Chapter 74
Leaving the royal grounds was a simple task. With the official travel authorization provided by the Palace, getting past the capital gates proved just as effortless. Despite the ease of their departure, the group remained cautious, agreeing to maintain a low profile until they reached the safety of Woodpecker lands.
Adi tugged at the long strands of the wig, finding the synthetic hair increasingly irritating. However, the physical discomfort paled in comparison to the awkwardness of sharing a carriage with the Duke.
“The long hair actually suits you,” Yuls remarked.
He paused, his eyes lingering on her. “Though I still prefer your natural look.”
Yuls envisioned her as she truly was. He imagined that golden hair grown out and swept up, or perhaps flowing loosely over her shoulders. It didn’t truly matter; she possessed a beauty that transcended the length or style of her hair. He felt a sharp pang of desire to see her without the disguise—to see her original blonde hair paired with a proper gown.
Safety took precedence, however. They were still far from a place where she could shed her mask.
“You’ve endured a great deal, Adi,” he said softly.
“I appreciate your kindness, Your Excellency,” she replied, her voice formal.
“Soon enough, we’ll have the Sir safely tucked away in Woodpecker,” Yuls said, shifting his attention to the scenery passing by the window.
Having Adi in his territory offered a strategic advantage. The Woodpecker forests shared borders with the Witch’s old haunts; it was the ideal place to unravel the mysteries of the curse. Spotting Bert riding alongside the carriage, Yuls slid the glass open and called his name.
“Yes, Your Excellency?” Bert responded.
A smirk played on Yuls’s lips. “A niece, was it?”
Bert remained silent.
“The name Dean has a nice ring to it, Adi,” the Duke teased.
The lie had been a matter of necessity. They couldn’t reveal her identity, yet her refined bearing made the role of a common servant unbelievable. Claiming she was a relative of a high-ranking knight, traveling under his protection, had been the most plausible cover they could devise on short notice.
“I was thinking about our arrangements once we arrive,” Yuls continued. “What do you think about officially taking on a niece, Bert?”
“I would need to consult my wife on such a matter,” Bert replied dryly.
“With three sons at home, wouldn’t she welcome a daughter for a change?”
“That is a fair point, sir.”
Roy, riding nearby, let out a scoff. “What are you two even talking about? No matter how you dress him up, he’s still a man.”
Those privy to the secret kept their expressions neutral. Yuls didn’t care about the knight’s ignorance; he had secured his prize. Adrina Grimaldi was bound for the South.
“The forests in my home are incredibly dense,” Yuls told Adi, his tone turning serious. “The paths are so narrow that a single carriage barely fits. It’s a dark, unsettling place where a traveler can easily lose their way—and the monsters haven’t entirely vanished.”
Adi had heard tales of such creatures, though they were largely considered myths in the modern era. The prospect of entering a forest where they still roamed was chilling.
“It’s a ten-day trek to reach the Oak Forest,” Yuls explained. “Crossing through it usually takes another four.”
The way he emphasized ‘usually’ made Adi wonder if there were darker, swifter paths.
“Prepare yourself, Adi. We have a long road ahead.”
Back at the Pallesa Outer Palace, a body lay sprawled on the stone within the walls, surrounded by a ring of guards. Lev Zid stared down at the corpse, his features set in a grim mask. The dead individual wore the colors of the Woodpecker knights, but the stature ruled out both Bert Dean and Roy Gallardo. Furthermore, only one person among them possessed hair that shade of gold.
It looked like Adi Grimaldi.
Lev rolled the body over, revealing a face ruined by the fall. It appeared the person had struck the iron railing with lethal force on the way down. The blood-matted blonde hair and the person’s height were a haunting match for her.
Reaching into the tunic, Lev searched for a specific item, dreading what he might find. He pulled out a Knight’s Journal. Upon opening the cover, he saw the signature of Sir Adrian Grimaldi. Lev’s brow furrowed in frustration.
Rapid footsteps approached, and the guards snapped to attention. Lev rose and offered a salute as the newcomer arrived.
“Lev,” the man said.
“Your Excellency.”
Spencer Grimaldi looked down at the scene, his face mirroring Lev’s tension. This was a complication he hadn’t foreseen.
“It looks like he slipped while trying to scale the wall,” a guard reported. “The face is unrecognizable due to the impact with the railing, but the physical build and hair suggest it is Sir Adrian Grimaldi.”
The Count took the journal Lev held out. He scanned the pages, recognizing the signature immediately. It was the exact script he had forced Adrina to practice until she could replicate it perfectly. Though some pages were missing, the handwriting in the remaining entries was undeniably hers.
“Dead?” the Count muttered.
The situation made no sense. There was no reason for her to run; he had already sourced a different body to present to the King as a decoy. His plan had been to take the real Adrina back to the Grimaldi estate for his own purposes. Now, he was faced with a corpse he hadn’t authorized. Was this truly his daughter?
The news of the discovery had spread quickly, drawing a crowd of nearby nobles. Among them was Claude Dalkatir.
Claude was well aware of the conspiracy. He knew a body double was supposed to be delivered to the throne, and he had assumed this was simply the Count’s handiwork. But the genuine distress on the faces of Spencer and Lev suggested otherwise.
Something had gone off the rails.
“What’s the situation?” Claude asked, stepping forward. “Is he really gone?”
Claude wasn’t asking about a decoy. He was looking at the Count’s expression and wondering if the real Adrian Grimaldi had actually perished.
Spencer glanced at Claude, realizing the Prince was in the dark about the identity of the body. “Keep the public away,” Spencer commanded Lev.
Lev immediately ordered the guards to erect a screen. It took a few minutes to set up a makeshift tent to shield the body from prying eyes. Once they were enclosed, Spencer dismissed the remaining guards.
When the sentries hesitated, Lev grew forceful, arguing that since the prisoner was dead, there was no risk of escape. He insisted the family needed a moment of privacy to confirm the identity. Reluctantly, the guards withdrew.
“Aren’t you leaving, Your Highness?” Spencer asked, his voice cold.
“Am I being excluded from this secret?” Claude countered.
“I would prefer it, but I doubt you’ll budge.”
“Correct. I want to see how you identify your own son.”
Spencer exhaled a heavy sigh and nodded to Lev. “Strip the body.”
Lev began removing the outer layers—the cloak, the tunic, and the undershirt. Claude’s eyes widened as the torso was revealed.
“That… isn’t Adrian?”
“It appears it is,” Spencer replied.
Claude stared. “The body is female. And you’re claiming this is Adrian?”
“To be precise,” the Count said, “it is Adrina Grimaldi.”
The name clicked in Claude’s mind—the twin sister who was supposed to be dead. “The girl I wanted.”
“I had no choice but to raise her as a man after Adrian passed,” Spencer explained.
Claude realized the deception went deeper than he thought. The knight he had commissioned hadn’t been a woman breaking the rules, but a woman stepping into a dead man’s shoes.
“That’s why I fought so hard to keep her from you,” Spencer continued. “If she had gone to your bed, our families would have been tied by blood.”
“I wouldn’t have minded that,” Claude said. “My heir would have held both a princely title and a Count’s inheritance.”
Claude leaned in to look at the face but recoiled. She had been a legendary beauty, but the fall had left her features a gory mess. “It’s a moot point now. Your daughter is dead.”
Claude watched the Count, wondering if the man’s obsession with his lineage was the reason he had chosen this path instead of simply adopting an heir. A Grimaldi woman could still carry the bloodline forward. It didn’t matter who the father was; the child would be a true Grimaldi.
But even that ambition was buried now.
However, Spencer didn’t look defeated. He knelt and pulled up the corpse’s trouser leg to inspect the ankle. He tilted his head in confusion and asked Lev for his sword. Claude watched, horrified, wondering if the Count was about to mutilate the remains. Instead, Spencer took the scabbard and held it against a wound on the leg.
A small, grim smile touched the Count’s lips. “I see.”
The wound was significantly larger than the width of the scabbard.
“This isn’t my daughter,” Spencer declared.
A wound might close as it heals, but it doesn’t expand on a corpse. He handed the sword back and examined the hair more closely, noting the length was off as well.
Claude looked down at the body, his stomach turning. “If it’s not her, then who is it?”
“Likely the person who murdered Sir Luigi,” the Count said, letting the head drop back to the stone with a dull thud. He looked at Lev. “Sever the head. We will present it to the King as Adrian’s.”
“As you wish, Your Excellency,” Lev replied, drawing his blade.
The rasp of steel on the scabbard made Claude’s skin crawl. The clinical way they discussed the decapitation was more than he could stomach. He had seen violence before, but the cold, practiced nature of these men was different. They lived in a world of shadows and blood that he only touched from a distance.
“To hell with this,” Claude muttered, covering his mouth as he bolted from the tent. “The old man is insane.”
He stepped into the fresh air, fighting back the urge to vomit.
