Ch#165
==================================================
The declaration took her by surprise. While Adi’s affection for Yuls was genuine and she had already admitted her feelings, she assumed there were boundaries that could not be crossed.
A woman like Adrina Dean was simply not eligible to hold the title of Duchess.
She had made peace with the idea of a temporary, fraudulent engagement for that very reason. But transforming a lie into a permanent reality seemed impossible. Unless there was a way to legally resurrect those who were officially deceased, the path was blocked. Adi felt a wave of uncertainty; she couldn’t fathom what the Duke was planning.
Observing her frozen features, Yuls misinterpreted her silence as a quiet rejection. It was a confusing signal, given she had already confessed her love.
“If you decline, I will be heartbroken, though I won’t use force to change your mind.”
This was a deception. He would utilize every tool at his disposal to ensure she stayed, yet he saw no benefit in revealing that darkness. He needed to be subtle, letting his presence saturate her life until she believed choosing him was her own epiphany.
Step one was convincing her he was no threat. Yuls reached out, his thumb tracing the skin of her hand with a gentle touch.
“I won’t say no.”
Her voice finally broke the silence. When Yuls met her gaze, he found her eyes swimming with apprehension. She hesitated, her lips trembling slightly before she continued.
“It is only…”
“The matter of my social standing.”
“I think you’ve overlooked that detail.”
A heavy weight lifted from his chest. He felt a flicker of amusement that she was agonizing over something as inconsequential as rank. His voice carried a trace of a smile as he spoke.
“You forget that you are a Grimaldi.”
Adi blinked, her composure wavering. The thought had clearly never entered her mind.
“Blood is immutable, no matter how much you wish to disown it.”
He was well aware of the complications. Legally, the children of Count Grimaldi were in their graves. The Kingdom of Dalkatir lacked a protocol for returning the dead to the world of the living. The bureaucratic nightmare ahead was daunting, and success was not guaranteed by any law on the books.
“The mere fact of your lineage resolves the majority of our problems.”
Establishing a new legal path was always a messy endeavor.
“And it paves the way for you to become my wife.”
Yuls leaned down and pressed his lips to the back of her hand. He lingered there, kissing every knuckle with deliberate slowness before finally speaking again. “Therefore.”
In truth, Yuls struggled to find the right words. His pulse quickened at the sight of her; she was the sole focus of his heart and the center of every future he imagined. He had rehearsed countless poetic speeches, but in her presence, they all felt hollow and insufficient.
Should he promise her a lifetime of devotion? Should he tell her he wanted to spend every morning hearing her laugh? The sentiments were there, but they remained trapped in his throat. Adi watched his mouth move without sound and whispered, “Your Excellency?” She noticed the hand clasping hers was shivering.
“So.”
She hadn’t given him a definitive answer yet, but she hadn’t turned him away.
“Will you commit your life to mine?”
He abandoned the search for grand oratory. Nothing he said could truly capture the depth of his soul. Simple sincerity was his only option—the same raw honesty Adi had used when she told him she liked him.
“I will, Your Excellency.”
Adi’s response came with a slow, radiant smile that transformed her face. Yuls was mesmerized by the soft curve of her eyes and the light dancing within them. She had always been striking, but this rare expression of joy was something he wanted to burn into his memory forever.
Seeing him lost in her gaze, Adi lifted her hand and mimicked his earlier gesture, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand.
“I accept.”
Yuls let out a soft laugh. There was a certain soldierly bluntness to her movements. He wondered if her years spent posing as a man among the knights had permanently colored her expressions of love with such rigid formality.
“I want you to call me Yuls.”
The surge of joy he felt was almost overwhelming.
He questioned if he truly deserved to be this happy.
“…I beg your pardon?”
“You are always so formal with your titles.”
Adi looked uncertain, a hesitation Yuls caught instantly. “Adi,” he urged, refusing to let her hand go so she couldn’t retreat.
“Say my name.”
“……”
She debated the propriety of it. Was it right to address a high-ranking Duke so familiarly? Then again, she had used Spencer Grimaldi’s name, so perhaps this was no different.
“Yuls.”
The sound of his name on her breath made him beam.
It had been an age since anyone had used his given name. The Royal Family occasionally did, but even they usually defaulted to his title or referenced their shared bloodline. On the rare occasions they were personal, they used Julius Caspras; the shortened ‘Yuls’ was a ghost from his past.
“Is this not overstepping?”
“From anyone else, perhaps.”
Hearing that nickname felt like a gift.
“But from you, it is exactly what I want.”
“Then I must ask you to change how you speak to me as well, Your Excellency.”
Yuls tilted his head, wondering if she was tired of being called ‘Sir’ or if she preferred a different honorific. Before he could guess, she explained.
“I recognize that ‘Sir’ is your way of showing me respect.”
So that was the issue.
“But when we are like this, I would prefer you just use my name.”
Yuls sat in silence for a heartbeat before a brilliant smile broke across his face.
“Adrina.”
The name felt different when he said it. It carried a weight of affection. To her, that name had always felt like a cold, gray burden, but hearing him speak it was like feeling the first warm breeze of spring.
“Adi.”
“Yes?”
“I am going to restore your identity.”
He was referring to her status as Adrina Grimaldi. While she didn’t particularly want the name back, she realized it was the most efficient solution to their predicament.
Even if she planned to discard the title the moment she secured it.
“I will take whatever you choose to give me.”
*
A week had passed since Spencer Grimaldi arrived at Pallesa Palace. Shortly after, Claude made his entrance. Rumors from Woodpecker began to saturate the palace, carried by the staff and guards who had returned with the Prince. Spencer heard every whisper.
Then, the correspondence arrived.
The wax seal bore the mark of the Woodpecker family.
The document was exhaustive. It detailed the Duke’s legal strategy, the witnesses required, and the specific role the Count was expected to play.
As Spencer reached the end—where it mentioned a potential reduction in his sentence for cooperating—he let out a dry, amused sound.
“So that’s the game they’re playing.”
He looked up, his expression one of genuine surprise.
“I can’t decide if this is brilliant strategy.”
He propped his chin on his palm, lounging with one leg swinging as he looked out at the scenery, a glass held loosely in his grip.
“Or if he’s simply lost his mind to infatuation.”
The liquid in his glass was the color of dark honey, but it carried the aroma of tea rather than spirits.
“What is your take, Your Highness?”
Spencer turned his focus to Claude, who sat across from him. Claude gave him a flat look before returning his gaze to the distance. Lev Zid was certainly proving his worth; he had managed to carve out a path to safety for the Count.
“The future is never certain.”
That was the nature of the world. However, the Count was finding himself in an unexpectedly favorable position. Since arriving at Pallesa Palace, Spencer had already begun charming the nobility, building a small faction of sympathizers.
“So.”
It was a pity he hadn’t been there to witness the negotiations. Not that his presence would have changed much, but he was curious if the Duke had used honeyed words or cold steel to get his way.
“What is your next move, Your Highness?”
He knew better than to ask the Count directly.
“Will you step aside as planned?”
He found the man’s constant smile irritating.
“Or do you intend to keep him under your thumb?”
Claude set his drink down and asked, “What is the Count’s decision?” He could guess the contents of the letter. Yuls was trying to protect Adrina. To save her from the gallows for impersonating a knight, her social standing had to be elevated above Lev Zid’s.
“Well.”
If they could get her biological father to formally acknowledge her existence…
“The letter only just arrived.”
Then her crimes would vanish, and she could become Yuls’s fiancée without scandal.
“I need time to weigh my options.”
But there was still the matter of the Count.
“The road from Woodpecker to the palace is long, after all.”
The man had declared his own children dead. There was also the matter of Adrian and the death of Luigi. Solving one riddle only revealed a more complex one. Claude watched the board, wondering exactly how Yuls intended to navigate the coming storm.