Chapter 61
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It was hard to say if other soldiers enjoyed such lengthy furloughs. Adrina found herself at a loss with this sudden abundance of leisure. Regardless of her boredom, the orders were strict: stay inside. The prevailing wisdom suggested that avoiding the Count’s notice was the safest path. However, Adrina viewed the situation through a different lens. She expected the Count to take aggressive steps to restore his standing.
Action was required on her part as well, though moving undetected proved nearly impossible. Despite the Duke’s agents scattered about, she felt the weight of every eye in the vicinity whenever she ventured out.
Upon reaching her goal, the sentries blocked her path with crossed polearms.
“Are you representing the Woodpecker estate?” one demanded.
“In a sense,” she replied, “though this visit is independent of the Duke. I am here by the personal request of the Crown Prince.”
The guards took in her battered appearance with visible skepticism. “You are Sir Adrian Grimaldi?”
She confirmed it with a short nod.
The constant scrutiny she’d endured suddenly made sense; her ruined face was likely the talk of Pallesa Palace. The news of her condition had clearly traveled faster than she had.
“His Highness is expecting you,” the guard said, retracting his weapon. “You may pass.”
Adrina offered a brief, respectful gesture before entering.
The reception area was hollow and silent. Heavy drapes were pulled tight, plunging the room into a deep twilight made worse by the gloomy weather outside. A senior attendant gestured for her to wait and then vanished.
Ten minutes of silence passed on the settee before the doors swung open. Claude walked in, flanked by two servants. He looked like a man who had only just been roused from sleep, draped in a loose robe. He swept his hair back with one hand and offered a wide, welcoming gesture as Adrina stood to greet him.
“Good heavens,” he muttered, his hand flying to his mouth. “What on earth happened to your features?”
His shock felt rehearsed. Behind the mask of concern, his eyes glittered with a dark sort of fascination, as if he found the sight more intriguing than tragic.
“I had no inkling the Count possessed such a temper,” he mused.
Spencer Grimaldi had always presented himself as a statue of frozen logic. He was so devoid of warmth that many joked he was a construct of stone and magic rather than a man of flesh.
Yet, seeing Adrina’s injuries provided a strange confirmation: the Count was indeed human, capable of visceral rage. This was the violent penalty for exposing the secret techniques of his house—secrets that had been kept even from the throne.
“Why haven’t you seen a physician?” Claude asked, settling into the chair at the head of the table. “Did Yuls not provide a healer for you?”
“The Count would find a quick recovery insulting,” Adrina explained.
Claude tilted his head. “Wouldn’t he find your current appearance even more offensive?”
A faint, dry laugh escaped Adrina. The resemblance between the two men was striking; the old saying about the fruit not falling far from the tree felt particularly apt here. It was almost a pity to think this handsome prince might eventually harden into a man like Spencer Grimaldi, though she suspected they were already cut from the same cloth.
“I see. This was a calculated choice,” Claude observed. He seemed to realize she was using her own body as a form of silent protest. “You are far more entertaining than I anticipated, Sir Adrian.”
“I am pleased to provide some diversion for you,” she replied.
“I had intended to call you to Ionad,” Claude said, sinking back into his seat. “But the Woodpecker papers reached the desk first.” Today, he lacked that usual scent of bitter herbs, and his gaze was unusually sharp. “Is it your intention to head south to the Duke’s lands?”
Adrina remained silent.
“I have a particular loathing for being treated like a pawn,” he added coldly.
“Believe what you will, but I had no hand in those arrangements,” she said.
“Naturally. That is what everyone claims.”
He seemed to dismiss the excuse. It was the way of the world to mask one’s true path, playing both sides until the most profitable outcome became clear.
“Still, Woodpecker is a solid choice,” Claude continued. Adrina kept her expression neutral. It was a confusing dynamic; the Prince seemed to be monitoring the Duke closely, yet here he was endorsing the man. The Duke, conversely, had spoken of the Prince as a failing investment.
“It actually puts my mind at ease if you stay with him,” Claude admitted. “He is the only kinsman I truly rely on.”
The statement felt wrong. In their world, such trust was a liability. If anyone should be trusting, it ought to be the Duke trusting the Prince, not the other way around. In the climb for power, everyone usually watched their back.
“Regardless, you should come to my side eventually,” he added.
Adrina wondered what the Duke had done to earn such rare loyalty. “Is there a specific reason you require my service, Your Highness?”
“A reason?” he repeated.
“I was under the impression you and my father were close allies,” she said, “but the current atmosphere suggests otherwise.”
“Allies with your father?” Claude began rubbing his fingertips together—a subtle sign of agitation. His attendant noticed the twitch but remained motionless, waiting for a signal that never came.
“The Count is merely one of many who serve the throne,” Claude stated. “The only distinction now is that he has managed to earn the Crown’s displeasure. He overstepped, perhaps believing his rank made him untouchable. It was a grave error in judgment.”
“May I ask the nature of the disagreement?”
“It was trivial, really,” Claude said, tapping his temple. “They simply failed to see eye to eye. You see, my father’s mind has become quite inflexible.”
Adrina had no real knowledge of the King. She had never spoken to him and had only caught a glimpse of him once during his visit to the palace. From a distance, he looked the part of a ruler, but perhaps the reality was different for those within his inner circle.
“Age has a way of sealing a person’s thoughts,” Claude sighed. “He believes the world is fine as it is. In truth, Dalkatir has always been on the brink of collapse, much like any other kingdom. The idea of maintaining absolute royal control in this climate is a fantasy.”
He went quiet for a moment, staring into the shadows before leaning toward her. “Adrian, how much do you understand about the world beyond our borders?”
“Very little, I’m afraid.”
“Conflict is brewing to our north,” Claude revealed.
“In Thuringen?” she asked.
“Precisely. It’s a tinderbox. The nobility is at odds with a growing insurgent force.”
The proximity was concerning. Grimaldi lands bordered Thuringen directly, separated only by a few small settlements. In those border towns, the languages and cultures bled into one another; the local Grimaldi dialect was almost indistinguishable from the Thuringen tongue. If war broke out there, the northern territories of Dalkatir would be the first to bleed.
“These rebels are surprisingly well-organized and led by capable people,” Claude explained. “They are preaching about a new world order, which is a direct threat to us. The Thuringen royals have asked for our intervention. It’s only logical for monarchs to protect one another’s crowns.”
Adrina couldn’t find herself agreeing. Such a move might preserve a distant throne, but it would be a disaster for the northern lords who had to provide the men and the battlefield.
“The Council is divided,” Claude continued. “The Count was adamant that we should stay out of it.”
Adrina understood the Count’s logic. Any leader who valued his own people would have reached the same conclusion.
“In that specific instance, I find myself in agreement with the Count,” Claude admitted.
“Why is that?”
“Our motivations differ, but the reality is that the Dalkatir throne is far more fragile than people realize.”
Adrina was struck by his candor. Claude wasn’t just playing politics; he was performing a cold autopsy on his own family’s power.
“My father was a third son,” he said. “The true bloodline of succession actually flows through my cousins. Technically, Duke Woodpecker had a stronger claim to this seat than I did. My father only secured my position by naming me Crown Prince. Aside from Yuls, every other relative is just waiting for us to trip.”
She wondered why he excluded the Duke from that list. What made him so certain of Yuls’s intentions?
“The Count argued that we shouldn’t be wasting resources on foreign wars when our own foundation is so shaky,” Claude said. “His logic is sound, at least regarding the safety of the royal house.”
It was a rare moment where the Count’s self-interest aligned perfectly with the needs of the Kingdom.
“The problem,” Claude whispered, “is that my father takes it personally.”
The King had grown weary of being told he was wrong, even when the advice was correct.
“He views the Count’s caution as mere selfishness—a lord trying to protect his own backyard. Because my father had to break tradition to take the throne, he’s obsessed with proving his power. He wants to show the world he can command other nations.”
Claude offered a bitter, self-mocking smile. “He wants to flex his muscles abroad while he can’t even manage his own court.”
Adrina wondered if the Count was the only target of this frustration.
“That is why I backed the Count,” Claude concluded. “The reason I didn’t offer you a room here in the palace was…”
“To show that your support has limits,” Adrina finished for him.
“Exactly. I agree with his policy, but the Count treats the royal family with far too much contempt.”
It wasn’t hard to see why. Since taking the throne, the King had given the Grimaldis plenty of reasons to be critical. The Count never missed an opportunity to point out a flaw, and the King refused to listen because he felt his authority was being challenged.
“He believes he is the one who made the Count,” Adrina noted.
The irony was thick. The King only held his crown because of the Count’s support, a fact known to every soul in the kingdom. That was the root of the poison. The King’s greatest ally was also the greatest living reminder that his power was a gift, not a right.
“I suppose that’s why the kings of old used to execute their supporters once the war was won,” Claude mused. “Gratitude eventually turns into arrogance.”
