hard for her entry. They say Marchioness Connolly is due in Ionad any day now.”
His perspective had shifted. The Marchioness, who had once been a neutral party, had essentially thrown Claude to the wolves. He felt no need to show her mercy now, and he certainly wasn’t going to stick his neck out for the pitiable Lea Connolly.
“Where are you picking up this gossip while under lock and key?” Yuls asked.
“The walls have ears and eyes.”
“I suspect your ‘walls’ are actually people walking around on two legs,” Yuls countered, scanning the room. The nobles who had been staring quickly looked away. “So, the Marchioness is returning? Even with the Count present?”
“She’s a veteran of the court; she knows him well. She likely expects him to skip the final day, as he usually does.”
“He might break tradition this year.”
“I suspect you’re right,” Claude conceded.
Claude found himself agreeing with Yuls. It was highly probable the Count would show up, if only for his daughter’s sake. The fact that Spencer Grimaldi had cut Lev loose suggested he was weighing his options and perhaps leaning toward Yuls. The Count was a man who valued traditional lineage above all else.
Claude’s expression soured. He wondered if bloodlines were the true reason the Count had overlooked him, or if the talk of a curse was just a convenient screen. Regardless, Claude had his own preferences.
“It would be nice if the Countess made an appearance.”
“Which one are you talking about?”
“Forget it. Honestly, shouldn’t the Marchioness be more terrified of me than the Count? I was the one who suffered because of her. I was sidelined right when I needed to be securing my base.”
Despite his isolation, Claude had somehow managed to gather the most significant following.
“She definitely should fear you,” Yuls agreed, “considering you took the brunt of the blow. But you aren’t going to move against her yet, are you?”
The Marchioness likely banked on that. She knew Claude wasn’t the type for impulsive or petty retaliation.
“There’s no rush for vengeance,” Claude said.
He knew the most effective strikes happened after the target had stopped looking over their shoulder. The best time to strike was when they felt safe, believing the danger had passed. Claude laughed at the thought, but his expression quickly darkened.
“Dammit…”
He realized he was thinking exactly like the Count. It seemed he had picked up the man’s habits through sheer exposure. His mood ruined, Claude grumbled under his breath.
“When the crown is mine, the Connollys won’t be allowed within miles of Ionad.”
“Their power base is Pallesa Palace anyway,” Yuls reminded him.
“Then I’ll ensure they never cross the threshold of that palace.”
“Pallesa in the winter? It’s still warmer than here.”
“The temperature isn’t the point,” Claude snapped. “I’m talking about cutting off their access to the center of power.”
“To me, the temperature is everything,” Yuls muttered. “I loathe the winter season.”
It was an odd trait; Yuls looked like a man who could handle any hardship, yet he was surprisingly vulnerable to the cold—a true son of the South. Claude just sighed.
“Fine, whatever. Forget the winter balls and the debutantes. What’s your plan?”
“Regarding what?”
“The gala after the Council. Are you going to vanish back to your lands or stay?”
“I haven’t decided.”
Yuls didn’t care about the Connolly women’s schemes. However, he felt a twinge of regret. If Adrina hadn’t been born a twin, she would have been the one standing in that spotlight.
Yet, there was a dark satisfaction in the current situation. Because of her status, he could keep her entirely to himself. He was torn between the desire to hide her away and the impulse to show her to the world. He tightened his fist, then slowly let it go.
“What’s on your mind?”
“I was thinking about making a public declaration.”
A strange, heavy energy had existed between him and Adrina lately. She seemed unable to define it, acting like a cautious cat—keeping her distance one moment and then drifting closer the next. She watched him with constant vigilance, only to sneak to his side the moment he seemed occupied.
He found it incredibly endearing.
Yuls chuckled softly. If she still carried the Grimaldi name, he would have claimed her openly by now. But as things stood, it was complicated. Bert was a noble whose title ended with him, meaning the name Dean carried little weight. Even though Adi was a knight, the world still saw her as a commoner. She would never be accepted as a Lady.
The gossips would have a field day, digging up old stories and claiming he shared the Woodpecker family’s taste for “exotic” or lower-status partners.
“Declare what?” Claude pushed.
“It’s nothing.”
The issue of status remained, but Yuls knew there were ways around such things.
“It’s likely too early anyway,” Yuls added.
“I asked you, declare what?”
Claude was persistent, wondering if this involved the upcoming legislation. As he shuffled his notes, the scribes suddenly became frantic. A head chamberlain emerged from the crowd.
A heavy, commanding presence filled the hallway even before he entered.
“His Majesty is here,” the official shouted.
Every noble stood in unison as the doors were thrown open. The King walked in, flanked by his elite guard. He scanned the room, noting that every single seat was filled for the occasion.
“Be seated,” the King commanded.
The final week had begun. This was the most vital stretch of the entire Council.
Fire moved with the fluidity of a river. The flames poured down the hillside like a glowing tide, consuming everything in their path.
The woods were filled with the frantic sounds of animals trying to escape, followed by the sickening silence of those who failed. A lone woodpecker struggled behind its flock, its wings beating uselessly against the air as it tumbled toward the ground. The orange glow of the inferno was mirrored in its panicked eyes.
Suddenly, a pair of hands reached out and caught the bird.
“Roy!”
A rider thundered toward him on horseback.
“Get up here!”
Roy tucked the bird into his tunic and leaped onto the horse in one fluid motion.
“What about the magic support?”
“They’re on their way!”
Roy looked back at the devastation, his expression filled with dread. How had a disaster of this scale even started?
The Oak Forest was being swallowed by flames.
