Translator: Nox

Chapter 8

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The 2nd Knights Order’s wing was bathed in brilliant radiance. It stood in stark contrast to the northern outer palace, a place perpetually swallowed by gloom. Adi was fortunate that her old quarters faced the east, catching the first break of dawn, and while her current room looked north, the expansive courtyard acted as a funnel for the sun.

Silken drapes danced in the breeze of the unlatched window. Adi had been focused on polishing her blade, but a prickle of intuition made her stop and scan the area. Her eyes searched the floor until they caught on a stray piece of parchment.

She set her weapon on the mattress and rose.

The missive had clearly been slid through the door’s lower threshold. It bore a wax seal stamped with a familiar crest. Adi broke it open, ignoring the flowery calligraphy that initially met her eyes.

She moved to her desk and sparked a candle. Holding the reverse side of the letter over the flickering heat, she let the flame lick close enough to nearly char the fibers before pulling back. As the temperature rose, the Count’s secret instructions bled through the paper.

[Orders received. Maintain proximity to Julius Woodpecker. Monitor and detail every individual who seeks an audience with him.]

The sudden shift to Woodpecker was baffling. Without hesitation, Adi fed the message to the candle, watching until only gray flakes remained.

“……”

As the embers died, she contemplated the internal workings of Spencer Grimaldi’s mind. He was a man of total silence, never leaking his strategies to those around him, which left her unable to even guess at his true goal.

*

At nine o’clock, Adi arrived at Yuls Woodpecker’s drawing room for her scheduled rotation.

She expected to find Bert in his usual state—slumped over, complaining about his aching joints and lamenting that he was too old for such grueling labor. Instead, he was standing at rigid attention, draped in his formal dress colors.

His messy facial hair had been groomed to a sharp edge, and his spine was as straight as a spear. In this light, he looked every bit the distinguished veteran of the Pallesa Palace guard.

Though his youth had faded, his lethal experience more than balanced his stamina, marking him as a dangerous man. Adi felt a spark of professional rivalry ignite within her as she walked up to him.

“Shouldn’t you be heading to bed?”

“I have to welcome the visitor first,” Bert replied.

He added that today’s guest was particularly difficult, a sentiment mirrored by the servant standing nearby—the same one who had summoned Adi previously. Given the dark cloud on Duke Woodpecker’s face, it was clear the arrival was of significant standing, perhaps even a member of the royal bloodline.

The room grew heavy with anticipation. Adi fell into line beside Bert, mirroring his stiff posture. A sharp rap soon sounded against the wood. A servant announced the arrival of Marchioness Connolly.

A noblewoman of that rank was not someone who could be easily dismissed.

The doors swung wide, and the Marchioness glided inside. Her vibrant red curls were swept up and decorated with plumage, and her attire favored a lighter, more fashionable style rather than heavy ceremony. She carried a fan and was trailed by attendants laden with parcels. Her expression shifted to pure delight the moment she spotted the Duke.

“Cat!”

…Cat?

Marchioness Connolly’s eyes darted around as she entered. She reached out to brush Bert’s arm in greeting, then turned her focus to Adi, snapping her fan open. She masked the lower half of her face, though her eyes crinkled with amusement. She remarked that a new darling had joined the ranks.

A darling?

A shiver of discomfort climbed Adi’s spine. The Marchioness let out a bright peal of laughter at Adi’s visible discomfort before sauntering toward the Duke, her retinue following like a slow-moving tide.

Adi shot a look at Bert that demanded an explanation for the woman’s strange behavior. Bert, however, only offered a strained, pained smile. He looked like a man counting the seconds until he could escape.

It seemed even a veteran like him had his limits. While Adi hated being addressed so flippantly, seeing Bert’s genuine dread for the woman made her feel a sudden, strange kinship with her.

“Cat, you look as lovely as always.”

Where was this name coming from?

Most people called him the Duke or the Woodpecker King, though the latter was usually whispered since the King of Dalcatir might take offense. Bert used Yuls, which was a natural shortening of Julius.

But Cat felt entirely out of place. Adi searched her memory for the rest of his name. She had known it a few days ago, but the details were slipping. Julius Woodpecker. Julius Ca— something.

Cassius? Caspar? Caspras?

Whatever it was, turning it into “Cat” was undignified for a man of his stature. Yet, looking at his cool, distant features, Adi had to admit the name possessed a certain fitting elegance.

Still, nobody would dare use such a pet name for a Duke, regardless of their rank, unless—

“Aunt.”

Adi realized they were family. That explained the lack of consequences.

“It has been some time,” the Duke said.

“A full year. And you didn’t even bother to visit me after you arrived.”

“We are both in the palace. Meeting isn’t exactly a hardship.”

“The Duke is so buried in work that catching a glimpse of you is nearly impossible. That is why I had to come to you.”

The Marchioness stood across from him. She took her maid’s hand for support as she settled into a chair, handing off her fan so the servant could keep the air moving around her.

“Have you reached a decision on my suggestion?” she asked.

“I am uncertain. A final answer is not yet possible.”

As he spoke, the Duke cast a brief look toward Bert and Adi. Adi found the look unreadable, but Bert caught the hidden meaning instantly.

He signaled for Adi to follow him out. It was a clear sign that the conversation had turned to private matters. As the doors clicked shut behind them, the voices inside became nothing more than a low hum.

Marchioness Connolly. Had Count Grimaldi predicted she would appear?

Trying to sound casual, Adi asked if they were on a break. Bert merely shrugged.

“How long do we wait?”

“Usually about two hours,” he replied.

Adi nodded. “In that case, I’ll take my leave for a bit.”

Bert watched her walk away. Once the hallway was clear, he turned back to see more servants arriving with mountains of boxes. Some were clearly gifts, while others were merely disguises for bundles of paperwork.

He ushered the line of servants inside, took one last look toward where Adi had gone, and stepped back into the room.

The gifts were stacked high enough to hide a wall. The servants began the long process of explaining the origin and intent of every single package.

The Marchioness made a lazy gesture to her maid, then reached for a sweet on the table. She took a single, crunchy bite before tossing the remainder back onto the china as if it bored her.

“Sir Bert Dean, sit down.”

“I am fine where I am,” Bert said, remaining by the door.

“As you wish.”

She dismissed the staff with a wave. Once the room was cleared and the entrance secured, Bert took his post as a sentry to ensure no one was eavesdropping.

The Marchioness leaned back into the cushions, looking almost as if she were reclining in bed.

“Well?”

It was the opening of a script they had followed for a decade.

“How much longer will you live this way, Duke?”

“I know what you are asking, Aunt,” Yuls replied.

“I understood the wait before. You needed to build your strength. But it has been over ten years. What about the vow we made?”

“I will see it through.”

“Perhaps time feels different to you, Duke, since you have stepped outside of its rhythm.”

Time was a constant for everyone. Even if Yuls’s face was frozen by a curse, he still felt the weight of the passing years.

“I am running out of time, Cat.”

“As am I, Aunt.”

Being ageless actually made him more sensitive to how everyone else was fading.

“Why do you think I endure staying in this wretched palace?”

Yuls didn’t wait for an answer. It was a statement of fact.

“Our interests are perfectly aligned. Nothing has shifted. I don’t understand why you are making these demands now.”

“How can you rest at night knowing they are out there, smiling and without a care in the world?”

He actually slept quite soundly. Exhaustion was his sedative. When the complexity of his plans became too heavy to bear, his mind would simply shut down to reset itself.

Unlike the Marchioness, who spent her days in luxury only to be haunted by terror and regret at night, Yuls found peace in his fatigue.

“I want to see them broken. I want to see their hope turn to ash.”

“That day is coming,” Yuls promised.

“We must ensure it does.”

He wanted that outcome even more than she did.

“However, it is not the first thing on my list.”

The Marchioness pouted, her dissatisfaction written clearly across her face. Her maid looked on with concern.

“I told you before,” Yuls said, ignoring their reactions. “I will not move until I have recovered what belongs to me.”