Chapter 42
The Duke’s offer was absolute: a single wish, granted without condition, should she succeed in lifting his affliction. While the task itself was the primary hurdle, achieving it would guarantee her a path to freedom regardless of the outcome.
Adi picked up the dark tunic of the Knight’s regalia. Though it appeared heavy, the garment felt surprisingly breathable. Even the undershirt provided was airy and loose-fitting. She recalled seeing Bert earlier with his collar hanging open; she had assumed it was a stylistic choice to flaunt his physique, but it appeared that Southern fashion favored a more exposed chest. It made sense given the warmer climate of the region, yet it gave her pause.
“This shows too much,” Adi remarked, tugging at the fabric of the chemise. She realized she would need to secure it at the throat. Despite the lack of a formal tie, she felt a pressing need to find a way to mask her neck.
As she adjusted to the unfamiliar texture of the cloth, her eyes found the metallic insignia. Following Bert’s example, she fastened the emblem over her left breast. The makeshift binding at her throat felt tight and irritating, but she resisted the urge to loosen it, fearing she would reveal too much skin.
When she emerged from the barracks, Billy, one of the senior attendants, stared at her in surprise. He gestured toward his own neck, prompting Adi to explain that the original fit felt far too revealing.
“I understand,” Billy replied. “It’s a very dignified look, quite typical of a Northern upbringing.”
Adi didn’t mind the comment; even if it carried a hint of mockery, Billy’s tone lacked any real malice.
“This is our summer kit,” Billy continued. “The South gets quite hot, so this uniform is more of a casual dress. It’s really only the crest that marks us as soldiers.”
“That explains why it feels so relaxed,” Adi noted.
In truth, the shirt had left her entire chest visible. It looked natural on a man like Bert, but the contrast was far too jarring on her own frame. She wondered if the difference in her silhouette made it more obvious. She subconsciously brushed her hand against her collar.
“When the weather cools in autumn, we add a white vest and pin a cloak to the shoulder,” Billy explained. “We also add red and gold cords—the Woodpecker colors—and switch to a black mantle.”
“The wardrobe seems to shift quite a bit with the seasons,” Adi observed.
“It does. I’ve heard the North stays frozen and unchanging, so the fashion remains static. But the Woodpecker lands are vast with shifting climates, so we maintain a diverse wardrobe.”
Adi gave a small nod. She had pegged them both as the silent types, yet they had reached their destination while discussing nothing but tailoring. As they stood before the reception room, Billy suggested they enter together.
Adi agreed, though a strange tension gripped her. She told herself there was no reason for nerves—perhaps it was just the change in attire. She loosened the string at her neck just a fraction before following Billy as he signaled his arrival and swung the doors open.
The midday sun was exceptionally fierce, pouring through the tall, expansive windows and flooding the room with light. Adi squinted against the glare, her eyes eventually landing on the Duke and the three men gathered around him: Yuls Woodpecker, Bert Dean, Roy Gallardo, and Joel.
“You’ve arrived,” the Duke noted. “The colors suit you.”
Adi managed only a stiff, uncertain smile. In the background, Roy offered a silent thumbs-up and mouthed his approval. Adi acknowledged him with a tiny nod.
“You placed the badge correctly,” Yuls observed. “Roy usually pins his on the right side, as if his heart were located there.”
“You can’t be sure,” Roy joked. “If you opened me up, you might find my heart is on the right after all.”
“Is that a challenge? Perhaps we should check,” the Duke countered.
“In that case, I’ll stick to the left,” Adi cut in. Her remark earned a brief, genuine chuckle from the Duke.
Perhaps it was the shift in the weather, but the atmosphere felt different. Seeing the men standing together in their shared colors, with the crimson-haired Duke at the center, they looked like a cohesive unit. A sense of belonging, something she had never experienced even in her own home, seemed to wash over her. To these men, a Grimaldi was a complete stranger, yet here she was. She wondered if it was just the warmth of the sun making her feel this way.
“Thank you,” she said softly, feeling as though she had finally been granted a place to stand.
Billy Anderson was the only man in the Duke’s service who could truly claim the title of a master chamberlain. Born as the youngest son of a minor noble line, he had been raised in comfort and developed an impeccable eye for aesthetics, eventually earning his own status through his skill.
His pride lay in his ability to style men, which was why the House of Woodpecker had sought him out. In his youth, Yuls had been dissatisfied with his appearance, and Billy’s initial task was to mask what the Duke perceived as flaws. Now that Yuls was a man grown, he was a canvas that Billy delighted in.
Despite his fiery hair, Yuls projected a frigid aura. He looked striking in nothing more than a crisp, white shirt with a high collar. Billy believed a man’s elegance was found in the details: a clean shave, groomed nails, and hair that—while long—was too stunning to ever trim. Billy avoided gaudy accessories, preferring the sharp lines of a black silk suit adorned with gold braiding and a single insignia. Against Yuls’s red hair, the simplicity was breathtaking.
“I loathe these clothes,” Yuls grumbled. He preferred the feel of raw, high-quality fabric over ornate designs, which only made Billy’s job harder. Creating something that looked effortless required immense effort from the tailors.
“You are dining with the Crown Prince, Your Grace,” Billy reminded him. “Protocol must be maintained.”
The Crown Prince himself was notorious for looking like a shambles and arriving late, but rank allowed for such lapses. Etiquette was a burden for the lesser to carry for the sake of the greater.
The hallway near the Count’s quarters was hushed; Spencer had clearly departed some time ago. Servants bowed as Yuls, Billy, and Adi passed. Adi felt their eyes on her back—the cold, judgmental stares of people who despised her presence yet could not look away. A Grimaldi wearing the Woodpecker colors was an insult they had to endure. Adi found herself smirking at the thought of their irritation.
They moved toward the Inner Palace, a secluded section of the residence reserved for high-ranking guests. Billy explained the layout, but Adi was only half-listening as they reached the grand dining hall.
The massive table could have hosted a crowd, but only Count Grimaldi sat there. An orchestra stood ready in the shadows, silent. Lev Zid, the Count’s protector, stood against the far wall. Adi took her place beside him, feeling a wave of disgust at his proximity. Yuls took his seat as directed, but the Crown Prince was nowhere to be seen. No food appeared.
Adi realized why the Duke had eaten beforehand; he had anticipated this delay. The room was suffocatingly quiet. It felt as though a single breath would shatter the silence. The two lords didn’t even exchange pleasantries. For Adi, standing next to Lev was a test of endurance.
Eventually, Crown Prince Claude strolled in, flanked by a knight and an attendant. He surveyed the silent room with a look of mock confusion.
“What is this?” he asked. “Are the musicians injured? Why is it so deathly quiet in here?”
The music began instantly. Claude waved a hand in annoyance until the melody shifted to something that pleased him.
“How does it feel to return to Pallesa Palace, Count?” Claude asked as he settled into his chair. “It’s been years. You must have been desperate to see these halls again.”
“Three years, Highness. I am deeply grateful for your invitation,” the Count replied.
“My invitation? No, Count, you earned this yourself,” Claude laughed, fully accepting the flattery as his due. He was a man who lived in the absolute certainty of his own importance.
Yuls found that quality in his cousin almost refreshing. Claude was a fool, and a fool on the throne made for easy governance. Yuls often thought it would be better if Claude stayed in power, though the Prince’s constant suspicion of him remained an obstacle.
“It has been a while, cousin,” Yuls said.
“Indeed. I trust you received my gift?”
“A gift? I don’t recall one.”
“The one I sent the other night.”
“Ah,” Claude chuckled. He seemed genuinely to have forgotten, muttering to himself and asking his attendant for confirmation. The silence from his staff was all the confirmation needed. “Right, that. I’m glad you liked it. And what did you bring me in return?”
“My lack of retaliation is your gift,” Yuls replied flatly. “Now, Claude, bring out the damn food.”
