Chapter 2
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On paper, Adrian Grimaldi held the rank of a Knight. In reality, the title was a hollow honor; he had never once fulfilled the duties of his station. His constitution failed him almost immediately after his investiture, leaving Adi Grimaldi too frail to travel or serve even the lowliest apprenticeship. Confined by illness, his entire world was restricted to the boundaries of the Grimaldi Estate.
Adrina lived a parallel existence. She remained a ghost within the manor walls, never crossing the threshold of the estate, existing only as a silent reflection of her brother. That era, however, had reached its end.
The marker for Adi’s final resting place was the work of the region’s most skilled stonemason. To honor the site, a celebrated artist had been summoned from the capital to carve intricate magnolia blossoms into the stone. Throughout the process, the Countess was a fixture of grief, her eyes never dry as she demanded perfection from the laborers.
Adrian Grimaldi’s eighteen years of life concluded with him being interred under the identity of Adrina. Every scrap of Adrian’s existence was systematically erased.
Now, Adi was a frequent visitor to that silent mound.
She marked the turning of the year with offerings: refreshing drinks for the spring, ripened fruit during the summer heat, and a discarded book to keep the grave company in autumn.
When the seasons shifted from the bite of winter to the thaw of spring—the anniversary of Adrian’s passing—the weather often turned treacherous. As snow blanketed the earth in an unseasonable chill, Adi would reach out to brush the white powder from the cold stone, staring quietly at the name that used to be her own.
Five years had passed since Adi’s world changed.
In that half-decade, Adrina’s stature had grown, and she had taken up the blade her brother could never wield. She had practiced in the shadows for years, preparing for the day she would have to step into his shoes. Once she began formal training, her natural aptitude became undeniable; she quickly eclipsed the other knights of the estate in skill and discipline.
The grave remained meticulously tended.
Had the roles been reversed—had the true Adrina been the one in the soil—the plot would surely be a tangle of neglected weeds, the headstone lost to time and indifference. It was doubtful a monument would have been raised for her at all.
Loosening her sword belt, Adi sank onto the grass beside the mound. She sat there, exhaling a long breath, resting right next to where Adrian lay. She turned her head, almost expecting to see him. In her mind’s eye, he was frozen at eighteen, never aging, while she continued to grow away from him.
The reality was harsher. Beside her lay a decomposing husk, shielded only by the weight of her own hair.
Adi looked toward the heavens. The sky was a flat, oppressive white, heavy with the promise of more snow. A single flake drifted down, landing like a cold needle against her skin. She allowed her eyes to drift shut.
The gentle snowfall quickly intensified into a swirling storm. The biting cold settled over her, chilling her like the remains of her brother beneath the frost. She knew she should move to avoid the bite of the winter, yet she felt too drained to find her feet.
A movement nearby broke the silence. Even with her vision blocked, she felt the weight of a person standing over her, blotting out the meager light.
“Adrian.”
The voice belonged to a man. Adi looked up, squinting against the glare. Though his features were obscured by the light at his back, the tone was unmistakable.
“Lev.”
“Your father requires your presence.”
Adi offered no verbal acknowledgment, simply meeting his gaze. Assuming his message was delivered, Lev turned and began the long walk back. Adi pushed herself up. His deep tracks in the fresh snow marked the path.
Standing, she shook the white dusting from her clothes and secured her weapon. She knew Spencer Grimaldi’s patience was thin; any delay would result in a violent outburst.
She hurried to where her horse was tied. The animal, an aging white beast, snorted and tossed its head as she approached. Adi paused to stroke the bridge of its nose before pulling herself into the saddle.
The manor loomed in the distance, a grim silhouette through the thickening mist. She urged the horse into a sprint. The freezing wind lashed at her face, stinging her eyes until they watered.
No one greeted her when she arrived, soaked and shivering. Despite wearing Adrian’s face and bearing his name, the people of the estate knew the difference.
Without a word of comfort or a dry cloth, she was ushered into Spencer Grimaldi’s study. She bowed before him, enduring his sharp, judgmental stare. Without preamble, he flung a sheaf of papers at her. They struck her chest before fluttering to the floor. Adi retrieved them, seeing the words ’Official Commission’ printed at the top.
“You are going to Pallesa Palace,” Spencer declared.
“…”
Adi remained silent. A dozen questions about his motives and her new role burned in her throat, but Spencer allowed no room for inquiry.
“Your transfer to the palace guard is finalized. They have agreed to take you. That will be your home now.”
Seeing her lack of protest, Spencer’s expression softened into a look of cold calculation.
“You will stay there,” he whispered, his voice dropping to a low, menacing tone. He reached out, his fingers digging painfully into her shoulder, pinning her in place. “Until I send for you. Do you understand?”
It was a command, not a discussion. Spencer Grimaldi tolerated only one response.
“I understand.”
Total submission.
*
Ionad served as the current heart of Dalkatir, but eight decades prior, the throne sat in Pallesa. Two generations ago, a king of immense power and iron will had forced a change, moving the seat of government to a newly constructed city.
Ionad was a marvel of modern planning, designed with wide boulevards and logical districts perfect for the flow of carriages.
Pallesa, by contrast, was a relic of ancient grandeur and decaying tradition. Over time, the area surrounding the old palace had devolved into a labyrinth of slums. Being a port city, it was a magnet for the desperate and the dangerous. Sailors and travelers frequently clashed in the streets, turning the old capital into a site of constant unrest.
Perhaps the previous king had simply grown tired of the filth lurking beneath the city’s gilded surface. In Pallesa, a fierce pride in its history lived alongside the bitter resentment of being cast aside.
Adi Grimaldi stood before the looming gates.
The fortress was a massive, windowless block of stone crowned by twin steeples. The only openings were narrow arrow slits, designed for defense rather than light. It felt exactly like her home—a cage of stone.
The sentries watched her with open distrust. Her height and heavy traveling cloak suggested a man, but her lingering gaze at the fortifications seemed suspicious.
A guard stepped forward, his hand resting on his hilt. Adi mirrored the gesture. The man’s tension spiked. “State your business,” he demanded. Adi produced her identification plaque and the transfer documents, holding them up for inspection.
“I am Adi Grimaldi.”
The guard’s eyes widened. The Grimaldi name carried a weight that even common soldiers recognized.
“I’ve been reassigned here, effective immediately.”
Adi pushed back her hood, clearing the hair from her face. The guard let out a sharp, audible breath at the sight of her.
“May I pass?”
The sentry took the papers, his eyes darting between the ink and her features. Adi felt a flash of irritation. The plaque didn’t even have a portrait; his lingering stare felt intrusive. She had heard the people of the old capital were insular and rude, but she hadn’t expected to be gawked at the moment she arrived. She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with cold arrogance. Eventually, he handed the items back.
“…You may enter.”
Adi brushed past him, casting a sharp look over her shoulder.
“Try to stay alert.”
She wasn’t welcome here. Not by the guards, not by the city, and certainly not by the knights stationed within the palace.
Even years later, nothing had changed.
“Adi Grimaldi!”
The familiar sound of a confrontation brewing reached her ears.
“Don’t you walk away!”
Adi stopped and turned. A group of young men, red-faced and breathing hard with rage, had already begun to circle her.
She looked at them with bored indifference. Three were full knights; the fourth was a squire on the cusp of his promotion.
In the northern courtyard where the soldiers lived, a crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle. No one moved to intervene. They simply watched the show.
Adi didn’t want a savior, but she hated being the center of attention. Unfortunately, trouble seemed to follow her like a shadow. To be near Adi Grimaldi was to invite chaos.
Besides, there was the matter of her reputation.
“This is an act of blatant disrespect,” she said calmly.
In a world governed by men, she was an easy target for their frustrations.
“Disrespect? You arrogant brat!”
Perhaps it started because of her delicate features and slight frame.
“Is that how you see it?”
But the true catalyst was always Adi Grimaldi’s refusal to back down.
“Yes!”
The squire who shouted had a fading yellow bruise around his eye. The remnants of a hematoma suggested their last encounter had been less than a week ago.
“Forget the ranks, Adi! Fight me like a man!”
A dark, humorless laugh escaped her at his challenge.
She began to walk toward him, her pace accelerating into a blur of motion. He reached for his sword, but he was too slow. Adi’s boot connected squarely with the squire’s jaw. As he collapsed into the arms of his companions, she didn’t stop.
“Forget your rank? You’ve already lost it, you pathetic bastard.”
The other knights lunged. The courtyard filled with the sound of meat hitting meat and the clatter of gear as the brawl erupted. The onlookers began to hoot and holler, fueling the violence.
Adi Grimaldi wore a jagged grin, as if she were actually enjoying the carnage. She ducked a swing and used her sheathed sword to hammer the squire into the dirt. When others tried to pull her away, she fought against their grip to land one final, crushing stomp on the fallen man. A spray of blood hit her cheek. Instead of recoiling, she hummed a soft melody, looking almost drunk on the adrenaline.
“Look at that monster.”
Adi Grimaldi: the Mad Dog of Pallesa.
