Ch#166
The arrival of the Woodpecker family at Pallesa Palace was a display of sheer power. Following a vanguard of the palace’s own guards, the Woodpecker knights marched in, their armor gleaming beneath vibrant crimson cloaks. They hoisted the high Ducal standard at the front of a line that included three opulent carriages, each shimmering with gold leaf and intricate woodwork. Through the glass, one could catch glimpses of heavy velvet drapes and rich silk linings.
From their posts on the ramparts, the sentries watched with suspicious glares. This level of ostentation was unprecedented; the Duke usually favored a more understated approach when visiting the capital or this specific palace. Despite their confusion, they maintained protocol, bowing deeply as the convoy rolled past. The gates were swung wide well in advance, ensuring the noble procession never had to slacken its pace.
Yet, a glaring inconsistency remained.
The mission was ostensibly to deliver a high-profile prisoner, but no such person was visible among the ranks. It seemed impossible that a criminal would be housed in those luxurious coaches. While the Pallesa knights were present to oversee the transfer, none of the figures in their company looked the part of a captive. Even a knight stripped of rank remained a traitor, and such a person would never be granted the dignity of a mount.
That left the gilded carriages as the only possibility.
The onlookers wondered if the Duke’s household simply lacked a common transport wagon, or if their wealth was so vast they could afford to house a traitor in splendor. Perhaps the captive had some secret leverage or merit? The details reaching Pallesa Palace had been sparse, mentioning only a scandal involving a body double and high treason within the Woodpecker estate. The Ionad knights who had arrived earlier had been tight-lipped, offering no clarifications.
The procession didn’t veer toward the guest quarters. Instead, flanked by the palace guards, they made a direct line for the Northern Palace.
This structure, situated near the military barracks and far from the heart of the Main Palace, served as the cage for those who threatened the crown—political dissidents and those accused of royal impersonation. The three carriages finally ground to a halt before this grim, secluded edifice.
The welcoming party of Ionad and Pallesa knights stood in a state of paralyzed uncertainty. They didn’t know which carriage held their target, nor could they fathom why the Woodpecker family had brought such finery to the doorstep of a dungeon.
While the Ionad contingent remained gripped by a tense vigilance, the Pallesa guards kept their faces like stone. Regardless of the strange transport, their fellow knights had returned from the south, which meant the prisoner was finally within their grasp.
Suddenly, a door clicked open. It wasn’t a shackled criminal who emerged, but a refined chamberlain. He gave the surrounding soldiers a cursory look before gliding toward the lead carriage.
As he pulled that door wide, the prisoner finally stepped into the light. Their wrists were bound with a specialized red cord, treated to ensure it wouldn’t mar the skin, but their legs were unencumbered. The captive’s attire was flawless, appearing as though they had just dressed for a gala rather than a journey to a cell. The prisoner’s posture was defiant, lacking any hint of shame, but it was their face that truly paralyzed the onlookers.
The Ionad knights, already familiar with the target, maintained their hostile watch. However, the Pallesa guards simply stared at one another in total shock, unable to process what they were seeing.
The face belonged to a man they all recognized.
“Sir Adrian Grimaldi.”
It was a ghost standing before them—a man the world believed was long dead.
*
The royal dungeons were a far cry from what she had anticipated. Hidden in the depths of the Northern Palace, the entrance required her to stoop low to navigate a cramped, narrow tunnel. The architecture was a series of oppressive stone arches lit by flickering lanterns, creating a somber mood, yet the scale of the place was oddly intimate. She suspected the low ceilings were a psychological tactic designed to keep a prisoner’s head permanently bowed.
Her gaze drifted to the floor. The stone was carved with deep ruts from generations of feet passing through the dark. She found herself wondering if those who came before had been dragged or if they had crawled in despair.
The path was clean and dry, sheltered from the elements. It felt almost too well-maintained. She pondered if the Royal Family intended this relative comfort to be its own form of mockery. For a commoner, this place might actually be an improvement over their own home.
“Move along.”
A voice rang out, its origin masked by the echoing stone.
Adi was forced to walk the corridor alone. With guards blocking the exit behind her, the only way was forward. Far ahead, a figure waited at the end of the tunnel. It was clear that the staff and guards had a more spacious route to navigate the prison, sparing them this claustrophobic crawl.
When she finally emerged, she found herself in a surprisingly large hall. Since this area was reserved for the nobility, there were no iron bars. Instead, the cells were heavy stone rooms.
Each was secured by a thick wooden door featuring a small sliding panel at head height for surveillance.
“Adrina Dean?”
A knight addressed her. It was unusual for knights to pull jailer duty unless there was a high risk of escape. She wasn’t sure if they feared her specifically or if this was merely the protocol for traitors. During her previous service at Pallesa Palace, she had never had a reason to visit these forbidden depths.
“Enter.”
The knight swung the door open. Adi surveyed the interior. It was indeed dignified enough to make the earlier thought cross her mind again—some might actually find this room more comfortable than their own houses.
As she stepped over the threshold, the knight unsheathed his blade and severed the red cords around her wrists in a single, swift motion. The edge passed dangerously close to her skin. She couldn’t decide if the act was a display of masterful precision or a sign of total indifference toward her safety. Ignoring her gaze, the knight stepped back, and the door shut with a heavy, grating thud.
“……”
He was definitely from the Ionad faction. Adi felt a small, dry laugh bubble up as she turned to inspect her new surroundings. Since she wasn’t bleeding, she dismissed the knight’s rudeness. The room itself was far more interesting.
“A bed and even a table.”
She marveled at the idea of a traitor being granted a place to eat. She had expected to be chained to a damp floor in total darkness, yet here was a room with furniture, a candle, and a window. Even with the iron grating, it was more than she expected.
A smirk touched her lips.
“This is quite the grand prison.”
The Count stood in a wide, echoing corridor, facing the chamberlain assigned to lead him. Spencer frowned. He hadn’t paid much attention to the servant before, but the man’s features now struck him as hauntingly familiar.
“The Duke is expecting you.”
Spencer gave a short nod and followed. The palace interior had undergone a transformation since his last visit. While the soaring ceilings and cold marble remained, a plush, navy blue carpet now stretched across the floor. It swallowed the sound of their movement, casting a heavy silence over the walk. The Count felt a surge of private contempt.
Most high-ranking nobles avoided carpets in their private wings. Silence was a luxury that invited assassins; a muffled footstep was a vulnerability. To lay such a carpet was a statement of absolute, perhaps arrogant, security.
“Lord Count.”
A voice called from behind. It originated from where his own servant should have been standing, but the tone was wrong. Spencer spun around, his eyes widening. His personal attendant was nowhere to be seen. In his place stood a man wearing the colors of the Woodpecker household.
He hadn’t heard a thing.
“Your servant is staying on the lower level. I will be your guide for the remainder of the walk.”
The newcomer stepped toward the first chamberlain and noted that the Duke had relocated the meeting to a different drawing room. Spencer watched the two men, a cold shiver tracing his spine. His pulse quickened, a frantic drumming against his ribs.
His gut warned him of danger. It was irrational to feel threatened by mere servants, yet the instinct was overwhelming.
“Please, this way, My Lord.”
The entire palace felt drenched in malice today.
The room they approached was one Spencer had never seen. The estate was vast enough that the Duke had many choices, but being led so deep into the private quarters made him uneasy. He felt exposed, walking without his own man to watch his back.
He was also unarmed. While he knew he wouldn’t be murdered in cold blood with so many witnesses to his arrival, the tension remained. He tried to steady his nerves with a logical thought: the Duke needed him. If Spencer died, the Duke’s plans for Adrina would crumble.
The Count let out a sharp, mocking breath. The chamberlain leading him faltered for a split second, a nearly imperceptible hitch in his step that the Count almost dismissed as a trick of the light.
“He is inside.”
The servant stopped at a set of large double doors and pushed them open.
The room was flooded with harsh, brilliant sunlight. The Duke sat silhouetted against the window, his back to the glare. The light was so blinding that his features were lost, leaving only a dark, imposing shape. He was perfectly still, his eyes fixed on the entrance.
Spencer squinted, forcing his eyes to adjust as he crossed the threshold. A portrait of the previous Duke looked down from the wall. Below it sat the heir, possessing those same piercing crimson eyes. A small, haughty grin touched the Duke’s face—the expression of a man who viewed the world as his personal chessboard.
“Greetings, Count.”
Spencer didn’t respond immediately. The Duke was acting as though he held all the cards, but Spencer knew the truth. The Duke was the one seeking a favor, and Spencer held the only key to what he desired.
With that confidence, he spoke.
“It has been some time, Your Excellency.”
He saw no reason to bow.