Chapter 45
Almost two hours passed before Adi Grimaldi reappeared. She drifted back into the room carrying a thick, cloying scent of vegetation.
Yuls signaled to her as she approached. Though she smelled of tobacco, her expression was composed and her gaze remained sharp; she certainly wasn’t intoxicated. He had intended to warn her before Claude dragged him away, but the girl seemed to possess a preternatural instinct for avoiding trouble. Feeling his tension ebb, Yuls softened his expression and spoke.
“What did Claude want?”
Adi met his eyes with a look of pure innocence, as if his concern was entirely misplaced.
“He requested my presence in Ionad.”
“For what reason?”
“I am a knight in service to the Crown Prince,” she answered simply.
The statement left Yuls momentarily breathless. He let out a sharp, incredulous huff. Claude’s knight?
“Let’s be clear, Adi. At this moment, you belong to my service.”
“I am indeed Your Excellency’s knight,” she conceded. “For as long as you remain away from Woodpecker.”
Her tone suggested a technicality—that Claude was the ultimate source of her rank. Whether she meant to be defiant or not, that was how it landed.
“Once your time here concludes, I am bound by his commands. Since it was the Crown Prince who granted my title, calling myself his knight is merely a statement of fact.”
“A man you hadn’t even met until today,” Yuls countered.
Adrian was the key to lifting his family’s blight. He couldn’t permit such a vital asset to be swallowed up by Claude’s influence.
Yet he puzzled over Claude’s motives. What did the Prince want with Adrian Grimaldi? The boy didn’t seem particularly useful yet. The elder Count Grimaldi was still the one with real power, and Adrian was a mere novice.
If Claude intended to mold a protege, he was hardly in a position to mentor anyone himself. The Count would be a far more logical ally. Could it be that Claude recognized Adrian as the one meant to break his own curse?
“Do you intend to go to Ionad?”
“If I am commanded to do so, I will.”
“Understood.”
She was a soldier to the core. Yuls realized he needed a strategy to keep her from the capital. Perhaps he could entice the boy to Woodpecker instead. Given his history with the Count, a formal invitation might not be ignored. It was a move he would have to calculate carefully.
“Adi.”
“Yes, Your Excellency?”
“Forget orders for a moment. If the choice were entirely yours, would you choose to serve Claude?”
A heavy silence followed. Adi’s expression was a closed book, impossible to read.
Yuls decided that if she chose the Prince, she was a fool. That path didn’t lead to glory; it led to an early grave. And if Adrian was that reckless…
Perhaps it would be cleaner to dispose of him once the curse was lifted. Woodpecker had no use for the short-sighted.
“I…” Adi finally spoke. “If I had the luxury of choice, I would not go to Prince Claude.”
“Then where?”
“I wouldn’t stay in Grimaldi, either.”
The answer caught him off guard. If she rejected both the throne and her own home, did she mean to pledge herself to him? Such a decision would be a massive boon for Woodpecker—and for Yuls personally. Any outcome where she wasn’t Claude’s pawn was a victory.
He needed her to break the darkness within him. He wanted the Grimaldi who chose him of her own volition, not a discarded scrap from the Crown Prince.
“If neither the palace nor your home, then surely…”
“I wouldn’t go to Your Excellency, either,” she finished.
Yuls went silent, his mind racing to find any logic in the boy’s perspective.
The sun felt like a long-lost friend. While the Spring Festival in Dalkatir usually began with a downpour, the sky always offered this brilliant, deceptive clarity just before the clouds moved in.
The Duke’s temporary residence overlooked a communal garden shared by several high-ranking families. From the upper windows, one could always hear the distant hum of noble gossip and laughter. Adi, who usually only listened from the shadows, was now standing on the grass with a practice sword in hand. Her sparring partner, Roy Gallardo, wiped his brow.
“I’d say I’m about as good as Illich,” Roy remarked.
“I don’t know the name,” Adi replied.
“That fellow over there.” Roy pointed the tip of his wooden blade toward a man lounging on the grass with a Head Maid.
Adi squinted at the figure. He looked entirely too relaxed, but his Pallesa Palace uniform confirmed his identity.
“He looks like he’s doing absolutely nothing,” she observed.
“He’s a natural. The kind of genius who doesn’t have to sweat. If he actually applied himself, he’d be the most famous blade in Dalkatir.”
Adi felt a pang of envy. She spent her nights working and her days training just to keep pace.
“My point is,” Roy continued, “that I, through sheer hard work, have reached his level.”
“Wouldn’t it be more efficient to make him work and have him deal with Lev?”
“That guy doesn’t care about the sword. He has other priorities.”
“Such as?”
“Just having an easy life.”
Adi found the sentiment incomprehensible. Why choose comfort when power was within reach?
“It’s his background,” Roy explained. “He’s a commoner knight. No matter how talented he is, he’s hit a ceiling. That’s why he’s stuck here in Pallesa instead of Ionad.”
“Is that so?”
“Exactly. The nobility usually treat commoners like insects.”
“You are a noble yourself,” Adi reminded him.
“My life hasn’t been as cushioned as you might think,” Roy said, his eyes lingering on the distant knight.
The man was tall and lean, showing no obvious signs of martial prowess. However, Adi knew looks were deceptive. Beneath a tunic, a person could be made of iron. She was a prime example—appearing as a man only because of her clothes and bearing.
“If I had real influence, I’d hire Illich in a heartbeat. He’s easy to please as long as the kitchen is good.”
“He wouldn’t like Grimaldi then,” Adi said, shifting her weight. “The food in the North is miserable.”
Without warning, she lunged upward. Roy let out a startled yelp, barely bringing his sword up in time to parry.
“Hey! You can’t just start swinging!”
“You should always strike when your opponent is distracted,” she countered.
“Not while we’re having a conversation!”
“Will you ask for a timeout on a battlefield?” Adi pressed her advantage, her movements fluid and relentless.
While her technique was far superior, Roy’s raw strength began to turn the tide. He started to push her back.
Adi clicked her tongue in annoyance, a sound that made Roy grin. Thinking he had the opening to end the bout, he swung downward with force. Adi stepped lightly to the side, leveled her blade, and drove it directly under his raised arm. In a real fight, his shoulder would have been opened to the bone.
“Is that… a Grimaldi move?” Roy asked, breathless.
“It’s one of Lev’s favorites. Perfect for dealing with someone taller.”
“I’m taller than that prick,” Roy grumbled.
“Want to try again? I can show you how he goes for the throat. He uses that one even more often.”
As she reset her stance, Roy’s expression soured. He knew that move well; it was the same one that had finished Illich.
“So Lev’s style is just the standard Grimaldi way?”
“The Count personally trained him. Even though he’s just a vassal.”
“He was a sparring partner,” Adi clarified.
It had been years since Adrian’s health had failed. They must have been children, barely five or six. Her memories of that time were hazy, like looking through frosted glass.
She had brief flashes of herself and Lev, holding heavy wooden swords that were taller than they were, being pushed to their limits by the Knight Commander and the Count.
When Adrina had cut her hair and stepped into Adrian’s life, Lev had been the one to train her. The Count had likely been planning the deception even then. No one understood the Grimaldi style better than Lev.
Roy lunged again. Adi swept his blade aside and touched the tip of her sword to his neck. It was a deceptively simple motion that required perfect timing.
“Don’t get bogged down in the moment, Roy,” she said.
In truth, she wanted to see the Grimaldi style overcome.
“The moment is all there is. If you can’t survive the present, there is no future.”
“Lev fights like I do,” she explained. “He reads people. He watches how you move and learns your habits. The longer you fight him, the less chance you have. You have to end it before he figures you out.”
“He analyzes his opponents?”
“You said Illich is well-known. Lev has probably already studied him. If your family has a specific style, he’s likely picked that apart too.”
Roy gave a dry laugh. “You really are in the dark, aren’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“My family were career bureaucrats. I only know the basics of swordsmanship.”
“A bureaucrat who fought in the wars?”
“Desperate times. They needed bodies, and since we could at least hold a sword, we were sent. My style is just the fundamentals. No flair, no secrets.”
“But you have a lot of tricks,” Adi noted.
“That’s just from surviving enough scraps. Your style isn’t exactly like Lev’s either, is it?”
“Also the result of surviving,” she admitted.
If she fought Lev now, she had a few surprises he wouldn’t expect. Even so, she couldn’t overcome the gap in their physical strength. But Roy was a different matter.
“You’re strong,” she said.
“Your technique is better,” he replied.
“I can’t build bulk, so I worked on my speed and precision.”
“Some people are just built that way,” Roy said, sitting down to catch his breath.
Adi leveled her sword at his chest. “Stop complaining and stand up. We aren’t finished.”
“You’re a demon. I should have known when you were hunting that assassin.”
“You should have known long before that.”
Roy groaned but hauled himself back up. From a high window, Yuls watched the pair. They were so engrossed in their training that they didn’t notice the audience they were attracting. Even Illich was watching them now.
“Give me your assessment,” the Duke said to Bert.
“He has talent. His technique is surprisingly refined, though his physical power and core basics are still underdeveloped.”
“Is that why he’s always moving?” Yuls asked. He had noticed the boy frequently leaving his quarters, and reports from the chamberlains said he was spending his free time running laps.
“He’s clearly trying to compensate for his weaknesses,” Bert noted. “Though it’s largely academic. Once he takes over the estate, he won’t need to lead from the front. The Grimaldis have moved away from their martial roots.”
Yuls made a noncommittal sound and looked toward the connecting corridor of the adjacent building. Count Grimaldi was standing there, his gaze also fixed on the training ground.
“I can’t tell what’s going on in his head,” Yuls murmured.
Bert wasn’t sure if the Duke was referring to the father or the son.
