Chapter 68
Claude understood the true nature of the man. He suspected his insight into Spencer Grimaldi’s soul surpassed even that of Adrian, which was precisely why he supported the King’s decision to keep the Count at arm’s length.
“My father maintained that distance because he anticipated the Count was capable of orchestrating theater like this,” Claude remarked.
The man’s capacity for danger was immense.
“Why else would a peaceful place like Konya be struck by magical terrorism?”
He was a nightmare of an adversary.
“Are you suggesting the Count funded the attack?”
Claude considered how many enemies Spencer must have amassed. This was a man willing to throw his own flesh and blood to the wolves.
“Did you force Luigi’s hand in coming back?”
“Have you forgotten that my allegiance belongs solely to Your Highness now?” Spencer replied. His expression was a mask of pure innocence, as if he were a bystander to his own schemes. He seemed genuinely convinced of his own blamelessness.
“I merely…”
He had only cast a single pebble into a still pond.
“I simply ensured Marquis Luigi Francopan suffered a minor setback, Your Excellency.”
Claude’s gaze hardened as it fixed on Spencer.
“The Marquis chose to come to Pallesa of his own volition.”
The Count was a master of manipulation.
“If not his own choice, then perhaps it was the Marchioness Connolly’s doing. Surely you understand the friction between the Marquis and the Marchioness better than Duke Woodpecker does?”
“So, you used threats against Luigi to compel the Marchioness to summon him here?”
“My actions were strictly for your benefit, Your Highness.”
“For me?”
“Is it not prudent to eliminate those who are gradually becoming liabilities?”
Claude remained silent.
“You haven’t forgotten, have you? The path the current King took to the throne. Or the role I played in securing your own title.”
The reigning monarch had once been third in line. His older brothers were both gone; the Duke of Woodpecker had perished in a carriage disaster, and the previous sovereign had withered away shortly after his coronation.
The public blamed illness, but Claude knew the truth. He remembered the man who had cradled him when he was just a toddler. Spencer had ignored his own children in the north to serve as a mentor to the Prince, placing a weapon in the hand of the future heir while neglecting his own household. Claude was well aware of the blood on the Count’s hands.
“I was the one who ended them,” Spencer admitted.
Claude’s fingers curled into a tight fist.
“Your Highness.”
The Count was a venomous presence, not a man to be trusted for long. The King had seen the rot, yet Claude had initially failed to recognize it. He had reached out and claimed the viper the King had discarded.
“Why bother training a naive child who understands nothing?”
Now, the weight of that error pressed down on him.
“Is it not more efficient to employ a snake well-versed in the games of power?”
Spencer had likely chosen to support him because he viewed Claude as the most malleable candidate.
“I see.”
Certainly more manageable than Luigi, who was backed by the Connolly estate.
And far easier than Woodpecker, who possessed his own lands and a circle of fiercely loyal retainers.
“I suppose you’re right.”
It had been a catastrophic lapse in judgment.
*
Yuls began his day before the sun had fully risen. As Billy helped the Duke into his clothes, Yuls gave Gavin instructions for an immediate departure to their home province.
“I’ll begin the arrangements,” Gavin replied. “When do you intend to set off?”
“We leave the moment the royal audience concludes today. We’ve stayed long enough. Make sure everyone is ready.”
Gavin’s eyebrows shot up. Yuls was a man of habit who detested disruptions to his routine. This sudden haste was uncharacteristic.
“Isn’t this a bit abrupt, My Lord?”
“Luigi’s arrival makes me uneasy,” Yuls admitted.
This year felt fractured. Adi Grimaldi’s presence, Claude’s early arrival, the Count’s invitation into his home, and the pressure from Marchioness Connolly leading to Luigi’s return—it was a series of anomalies. Individually, they were manageable, but a cold shiver of intuition was crawling up his spine.
Yuls’s instincts were rarely wrong.
“Does it feel like… that other time, Excellency?” Gavin inquired.
The Duke’s premonitions were legendary among his staff. Bert often whispered it was the ‘Blood of the Witch’ manifesting. While they debated the superstition, they couldn’t ignore the results; that same instinct was the only reason Yuls had survived the massacre of the Woodpecker line.
“Understood. I will notify the senior staff,” Gavin said.
Adi watched them, her eyes narrowing. She found it difficult to grasp why a mere feeling would upend their entire schedule. Billy draped a coat over Yuls’s shoulders and asked, “What of Count Grimaldi?”
“I hadn’t considered him,” Yuls muttered, his gaze shifting to Adi. Having invited the man, he couldn’t simply throw him out. “Tell him he is welcome to stay at the residence for the duration of his time in Pallesa. The property is mine to offer.”
“I will relay the message.”
“And Adi.”
“Yes, My Lord?”
“Retrieve your transfer documents. They require the 2nd Knights Order Commander’s seal. Once you return, pack your things.”
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
When Adi lingered, Yuls offered a faint smirk.
“It means you’re finished for the day. Go.”
The room went quiet at his rare display of humor. Gavin and Billy exchanged a knowing look before glancing at Adi. Joel’s recent comments about the ‘heavy tension’ between the two seemed more plausible than ever.
Regardless of the reason, Adi was grateful for the early release. Despite the exhaustion of night watch, the palace felt secure with the King’s arrival and the heightened guard presence. She returned to her room, planning to drop off her heavy blade and head to the administrative wing before finally sleeping.
On a whim, she decided to strap a small dagger to her belt for safety. As she stepped out, she nearly collided with Roy, who was emerging from the washroom.
“Done already?”
Adi grimaced. Roy was soaking wet, trailing water across the floor with his hair still dripping. While she didn’t expect him to be in full uniform, she hadn’t wanted to see him quite this unkempt.
“I have to get my transfer papers and then pack,” she explained.
“Pack?”
“Do you have your documents yet?”
“Got those ages ago,” Roy said, trying to throw an arm around her shoulder. Adi shoved him away, wanting no part of his damp embrace. Roy didn’t press it, instead shaking out his hair. “But why the bags? Are you being sacked? We’re supposed to be a team, Adi.”
“The Duke wants to return to Woodpecker today.”
“Today? Why the rush?”
“He said he feels anxious.”
Roy froze at that. “Anxious?” When she confirmed it, he lunged for Bert’s door, pounding on the wood.
“Captain! Captain, get up! Move it!”
Adi watched him, completely baffled by his frantic reaction. She turned to leave; the administrative office was her first priority.
“Captain! He says the Duke has a bad feeling!” Roy’s voice echoed behind her.
Adi exited the lounge area. She heard Bert’s door fly open with a crash, but she put it out of her mind.
The brief clarity of yesterday’s weather had vanished, replaced by a brooding, dark sky. The ground was damp with the remnants of a morning mist that was slowly evaporating.
The corridors and grounds were largely deserted at this hour. The high-ranking officials hadn’t arrived, leaving only the palace staff to move about. Because of the silence, the sound of following footsteps was impossible to ignore.
A consistent rhythm trailed her, maintaining a calculated gap.
Adi wondered if she was being paranoid, so she tested her shadow. When she slowed her pace, the person behind her mirrored the change. She exited the main hall and wound through the gardens, taking a sharp right.
She took another right, completing three sides of a square. If she turned once more, she would be back at her starting point. She paused just before the corner. The footsteps behind her ceased instantly.
Confirmation. She was being hunted. She was glad she’d brought the knife. Adi rounded the corner slowly, her hand tight on the hilt. To mask her intent, she walked a few paces forward, then doubled back silently.
The pursuer was closing in.
Adi shifted her grip. The shadow stretching across the stone suggested a man slightly taller than herself, with a fit, athletic build. As he stepped around the pillar, she lunged, pressing the cold steel against his throat.
“Adrian.”
The voice was familiar. It stopped her heart.
“…Father.”
“A fine weapon,” Spencer Grimaldi noted.
Adi’s hand began to shake. She didn’t sense the second shadow until it was too late. Before she could pivot to defend herself, a brutal blow landed at the base of her skull.
Her legs gave way. As she slumped toward the ground, a pair of worn combat boots entered her fading field of vision. She recognized the specific wear on the heel.
It was Lev Zid. A desperate question formed in her mind—why now?—but her consciousness was already slipping into the dark.
“Move her,” the Count commanded. It was the last thing she heard.
