Chapter 6
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It was a simple fact of life that Duke Woodpecker possessed every conceivable advantage.
Beyond a name that carried the weight of supreme authority, he had come into a staggering inheritance of land and gold while still a boy. His world was one of refined cuisine, elite scholarship, and the unwavering devotion of his retainers, all balanced by a deep-seated preference for privacy. Though a lethal serpent had robbed him of his parents during his youth, a dedicated circle of protectors had ensured his massive fortune remained intact as he matured.
Yet, his transition into adulthood was far from ordinary.
At thirteen—the precise age his parents were executed—a dark affliction took hold of Julius Woodpecker.
The common lore suggested this witch’s blight was a burden carried by the royal bloodline. This led many to wonder why the shadow had bypassed the reigning King or the heir apparent to strike the Woodpecker house instead. He was royal by birth, certainly, but he already occupied his own distinct sphere of influence.
The Council of Elders had seized upon this anomaly, arguing that the curse proved Julius held the most potent royal blood. They had tried to champion him as the rightful candidate for the throne, though their political maneuvering had ultimately led nowhere.
In reality, Julius Woodpecker placed no stock in tales of ancient sorcery.
He did, however, believe in the tangible reality of the “curse” itself.
“Is that individual the focus of the latest gossip?”
Yuls posed the question casually.
“Indeed, Your Grace,” his servant confirmed.
The Duke reflected on the young person he had encountered moments ago. He remembered a face that seemed more feminine than masculine, and a peculiar, downward-slanting gaze that had met his own.
Adi Grimaldi. This knight, who held a commission personally signed by the Crown Prince, was the true successor to Count Grimaldi. At court, the youth was a paradox—simultaneously holding the highest level of confidence and facing the harshest prejudices.
There was meant to have been a second heir, but the twin had supposedly perished years prior. Julius imagined that if they were identical, the sister would have been a striking figure. Since the knight bore no resemblance to the Count, he assumed the beauty was inherited from the Countess, though he had no personal memory of her appearance. Regardless of such trivialities.
“Such brazenness,” Yuls remarked.
He couldn’t shake the memory of those eyes, which had flared with genuine shock upon seeing him. The knight had looked completely oblivious to the rumors surrounding him. Had it not been for that look of pure ignorance, Yuls might have drawn his blade then and there.
“If the knight offends you, I can arrange for a swap,” the attendant offered.
“Don’t bother,” Yuls replied dismissively. “They are all cut from the same cloth.”
The Duke harbored no illusions about the sentries at Pallesa Palace. They were the King’s loyalists through and through. While perhaps less formidable than the Royal Guard at Ionad Palace, they were nonetheless the crown’s obedient hounds.
Adi Grimaldi was no exception.
The Duke mused on the idea of a palace lapdog with such a delicate face. Usually, being called a dog was a slight, but this one didn’t fit the mold. He wondered if she earned the title by being overly eager to please anyone she encountered.
*
Guarding Duke Woodpecker proved to be a surprisingly light burden.
True to the servant’s word, the Duke was a recluse. No one within the walls of Pallesa Palace posed a threat to him, and he expected nothing from his personal detail.
While Adi occasionally felt the weight of a questioning stare, the workload was non-existent compared to her grueling days in the 3rd Knights Order. Despite the dark whispers she had heard, she found the Duke lived a life of rigid, predictable routine.
It was a refreshing change from the chaotic whims of other high-born nobles who slept all day, wandered fields at midnight, or decided to go boating on a whim.
Checking the hour, Adi noted that Bert was currently on the morning watch.
The Duke’s exact waking time remained a mystery to her, but Bert stayed on post until nine o’clock. On the mornings she arrived ahead of schedule, she would spot the Duke deep in consultation with his advisors, likely managing the affairs of his southern lands. Adi had no interest in the intricacies of estate management, so she simply waited in the corridor until her shift began.
This schedule allowed her to enjoy a slow morning—training at first light, eating properly, and bathing without haste. It was a luxury she had never known in her previous post.
Whenever she stepped into his presence, the Duke was invariably occupied with the morning papers. He would glance her way from time to time, his expression unreadable.
Professional visits began at eleven. It seemed the Duke’s social calendar for his stay at Pallesa had been set in stone a year in advance.
The sheer volume of visiting aristocrats made her wonder if the entire nobility had relocated to the palace. Some faces appeared multiple times, usually for a formal midday meal. These luncheons were crowded affairs, attended by servants, food tasters, and the knights.
Afterward, his destination was always the library. While the capital’s move to Ionad had seen the construction of a modern facility, the most ancient and irreplaceable volumes remained here. The Pallesa library was a treasure trove of knowledge.
Because of this, the King and other royals made frequent trips back to the old palace when they needed specific references, maintaining a robust link between the various royal collections.
Adi was permitted to accompany the Duke into the stacks, but she found the experience grueling for a different reason.
She found it incredibly tedious.
Books held no charm for her. She couldn’t comprehend why Duke Woodpecker scoured the shelves with the intensity of a man searching for buried gold.
He would remain sequestered among the scrolls and bindings until the sun began to dip, at which point he would return to his quarters. Unless he had a formal engagement, his dinners were modest. Today was one of those quiet evenings.
While the palace staff handled the Duke’s meals, Adi always headed to the mess hall. Bert joined her every night. Having spent most of her life eating in solitude—both at her family home and in the palace—this shared routine felt strange to her.
Bert frequently grumbled about the quality of the palace fare, but Adi thought it was excellent. Her standards had been set by the notoriously wretched kitchen at the Grimaldi estate.
“Is this going to be the routine?” Adi asked.
Bert, mid-chew, didn’t answer immediately. He finished his bread, swallowed, and looked up. “What do you mean?”
“The Duke. It honestly feels like he doesn’t require a guard at all.”
She knew a week wasn’t long enough to judge, but based on his limited movements, nothing ever seemed to happen. Bert offered a small, knowing smile.
“Time will tell,” he said.
Adi doubted that. His life seemed devoid of any possible chaos. If this was the reality of the job, she realized the 2nd Knights Order was essentially a vacation. No wonder it was such a coveted position.
She hadn’t expected much from the assignment, assuming that high-ranking royals would be difficult to manage. Instead, the work was effortless. It was a far cry from the 3rd Knights Order, where she was constantly breaking up brawls, escorting convicts, or walking endless patrols.
To make matters better, the hazard pay was substantial. Even for someone of her means, the extra coin was a welcome bonus.
“Are we actually being paid just to look the part?” she wondered aloud.
She mused if it was simply easier for people with good looks to earn a living.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Paid for looks?” Bert asked.
“Well, looking at how little we do, it feels like we’re just decorative.”
Bert went quiet. The 2nd Knights Order was famous for the physical appearance of its members, much like the guards at Ionad, but it was considered poor form to acknowledge it. Even if everyone was thinking it.
“Sure, we can worry about our looks later, but the security is still a requirement,” Bert insisted.
Adi felt that Bert alone could handle the job. Or better yet, why didn’t the Duke just bring his own personal guards? Surely his own men would be more reliable for true security than palace knights. It felt intentional.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Ask away,” Bert replied.
“How long has the Duke been making these visits?”
Bert looked surprised. “You don’t know?”
“I don’t. I’ve only been stationed at Pallesa for three years.”
“Still, I figured you would have heard the talk.”
“I don’t pay much attention to other people’s business,” Adi said flatly.
Bert observed her neutral expression and decided she was telling the truth. He rubbed his jaw, feeling the stubble. “He’s been coming here every year since he was thirteen.”
That was half his life. Thirteen consecutive years of visiting the old palace.
“But why?” Adi pressed.
Her knowledge of the Duke was limited: he was the King’s nephew, he was in the line of succession, he ruled the vast lands south of the Oak Forest, and he was the victim of a curse.
“That’s a closely guarded secret,” Bert said.
Adi thought that if he wanted power, he would be at the new capital, Ionad. Perhaps the ancient capital held some relic he desired. She wondered what a man like him could possibly be searching for. If she were in his shoes…
She wondered if he was looking for a way to break his affliction. But if he had been searching for thirteen years without success, the outlook was grim.
“Anything else on your mind?” Bert asked.
“No, that’s all.”
“That won’t do. We’re going to be partners for a long time.”
“Isn’t this just for the season?” Adi countered.
“What makes you say that?”
“Because he visits every year but always asks for a new face to guard him,” Adi observed.
Bert squinted at her, looking impressed by her perception. However, his response was a dismissal.
“It’s better for us to keep the same team. Constantly training new people is a pain.”
Adi could tell he was lying.
