Chapter 24
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Survival had seemed impossible. For a fleeting moment, the end felt certain.
It wasn’t merely Yuls who was shaken; every guard and attendant who swarmed the chamber assumed Adi intended to assassinate the Duke. Yet her blade had a different destination: the canvas. The painting was weeping gore.
A hidden killer.
“Are they deceased?”
Yuls broke the silence first. Adi stood beside him, her formal attire sprayed with the crimson lifeblood that had erupted when she buried her knife in the wall. No sound came from the gap. Adi gave a slight shake of her head, uncertain of the outcome.
The frantic whispers of the staff masked any potential noise, making it difficult to listen for a heartbeat. Despite the injury, no cry of pain had escaped the frame. Perhaps they had severed their own tongue to ensure silence. Even so, the rhythm of a person breathing is hard to fully mask. Adi knew her edge had found meat, but it hadn’t felt like a killing blow. They hadn’t slumped over yet.
The threat remained.
Just as that realization solidified, a heavy groan of wood echoed as the frame began to swing outward.
Adi instantly drove her dagger back into the wood, locking the frame against the stone to prevent its opening. She then unsheathed the blade at her hip and plunged it straight through the center of the artwork.
Silence reigned from the hollow space, but she felt the distinct glide of steel through soft tissue. Retracting the weapon, she drove it in once more, this time ripping a vertical path through the canvas.
The fabric gave way, splitting wide to reveal a dark shape huddled in the recess. The tip of her sword snagged on something solid—the resistance of muscle followed by the hard stop of bone. Pushing through with more weight, she felt the blade bite deep. She pulled it back and delivered a final, horizontal sweep.
The steel tore through flesh and vital organs, grinding against the spine. It was a strike no human could endure.
Adi reclaimed the dagger pinning the frame and pulled the hidden door wide. A masked assassin lay there, life fading fast.
She moved toward the dying man with cold precision. He was clearly broken, yet as she stepped in to kick his weapon away, her body suddenly locked up. The man managed a final, jagged laugh, his hand lashing out in a desperate parting gesture.
It wasn’t a blade that struck her, but something as slender as a needle.
“Ngh!”
Adi recoiled. The puncture was small, certainly not a mortal wound, yet it burned with a fierce, localized fire. Poison was the immediate suspicion.
“That seems to be the end of it.”
Yuls’s voice came from behind her. When she gave a short nod, he made a clicking sound of disapproval. He noted that he had been under the impression that particular corridor was blocked off.
Leaning near the bedpost, the Duke observed the corpse wedged into the narrow crawlspace. He appeared remarkably unbothered by the carnage.
An attendant hurried over to drape a heavy robe across the Duke’s shoulders before dragging the body out of sight. Others moved with practiced efficiency to replace the ruined linens. The entire process was clinical and swift, suggesting this was a routine chore for them.
“Your Excellency,” Adi began.
“Is this a frequent occurrence for you?”
Yuls Woodpecker offered a soft, dry laugh.
“What exactly are you referring to?”
The area behind the painting was a grisly sight, drenched in the spray from the assassin’s wounds. His cold eyes met hers.
“The killers?”
Adi remained silent. Yuls pushed the frame shut, his expression remaining perfectly calm. The metallic scent of fresh blood didn’t seem to register with him.
“I am not a target of such things,” Yuls remarked.
The statement implied this was an anomaly. Adi wondered who would dare send a murderer after the Duke. But before she could follow that line of thought, Yuls’s next words shattered her assumptions.
“I merely play the part of one.”
“I don’t follow…”
“Within my own borders, these people don’t exist. I’ve already purged them all.”
“……”
“I must travel abroad occasionally to see who still harbors a grudge.”
Yuls turned his attention toward her. Though he sat lower than her standing position, the weight of his gaze made it feel as though he were looking down from a throne.
“It is a shame you ended him, Sir Knight.”
Adi felt a pang of doubt. Had she overstepped? It was clear the Duke had known the threat was there. His hand had been resting beneath his pillow, and his summons for the staff coincided perfectly with her own intervention.
Realizing her interference might have been unwelcome, she offered a stiff apology. “Please forgive my haste.”
The Duke studied her. His nightclothes were ruined, soaked by the proximity of the struggle. Adi was in no better state, her face and uniform splattered with red. A servant interrupted to announce that fresh clothes were ready and the bed had been restored.
“I shall relocate to a different suite for the night,” Yuls stated, discarding his robe.
“Cleanse yourself and change. A servant will show you the way.”
*
Back at her own rooms, Adi found Bert waiting in the common area. His face was a mask of tension as he took in her appearance.
Fresh blood was stubborn. While her formal wear would be handled by the palace staff later, she needed to soak out the worst of it now. As she contemplated the laundry, Bert spoke.
“Where is the Duke?”
“He has moved to another chamber.”
“And your plan to reach him?”
“An attendant is coming to guide me.”
“Then I am coming along.”
“As you wish,” Adi replied with a curt nod. As she moved toward the washroom, Bert stopped her.
“You mentioned a need for tighter security recently.”
“Is there a problem?”
She knew the answer. Spencer Grimaldi had warned her of an impending hit and told her to prevent it. Yet even with that knowledge, she hadn’t expected to be the one to catch them. The timing had been a mystery. She had tried to drop hints to Bert, since he held the night watch, but the situation had spiraled.
“Do you suspect me of something?”
“In a normal world, I would trust you,” Bert said.
The implication was clear: she was the exception. His gaze had sharpened into something far more suspicious than their previous encounters. Before, he had been a professional colleague; now, he looked at her as a potential traitor.
“Some people spend a long time building a bridge just to burn it down,” he added.
“Then simply double the guards from now on,” Adi countered. His trust was irrelevant to her. Their partnership was temporary, and once she fulfilled her duty, she would return to her father’s side.
The cultural divide between the North and South was a chasm they wouldn’t bridge. She had no interest in groveling for his approval, and she knew it wouldn’t be granted easily regardless of her efforts.
“I need to wash,” she said, disappearing into the bathroom. Bert didn’t follow.
The mirror revealed a gruesome reflection. The spray had reached further than she’d realized, turning her pale hair into a matted, reddish mess. She doubted the Duke had even noticed the state of her hair in the chaos.
She stripped off the uniform and submerged it in the basin before scrubbing the blood from her skin and hair. It was everywhere—her neck, her wrists, her scalp. A proper cleaning would require a full bath and a vigorous scrub, but time was against her.
It was nearly three in the morning, and her next shift began in five hours. With a servant waiting, she focused on her upper body.
She used the discarded uniform to wipe down her leather gear. Her undergarments were ruined, so she rinsed them as best she could before wringing them out and pulling them back on. The leather went on next.
She considered leaving as she was, but the risk of exposing her gender was too high if she wasn’t careful.
Without a comb, she tried to manage her wet hair, but the damp strands refused to stay back. When she finally emerged, Bert looked at her with a mix of pity and irritation. She looked bedraggled.
“You intend to go out like that?”
“No.”
Bert went silent at her blunt response, his expression asking if she had no sense of propriety.
“Give me a moment,” Adi said, retreating to her bedroom. She yanked the curtains shut, stripped off the damp layers, and grabbed fresh attire.
The fabric clung to her skin, but it would dry eventually. She layered her armor and uniform back on.
She lamented the lack of time to secure her hair. If it dried into its natural, soft waves, her feminine features would be harder to hide. But the clock was ticking.
As she pulled on clean boots, a sharp prick of pain flared in her side. The needle. She had a habit of ignoring physical trauma until it became unavoidable.
If she could still walk, it likely wasn’t a lethal toxin. She decided to visit the healer after her duty ended if the irritation persisted.
When she stepped back out, Bert stood up immediately.
“Your hair is still soaking, Sir Knight.”
“There wasn’t time. I dried it as much as I could. Should I stay longer?”
“No, move out. He’s been waiting.”
Bert gestured toward the servant waiting by the door.
Seeing them approach, the attendant opened the way. Both knights focused on the task ahead.
“If you are prepared, I will lead you to the new quarters.”
