Chapter 69
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Pleasant melodies drifted from the other side of the entrance. Spencer Grimaldi paused there until the chief steward rapped on the wood. The music ceased instantly. After the steward announced the Count’s presence and pulled the door wide, Spencer walked in, the heavy portal clicking shut at his back.
“Count Grimaldi.”
Luigi greeted him with a beaming grin. Spencer’s attention immediately darted to the furniture. The reception area was bathed in light and, in a sharp departure from Claude’s quarters, the surfaces were lined with tea service rather than spirits. Marchioness Connolly was already there, seated across from their host.
“I have you to thank for my presence here,” Luigi remarked, motioning for him to take a seat. “Konya was pleasant enough, but it cannot compare to my birthright.”
The Count took the chair to the left of Luigi, who occupied the head of the table. This put him face-to-face with the Marchioness. A servant appeared, setting a pre-warmed cup before him and filling it with steaming tea.
“It appears your assessment was correct, Count—Claude is indeed a slave to his habits,” Luigi said, his voice laced with dark amusement. “Once word of his addiction reaches the masses, the aristocrats currently shielding him will scatter.”
In truth, many in the high circles were already aware. The silence was maintained only because such a vice wasn’t enough to topple Claude’s status on its own.
“How did you find Thuringen?” Spencer inquired.
“Dry enough, I suppose. The scenery was decent,” Luigi replied, sounding lost in thought. “The art had charm, though the populace lacked intellect.” He shook his head, clicking his tongue with a look of lingering annoyance. “They are pushing for ridiculous reforms. That throne won’t stay upright for long.”
Luigi stood up abruptly, his eyes fixed on the door. He must have received a silent signal from a servant, as he raised a hand to ask for a brief reprieve. He smoothed his clothes and walked out, promising to return shortly.
Once the door was sealed, the Count set his cup down. He was the one to shatter the quiet.
“I was under the impression you were providing aid to Duke Woodpecker, Madam.”
Marchioness Connolly didn’t bother moving her head; she simply shifted her gaze upward to meet his.
“And what would give me reason to do that?”
“Is he not your kinsman?”
“Hardly. He is the offspring of a Witch,” she spat. She clarified that Luigi was her sole nephew and that her alliance with the Duke had been a fleeting matter of convenience. She took a sip of tea, then paused, looking at him intently. “What of your own affairs, Count? Are you comfortable with your heir remaining at the Duke’s side? That seems a departure from your original strategy.”
“No, it was never the plan,” Spencer admitted, his eyes narrowing as he stared her down. “Had you prevented the Gallardo family from throwing their weight behind Woodpecker, I wouldn’t have been forced to put my son at risk. You should have eradicated that bloodline years ago, Madam.”
“Perhaps you should direct that grievance toward your dear comrade instead of me.”
“My bond with Kenneth Marks withered a long time ago.”
The Marchioness fell silent at that. It wasn’t just a matter of a soured friendship; the Count had ruthlessly cut Kenneth Marks loose. He was framing a well-known betrayal with practiced grace.
The room grew heavy with a tense silence. Neither spoke, each waiting for the other to flinch. Eventually, the Count lifted his cup, took a measured drink, and placed it back on the saucer.
“The Marquis is taking his time,” he noted. He turned his head and summoned his guard. “Lev.”
“At your service.”
“Go see what is delaying His Excellency.”
“Understood.”
Lev moved to the exit. The moment he turned the handle and cracked the door, a blood-curdling scream tore through the air. The Marchioness flinched at the high-pitched terror of the sound. Lev didn’t hesitate; he threw the door open and sprinted toward the noise.
He found the Marquis on the floor, a blade driven through his chest. Someone cried out for His Excellency as Count Grimaldi and the Marchioness reached the scene.
The Marchioness shrieked at the sight of Luigi’s lifeless form and the steel protruding from his ribs. Seeing the Count approach, Lev began to hunt the assassin who was already vanishing into the distance.
“Adrian!” the knight bellowed.
“So, you are requesting an early departure?”
“Indeed. With spring ending, the duties of the coming seasons weigh on me. Tax season requires my presence, and given the surplus of high-ranking nobles and royals in attendance this year, I felt my absence would go unnoticed.”
The King knew the excuse was flimsy. Yuls simply wanted to flee the social clutter and the people he despised. The King had no reason to block him. Though the Duke was leaving sooner than anticipated, he had achieved his goals, and the King found his formal request for leave almost polite compared to his usual habit of disappearing.
“Very well. If that is your wish—”
The King’s sentence was cut short as the chief steward burst through the doors, abandoning all decorum. Even for an emergency, such an intrusion was unheard of from a man so disciplined. Both the King and Yuls watched him in stunned silence.
The steward rushed to the base of the throne, bowed hurriedly, and scrambled up the dais. He threw a single glance at Yuls before leaning in to whisper into the King’s ear, shielding his mouth with his hand.
The King’s face turned to stone. He looked at Yuls for a long moment before letting out a sharp, breathless laugh.
“Julius.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“I am told your personal guard has murdered Luigi.”
“I beg your pardon?” Yuls stammered. The idea was absurd. None of his men would commit such an act. He looked at the King with genuine confusion. “Are you referring to Bert?”
“Adrian Grimaldi.”
Yuls was stunned into silence. The claim was even more impossible. He doubted Adi even knew Luigi by sight. The King leaned back, a strange, choked sound of laughter escaping him.
“You mentioned you were leaving today?” He looked at Yuls, his eyes bright with an unreadable emotion. “I find myself wondering if you foresaw this.”
The King’s instincts were sharp; he wondered if this was the influence of the Witch’s blood. It was a close call, but the Count had moved with greater speed.
“Send him in,” the King ordered.
The steward obeyed, opening the grand doors once more. Spencer Grimaldi stood there. He walked with measured steps to the center of the hall, coming to a halt behind Yuls.
“Your Majesty.”
The King looked at Spencer with a piercing gaze. “I have received word of Luigi’s passing.”
The Duke turned to look at the Count.
“As this was the work of my own flesh and blood,” Spencer began, his voice steady despite the underlying tension that had been haunting Yuls. “I will take full responsibility and produce him.”
“And then what?” the King challenged. “Taking his life won’t restore Luigi’s.”
“I will present my son’s head to the crown.”
The King was well aware of Spencer’s fanaticism regarding his lineage. Offering up his own heir was a staggering gesture. The King smiled thinly, recognizing the Count’s signature style.
“Fine.” He had seen this play before. “Proceed as you see fit, Count.”
Spencer Grimaldi bowed low. The King was under no illusions; the head delivered would not be that of the Count’s son. He hadn’t seen Adrian recently and wouldn’t recognize the boy. Once a head was severed and left to rot on the walls of Pallesa Palace, any slight resemblance would suffice to convince the public. No one looked closely at a decaying execution trophy.
“Do not assume this settles the matter entirely, Count,” the King added.
It was a choreographed performance.
“I shall remember that,” Spencer replied.
The Count exited with a faint smile, leaving the King looking grim. Yuls, meanwhile, looked like he had seen a ghost.
“You may go as well,” the King told him. He knew there was a bond between the Duke and the Grimaldi heir, though its depth remained a mystery. Seeing Yuls’s bloodless face, the King realized the boy was significant to him. “Shouldn’t you be heading home?”
The King was curious. By making this move, the Count was effectively erasing Adrian Grimaldi’s existence. He wondered how the young Duke would respond to such a loss.
“I take my leave, Your Majesty,” Yuls said, bowing before heading out.
Gavin was waiting in the hall. Yuls’s expression was hard as flint. “Did Adi come back today?”
“I haven’t seen her since this morning, sir.”
“Is Ivan still tracking her?”
“No, he was told to stand down.”
Yuls’s face twisted in frustration.
“If it’s an emergency, we can locate her quickly,” Gavin offered.
“Do it,” Yuls commanded. “Find her this instant.”
Adi woke up in total darkness. She was in a cramped, windowless room, likely a servant’s closet or a side chamber. She felt her way along the cold walls until her fingers found a latch. She pushed the door open and stepped into a sunlit hallway.
The layout felt familiar, yet the expensive flooring and ornate tapestries were wrong. As she tried to orient herself, a figure collided with her and kept running.
Adi stumbled, regaining her balance. She was about to give chase when she saw Lev Zid nearby. The memory of Lev striking her unconscious flashed through her mind, and she turned and ran in the opposite direction.
Everything felt like a setup. Her only instinct was to escape. But her flight only drew more attention; the faster she moved, the more people seemed to be closing in on her.
Just as she felt she was cornered, a hand clamped onto her arm and yanked her into the shadows. She prepared to fight back, but stopped when she saw Ivan. He pressed a finger to his lips, demanding silence.
Adi went still. Ivan moved with the grace of a ghost. He approached a massive portrait—large enough to hide several men—and triggered a hidden mechanism. They slipped into a concealed corridor behind the frame, the exit closing without a sound.
She followed him through the secret veins of the building. She had no idea where they were, only catching occasional glimpses of the outside through tiny spy-holes in the masonry. Eventually, Ivan reached a large panel and pushed it open.
They stepped out from behind another frame. Adi looked up at the long shadow stretching across the floor.
“You’ve arrived.”
“Your Excellency.”
Duke Woodpecker was waiting for them. The secret path had led directly into his private chambers.
“What is happening?” Adi asked.
“Everything has gone wrong, Adi,” Yuls replied, his voice heavy. Adi could only stare at him, her mind racing to catch up with the nightmare.
