Ch#153
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The afternoon sun lingered in the sky as Dimitri stood before a pair of young men, a duo of envelopes held in his grip. He distributed one to each messenger before issuing his instructions.
“Travel directly to your assigned locations. Do not deviate or pause for any reason.”
With grim determination etched on their features, the two men gave a sharp nod.
In various other corners of the estate, similar scenes played out. Pairs of envelopes were being handed over to other couriers by the rest of the senior staff. Bert, Gavin, Billy, and Ivan were all overseeing the same coordinated dispatch.
Adi observed Dimitri’s movements from her vantage point by the window. From the Drawing room where Yuls remained seated, she had an unobstructed view of the courtyard. Dimitri glanced upward, his eyes meeting Adi’s for a fleeting second, and he gave a brisk, professional nod.
“The messengers have departed, Your Excellency,” Adi announced.
Yuls was occupied with a pristine, snow-white bird resting on his hand. He stroked its beak gently before responding.
“Excellent. Now we simply allow a few days to pass.”
The paths of these various couriers were largely parallel. One contingent was bound for Ionad, while the others made for Pallesa Palace. Despite the scale of the operation, the specific text within the missives and the identities of the intended recipients were kept in the dark. It was equally unclear why the Duke required so many different hands to carry out the task.
“Now, Adi.”
She shifted her attention back toward Yuls.
“I have a request for you, my guard.”
He phrased it as a favor rather than a mandate. It was a habit of his, despite the fact that his status meant he never truly had to ask for anything.
“I am at your disposal,” she replied.
He acted as though her personal inclination mattered in the choice.
“Whatever Your Excellency requires.”
“Give me a smile.”
“…I beg your pardon?”
“Smile for me, Adi.”
*
The southern climate was a stark improvement over the biting cold of the North. Through the open casement, the melody of birdsong traveled on the breeze. The oppressive heat of the day had vanished, replaced by a cooling wind that should have put anyone at ease, yet Macauliffe remained in a state of simmering irritation.
Standard etiquette for a visiting noble usually involved a grand welcoming feast. Macauliffe had arrived expecting to be the center of such festivities.
Upon his initial arrival at the Woodpecker lands, he was informed that the Duke’s private affairs prevented an immediate banquet. At the time, Macauliffe had been charitable. He was aware of the rumors regarding the Duke’s harrowing experience in Grimaldi. Even though the Duke appeared healthy during their brief encounter, Macauliffe knew that such whispers usually held a grain of truth, so he accepted the delay.
However, the Duke failed to appear at the Luncheon the following afternoon as well.
It wasn’t that the hospitality was lacking. The Duke simply refused to show his face. The accommodations and service were so extravagant that Macauliffe couldn’t technically claim he was being mistreated, yet the underlying sense of cold apathy was impossible to ignore.
The Viscount found himself with no recourse. It was only after four days had slipped by that the true vulnerability of his position began to sink in.
Macauliffe and his followers were effectively stranded in a golden cage. Because the treatment was so high-end, voicing a grievance felt impossible. He had attempted to secure a meeting through the head chamberlains, only to be told repeatedly that the Duke was still in recovery. This sounded like a blatant lie, considering the healthy man Macauliffe had seen earlier. It felt less like a medical necessity and more like a calculated insult.
It was a subtle snub—just enough to be felt without being overt.
Caught in this limbo, Macauliffe’s camp debated their next move.
“Trying to get back into his good graces is likely a lost cause at this point,” Macauliffe remarked.
A servant nearby nodded in agreement.
“It makes little sense that the Duke requested your presence only to ignore you,” the man said. His tone was formal, yet he lacked any real reverence for the Viscount.
“It is equally strange that he has done nothing since we got here.”
“The kindness he shows is entirely on the surface,” a knight added. They were living in luxury, yet a sense of unease permeated their stay. They couldn’t quite name the problem, but the feeling of being pushed to the periphery was undeniable.
“His motives are a complete mystery,” Macauliffe grumbled.
“What is he trying to achieve?”
“Whatever the goal, staying here at his beck and call seems pointless. Perhaps we should depart ahead of schedule,” the head chamberlain proposed.
Macauliffe looked thoughtful, nodding at the suggestion. At that moment, a bird landed on the windowsill. It watched Macauliffe with an unnerving silence for a few seconds before taking flight again.
The next morning, just as Macauliffe prepared to announce his exit, a chamberlain arrived with a message. The Duke requested a meeting in the estate’s greenhouse and asked for a preferred time.
It appeared his theory about being intentionally stalled was correct. Macauliffe set the meeting for just before the noon meal. The servant promised to coordinate and withdrew. When the hour arrived, a different chamberlain came to lead the way. Ivan, he believed the man was called. There was something about the servant’s manner that Macauliffe found inexplicably annoying.
“His Excellency is waiting for you inside,” Ivan said.
Macauliffe hadn’t realized the estate possessed such a structure. It wasn’t a mere annex but a massive, freestanding glass house. The interior was a jungle of flora, though the paths beneath his feet were polished marble rather than soil.
Toward the center of the greenery, he spotted a domestic setup: a desk, sofas, and a table. The Duke was seated at the desk, looking up as Macauliffe approached. Yuls offered a smile and rose to his feet.
“Viscount.”
“Your Excellency.”
Macauliffe offered a greeting as he drew near. Yuls sat at the head of the sofa arrangement and gestured for Macauliffe to join him. The Viscount sat, feeling out of place. The sheer volume of plant life was overwhelming; he felt as though the excess oxygen was actually making it harder to breathe. Nature was supposed to be calming, but here, he felt as if the leaves themselves were watching him.
“Please accept my apologies. My hosting duties were delayed by some unfortunate events,” Yuls said.
“Think nothing of it, Your Excellency.”
“I am grateful for your patience.”
Yuls signaled to a chamberlain, who brought out a bottle of wine and two glasses. Macauliffe was surprised; he had expected a formal discussion, not a drink.
“You are likely aware that my recent trip to Grimaldi involved some unpleasantness,” Yuls remarked, propping his chin on his hand. His expression was a complex mask of wariness and interest. Before Macauliffe could even process the opening, the Duke hit him with a direct accusation.
“I have heard a rumor that you have formed an alliance with Count Grimaldi, Viscount.”
“I don’t know what you mean…”
“Are you acquainted with Lev Zid?”
Macauliffe knew the name well. He had given the man sanctuary, though for his own reasons.
“There are whispers that one of the Count’s inner circle has sought refuge with you.”
“I cannot imagine who would invent such a story,” Macauliffe countered.
“Claude,” Yuls stated, watching for a reaction. For a fleeting instant, the Viscount’s face tightened before he regained his composure.
“If the Crown Prince himself made the claim, what then?”
“……”
“Tell me.”
Yuls leaned in, staring at the silent man. “You wouldn’t happen to be part of this, would you?”
Macauliffe forced a relaxed grin. “That is absolutely not the case, Your Excellency.”
“I see. I suppose it isn’t.”
The Duke’s voice still carried a hint of skepticism, but Macauliffe maintained his facade of innocence. He tried to look as harmless as possible, as if he were incapable of betrayal.
The act seemed to work. After a long silence, Yuls asked, “Would you care for a drink?”
Without waiting for a response, the chamberlain pulled the cork with a distinct pop. Yuls didn’t even glance at the bottle.
A liquid so dark it was nearly black was poured into the crystal. The servant handed a glass to the Duke and then to Macauliffe.
“I intend to host a proper banquet for you soon. It will take some preparation, as I plan to invite the southern nobility,” Yuls said, lifting his glass.
“Since the free trade city is already a reality, we should ensure the transition works in our favor.”
Macauliffe followed suit, raising his own glass.
He had never seen wine this dark; usually, it was ruby or amber. He wondered about the ingredients as he brought the glass toward his face.
Then, he stopped. He didn’t take a single drop.
It was poison.
Macauliffe’s face went rigid as he looked at Yuls. The Duke, seemingly unaware, took a long drink from the same bottle and set his glass down. He appeared completely oblivious to the fact that he had just consumed something lethal. Macauliffe shifted his gaze, looking for the culprit. His eyes found someone who was currently smiling.
It was the female knight—a rarity in Dalcatir. Macauliffe happened to know a secret regarding her past.
“…This wine,” Macauliffe began.
He saw Adi’s expression turn to stone the moment their eyes locked. That confirmed his suspicion.
“I believe it would be best if I didn’t drink this.”
“And why is that?”
The Duke was clueless that his drink was tainted.
“Please forgive my bluntness,” Macauliffe said. In his mind, it was obvious the knight had poisoned the wine.
“That knight standing there.”
And he knew where she came from.
“Is she truly a loyal soldier of Woodpecker?”
She was a product of Grimaldi.
“Does she not seem like someone who deserves a closer look?”
That was the information Lev Zid had provided.
“What gives you that impression?”
“Because…”
Because she had been smiling. She had stood there with a grin while Yuls drank the poison, yet now she was playing the part of the devoted protector.
“She has been my shield for a very long time,” Yuls replied. “She has my complete confidence.”
Macauliffe thought the Duke’s reasoning was incredibly weak. Did he really think time alone equaled loyalty? In this regard, the Duke seemed much more gullible than Claude.
The Crown Prince kept people near but suspected every single one of them, regardless of their history. That suspicion created a necessary gap between him and his subordinates. His staff were always at each other’s throats, keeping one another in check. While secret pacts were made in the shadows, no one ever truly understood what Claude was thinking.
By contrast, the Duke seemed far too intimate with his servants.
It meant that if someone put in the time to build a rapport, they could get away with anything.
The Duke was likely a fool.
“It is nothing,” Macauliffe said. “I spoke out of turn, Your Excellency.”
He looked back at Adi.
“There is no way my suspicion could be correct.”
He lifted the wine glass again, but he made sure it never touched his lips.