Chapter 67
==================================================
Luigi was not a man Claude enjoyed. The friction went deeper than mere competition for the throne, though that certainly played a part. Among all his relatives, Luigi was the most grating presence, whether they were together in Ionad or far apart.
While the man’s ability to survive the isolation of the Royal Family earned a shred of respect, his arrogance was stifling. He looked down on everyone, even his own kin, with a sneer. In his mind, he was a victim of theft, though the reality was far simpler: he had been outmatched. In a world defined by the survival of the strongest, Luigi had simply failed to win, a truth his ego refused to process.
When the appointed hour arrived, Yuls appeared. Punctuality was rarely viewed as a virtue in the South, but Yuls lived by his own rigid standards. Once a commitment was made, his personality demanded he honor the exact second.
Claude, however, was perpetually behind schedule. Aside from formal audiences with the King—the only person who outranked him—he never bothered to be on time. Then there was Luigi.
“It has been quite a long time, brother.”
Luigi was the worst of the lot.
He arrived a full sixty minutes past the deadline, as if he had discarded the concept of time somewhere during his travels. Claude would have abandoned the meeting long ago if Yuls hadn’t been there.
To pass the time, Claude had cracked open a bottle, justifying the drink as a way to tolerate his returning cousin. He offered a single glass to Yuls before finishing the rest himself. When Luigi still hadn’t appeared, he started on a second. He was halfway through that one when his cousin finally graced them with his presence.
As Luigi walked toward them with an expansive, welcoming gesture, Yuls noted a striking similarity to Claude. It was a comparison both men would have found loathsome.
“Who are you calling your brother?” Claude snapped.
Luigi’s arms dropped. His attention shifted to the red-haired figure lounging nearby. He wondered if this was a new servant, but the man’s attire was far too expensive, and he hadn’t bothered to stand for royalty.
“And who might this be?” Luigi asked.
“You haven’t heard the news, then,” Yuls remarked. “Hello again, brother.”
Luigi’s eyes widened in genuine shock. “Yuls?”
He looked up at his cousin, visibly shaken. It had been over a decade since they last met, and he had never imagined the boy would grow into such a towering figure. The physical presence alone was daunting. Previously, Julius had been sidelined and dismissed solely because of the curse.
“Is the affliction gone?”
“Perhaps.”
“Well,” Luigi said, giving Claude a playful shove. “The race for the crown just got a lot more crowded, wouldn’t you say?”
Claude merely snorted. He knew Luigi was the one truly bothered by Yuls’s recovery. Claude’s ambitions didn’t extend past the Oak Forest, provided no one interfered with his business.
It was a dynamic Luigi likely failed to grasp, having spent so many years wandering abroad.
“If we’re counting bloodlines, there are plenty of people ahead of you,” Claude pointed out.
“Regardless, the title of Crown Prince belongs to me right now,” Luigi countered, emphasizing the temporary nature of the position. “But where is everyone else? Are our other brothers missing?”
“Some are abroad like you were,” Yuls explained. “And the Princess won’t leave Ionad, so don’t expect to see her.”
“She doesn’t matter. She’ll eventually be married off into another house anyway,” Luigi said with a dismissive shrug.
To Luigi, a woman could never take the throne unless every male heir was wiped from the earth. She wasn’t a threat. He believed Claude was his only hurdle, but looking at Yuls, he realized he now had to keep a close eye on Woodpecker as well.
“I wanted to see the King, but his schedule is packed for the next two days. The chamberlain managed to fit me in the day after tomorrow.”
It was clear that even that slot had required some significant rearranging. Regardless of status, that was the earliest opening available.
“I don’t suppose someone would like to swap times with me?” Luigi asked, eyeing Yuls.
Yuls let out a dry laugh at the transparent demand. “I’m keeping my appointment. Look elsewhere.”
“Is that how you treat family?”
“If you want my advice as a cousin,” Yuls replied, “you should go visit Marchioness Connolly. She’s the only relative who actually likes you.”
“…Yes, I suppose I should visit the Marchioness.”
“You call her that? Our aunt would be hurt,” Yuls noted.
Luigi fell silent. He realized Yuls had become far more difficult to handle than the child he remembered. Sarcasm from a grown man carried a much sharper edge. He turned back to Claude to change the subject.
“Do you still use a pipe? I picked up some excellent tobacco in Thuringen if you’re interested.”
Claude’s face went rigid. Luigi smiled, seeing the silent question of how he knew such a detail written across Claude’s features. Yuls raised his glass in silence.
“I brought something for you too,” Luigi told Yuls.
“You didn’t even know I’d grown up, yet you brought booze? What were you planning to do to a child?”
“You only looked like a kid. Your mind was always older.”
“My body was small, though.”
“You’re drinking now, aren’t you?”
“Because I’m an adult now.”
“…Fair enough. Returning to Pallesa Palace makes me realize how much I hate the summer here. The humidity is unbearable. Thuringen was much drier.”
“They’re neighboring kingdoms, north and south. How different can they be?” Claude grumbled.
“It was better than this. Maybe it’s because Dalcatir is so far south.”
Claude knew better. Anyone with a basic education knew humidity was tied to ocean currents, not just latitude.
“Moron,” Claude whispered.
Luigi ignored it, continuing his litany of complaints. Yuls couldn’t fathom why someone who despised Dalcatir so much was so desperate to rule it.
“Still, there’s no place like home.”
“You’re from the capital,” Claude reminded him.
“I was born right here in Pallesa Palace. The Queen had me during the festival.”
The Queen had fled the family the moment the King passed away. No one forced her out; she simply hated Dalcatir as much as her son did. After being married off to a minor nation, she took the first chance to return to Belipeera.
“My birthday is actually coming up,” Luigi added.
He didn’t care that no one in the palace viewed him as a local. He was the sort of man who claimed any connection that served his interests.
“I should start making the rounds with the local nobility while I’m here.”
Claude’s brow furrowed. It was a declaration of war. The air in the room grew heavy with hostility. Yuls found the whole display exhausting.
He decided it was time to head back to Woodpecker. He had achieved his goals; there was no reason to linger in this tension.
Suddenly, a chair was kicked over with a violent crash. The guards and servants stayed frozen against the walls, not daring to move. Claude was trembling with fury.
“Water,” he barked.
He slammed back the glass the chamberlain provided, but his rage wasn’t satisfied. “More!” he roared, shattering the empty pitcher against the floor.
With the room out of water, the chamberlain hurried toward the door, only to stop dead. He looked up, recognized the newcomer, and bowed deeply.
Spencer Grimaldi walked in. Claude’s eyes locked onto him with murderous intent. Spencer ignored the look entirely.
“You sent for me,” he said calmly.
Claude didn’t reply. Since the water was taking too long, he grabbed a bottle from the wall and drank directly from it.
“You’re overindulging, Your Highness,” Spencer noted.
“I’m thirsty,” Claude spat, wiping his mouth.
The liquor spilled down, staining his white shirt gold. He threw the bottle down, adding to the mess on the carpet. The room reeked of alcohol.
“This was your doing, Count?” Claude demanded, stumbling toward him. He swayed on his feet, finally stopping to jab a finger into Spencer’s chest. “It’s you. Nobody else would be this conniving.”
“I have no idea what you’re implying.”
“Why else would Luigi suddenly leave Konya and show up here?” Claude pushed against the Count’s chest, but the older man was like a stone wall. Claude’s own finger began to ache. He pulled back and slumped onto the sofa. “You invited him, didn’t you? You have your shadow over everything.”
Claude struggled for breath, covering his eyes. “Why?” he groaned. “Is this because I wanted your son?”
“Not at all, Your Highness.”
Claude didn’t believe him. The Count was a petty, calculating snake. He had refused to give up his son, and when Claude pushed, he had retaliated with this. Claude cursed himself for ever trusting the man.
“My son is not the point,” Spencer said. “However, when a superior path exists, it is foolish to ignore it simply to satisfy your own stubbornness.”
Claude looked up, glaring. Spencer offered a faint, lopsided smirk.
“Do you really want to end up like the King?”
The smile was a perfect mirror of Adi Grimaldi’s.
