Ch#157
The Oak Forest had likely been a place of stunning beauty once.
That grace had vanished quite recently.
Deep in its heart, the canopy that used to swallow the sun was now a graveyard of blackened timber. Some branches were merely stripped of their greenery, while other trees had been consumed entirely, reduced to charred pillars.
Despite the ruin, the space had been transformed. Sophisticated fabric pavilions rose between the scorched trunks, connected by shimmering strings of overhead lights. The effect was not one of devastation, but of a premature winter. Soft illumination spilled from the banquet area to cast long shadows under the tents, replacing the gloom with a sense of otherworldly enchantment.
Splashes of white blossoms climbed the dark wood. The vases housing these flowers were crafted from porcelain so pale it seemed impossible; guests whispered that such a pure finish required bone meal in the clay, a testament to the staggering wealth the Duke had poured into the event.
Some onlookers saw it as a raw display of power. It would have been far more economical to host the party at his palatial estate, but he had chosen this instead.
The tables were draped in pristine white linens. Hand-painted ceramics, clearly sourced from Eastern trade routes, awaited the guests as attendants circled with crystal stemware. Each tray held a few scattered acorns. Even though the dead wood could no longer bear fruit, the gesture served as a silent, defiant claim that the forest’s spirit remained intact.
“A celebration in this setting is actually quite charming.”
While many had grumbled about attending a party in a wasteland, the sheer scale of the production won them over. Even the musicians provided a visual feast, dressed in garments of the highest quality.
“It isn’t exactly a dancer’s paradise, though.”
“Maybe the Duke simply lacks rhythm?”
The quiet laughter that followed went unchallenged, though the Duke’s staff watched the speakers with brief, sharp intensity before returning to their duties.
The early crowd mingled in a blur of fashion. The men preened in crisp tailcoats, leaning on gold-topped canes and checking jeweled pocket watches. The women favored light satin, the breezy fabrics of summer. Their voluminous petticoats often snagged on low-hanging debris, but the ladies ignored the damage. To fret over a ruined hem in such a grand setting would be considered gauche, so they simply flicked their fans and continued their conversations.
“Tell me, are the stories true?”
“The one about the Duke’s lingering curse?”
“That is old news. Everyone is talking about his future bride now.”
“I’ve heard he’s looking into new merchant ventures. Dalkatir can’t provide everything he needs, so people think Woodpecker is about to dominate the trade routes.”
“Which means he’ll be a player in the free trade city negotiations. It’s all conjecture for now, but today should bring some clarity.”
Macauliffe listened to the buzzing voices and allowed himself a small grin. It didn’t matter if the Duke was actually moving; the fact that people believed he was served Macauliffe’s purposes perfectly. He felt a surge of confidence. If the rumors were taking root, perhaps it was time to push further, just as Adrina Grimaldi had managed to do.
He snatched a drink from a passing server and vanished into the throng. Watching from a plush sofa beneath a pavilion, Claude followed his movements.
Trade expansion was a logical move, certainly. But forming an alliance with a man like Macauliffe?
Claude knew the Duke wouldn’t be that foolish after a single conversation with the man.
He reflected on how difficult it was to pin down the Duke’s true intentions.
With a click of his tongue, Claude felt a presence approaching. “Your Highness,” a voice called. Claude’s mask of royal charm slid instantly into place. He didn’t recognize the visitor—likely a minor noble below a Count’s station—but he knew how to play the part of the gracious superior.
“It has been quite some time.”
Claude mentally flipped through titles, wondering if he should address the man as a Viscount or a Baron.
At that moment, the door to the forest’s solitary cabin opened. Yuls emerged, leading Adi outside.
The serving girls had outfitted Adi in a gown of pale green tulle. Their original design had been pure silk, but the thin material had failed to hide the various blades she kept strapped to her person. To solve this, they had used layers of tulle to create a voluminous silhouette that masked her weaponry entirely.
The dress featured a high waist that flattered her form, with skirts that hissed softly against the ground as she moved. Pearls caught the light along her bodice, and emeralds hung from her ears and throat. A gold band sat on her wrist, though the most striking piece was the ruby ring on her finger.
A few golden locks had escaped her hairstyle during the long process of getting ready. The maids had insisted she leave them, deciding the slight messiness added to her charm.
Yuls had known she was striking, but seeing her now was different.
“You look breathtaking.”
The dress was understated, lacking the heavy ruffles of the other guests, yet Yuls found he couldn’t look away. Its simplicity was its strength. He had never truly noticed how much her hair could shine. If he was this captivated, he was certain the rest of the guests would be stunned as well.
Billy had been just as meticulous with Yuls, dressing him in a sharp white tailcoat to ensure he commanded the room. While Yuls didn’t typically favor white, the color was undeniably effective for a host. His crimson hair seemed to burn brighter against the pale fabric, creating a look that was both fierce and sophisticated.
Billy had suffered immensely to perfect the look. He had selected a specific contrasting fabric for the collar to prevent any bunching and finished the ensemble with silver buttons and a satin cravat. Every detail, from the shoe buckles to the emerald links and the ring that complemented Adi’s jewelry, had been hand-picked.
The timeline had been punishing. Men’s fashion was a delicate balance; one too many accessories could turn a noble into a joke. Only Yuls’ natural presence kept the elaborate outfit from looking absurd.
Billy watched them walk away, feeling a sense of profound relief that the work was done. He muttered to himself that the staff deserved a few days off after surviving this preparation.
The pair boarded an open carriage pulled by two obsidian-black horses. The vehicle shone brilliantly under the lamps, resembling a celestial chariot from an epic poem as it rolled toward the forest gathering.
Yuls reached for Adi’s hand. The lace of her gloves made her skin feel cool to the touch. When she looked at him, he gave her a steady, comforting smile.
Back at the banquet, Claude was still navigating a sea of nobles. He found the conversation tedious. He learned nothing from their stories of summer vacations or life after the Council. The Southern aristocracy was remarkably relaxed, likely because the fertile plains nearby ensured they never had to worry about the harsh realities of survival.
They were a far cry from the hardy Northerners or the calculating people of the Central territories. Claude found the stereotypical behavior of these nobles grating. The prospect of one day governing such a shallow group was a bitter thought.
He couldn’t tell if they were ignoring his obvious boredom or were simply too dull to see it. His patience was fraying. Just as he was hoping Yuls would arrive to end the monotony, a shadow fell over him.
“I found you, Your Highness.”
It was the one person Claude wanted to avoid, yet he maintained his composure and acknowledged the man’s rank.
“Viscount.”
As Claude spoke, the rhythm of approaching hooves sounded in the distance. A wave of silence washed over the forest as every guest turned toward the noise. Claude and Macauliffe turned as well.
The black horses brought the carriage to a halt. The orchestra stumbled, the music cutting out for a heartbeat before the players recovered their focus.
“Tell me, Your Highness,” Macauliffe whispered, swirling the liquid in his glass.
“I’ve heard rumors that a survivor of the Grimaldi line still walks among us.”
Claude offered no verbal reply, but his stillness gave Macauliffe the answer he sought.
“So you were aware.”
Macauliffe’s lips curled into a smirk.
His eyes were fixed on the couple exiting the carriage. Claude watched them too. He saw Yuls step down first and then reach back to take Adi’s hand. In that moment, Claude realized exactly who Macauliffe was targeting next.
He mirrored the other man’s smile.
“I was.”
But where Macauliffe’s grin was one of curiosity, Claude’s was sharp with hidden intent.
“I know the truth quite well.”