Mimicking the Duke’s steps was manageable, but the introduction of a melody complicated everything. The only reason Adi managed to avoid a public blunder was her deep familiarity with Yuls’s physical cues; had she been forced to rely on the music alone, she would have certainly stumbled.

The gown felt restrictive compared to her usual leather and steel, the fabric catching against her legs and heightening her self-consciousness with every rotation. She could feel the weight of countless eyes tracking them across the floor.

Yet, the social scrutiny paled in comparison to the heat of the man leading her. With his palm pressed firmly against hers, the warmth of his skin felt startlingly intimate. Perhaps it was the summer air, but she had never been so acutely aware of another person’s vitality. It was overwhelming, leaving her hands damp with a nervous sweat she couldn’t suppress.

The silence between them stretched until Yuls finally broke it. “What was the subject of your discussion?” he asked. Because they were so close, his voice seemed to vibrate directly in her ear, sounding deeper and more resonant than she remembered.

“It wasn’t anything of consequence,” Adi replied.

She saw no reason to disclose the cold ultimatum she had delivered to Spencer Grimaldi. Yuls tilted his head slightly, his eyes shadowing as if he found her dismissal hard to believe.

Nothing of consequence.

Yuls found that difficult to accept. Even while he had been occupied with Lea Lintu on the dance floor, his attention had never truly left Adi. From a distance, the interaction between her and the Count hadn’t looked particularly hostile. Perhaps she was simply a master of masking her emotions, but it didn’t feel like a simple performance. Had they found some common ground? No, a reconciliation seemed just as unlikely.

He found himself wondering what Adrina was truly after. She was a master of evasion, never offering her internal thoughts freely. There was always a sense of a hidden layer, a secret she kept guarded behind a wall he couldn’t scale. And yet, she never outright refused to answer him when he pressed.

“Do you harbor a desire to return to the Grimaldi lands?” Yuls inquired.

“You speak as if I still feel some bond to that house,” she countered.

He considered the possibility. It was a slim chance, but not impossible. Regardless of her personal feelings, she was a Grimaldi by birth. She could change her name to whatever she pleased, but the Count’s blood still flowed through her veins.

The nobility were defined by such things, and the Count was more obsessed with his lineage than most.

Yuls shifted his gaze upward. From the balcony, the Count and the Crown Prince were watching them like predators. Both men wanted her. Yuls met their stares with a silent, fierce challenge, his expression practically daring them to intervene. Sensing the sudden spike in his intensity, both men reacted with visible confusion, though their internal responses were worlds apart.

“And what about you, Your Excellency?” Adi asked, drawing his attention back down.

“Regarding what?”

“What did you and Lea Lintu find to talk about?”

Yuls blinked, wondering if he’d misheard. Why would she care about a trivial chat with Lea? The confusion lasted only a second before the realization hit him. He had been interrogated by his own curiosity regarding her and the Count; it was only natural she felt the same spark of interest.

A low rumble of genuine laughter escaped him. Adi watched him, her brow furrowing at his sudden amusement. So, she is curious, he realized with a surge of satisfaction.

“I instructed her to depart,” he said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I told her that since she has arrived, she should move to the Marchioness Connolly’s estate. There is no longer a justification for her to remain under my roof.”

Adi hesitated. “She only just arrived. Surely she hasn’t even settled in.”

“That is of no concern to me,” Yuls replied, his voice light with amusement. His steps grew buoyant, forcing Adi to quicken her pace to stay in sync with his newfound energy.

“However, it appears she has made a move of her own,” he added.

“What sort of move?”

“That isn’t the priority right now, Adrina.”

Yuls looked down at her with an expression that was familiar yet laced with a new, predatory playfulness. He seemed to be relishing the moment. Adi wondered if something in their brief exchange had triggered this shift.

“Yes, Your Excellency?” she prompted.

“Does it irritate you? The idea of me speaking with Lintu?”

Adi fell silent. She hadn’t actually interrogated her own feelings on the matter. She followed his lead across the floor, the silence hanging between them. Yuls didn’t repeat the question, but his expectant gaze made it clear he wouldn’t let it go. After a long pause, she finally spoke. “I suppose it does.”

Yuls let out a soft, triumphant chuckle. “If that is the case, then perhaps it is something worth reflecting on.”

Adi gave a small nod. While she agreed for the sake of the conversation, Yuls suspected she would push the thought aside the moment the dance ended. It didn’t matter. He was committed to claiming her as his own, regardless of the time or effort required.

Her happiness and her sense of belonging were his only real goals. To secure those, he knew exactly where he had to start.

He glanced back at the balcony. Claude and Spencer Grimaldi were still staring.

Those two were the problems he had to solve.

---

“It appears she’s been snatched away,” Claude noted.

Spencer Grimaldi turned his head toward the Prince, his face a mask of cold disagreement. “I still view her as a member of my household,” he replied.

He watched the pair on the floor. Adrina was a flash of crimson in her gown, her hair a matching flame. The Duke was visibly enjoying himself, while Adrina remained as stoic and unreadable as ever.

The sight pulled a memory from the depths of Spencer’s mind—his wife, years ago, dancing with that same grace. He had never been skilled in the ballroom, but she had been magnificent. She was the only thing that had ever brought warmth to the suffocating gloom of the Grimaldi estate.

Back then, he had convinced himself everything he did was for her…

“You were the one who did away with all your children, weren’t you?”

The Count’s memories shattered. He looked at Claude, who was wearing a look of mock sympathy.

“Forgive me,” the Prince added smoothly. “I should have said they passed away. My true thoughts simply escaped me.”

“It is no matter, Your Highness,” Spencer replied coldly.

“So, what is your next move?” Claude asked.

Spencer kept his expression vacant, pretending he didn’t understand the implication. But they both knew better. Claude was simply trying to force him to put his cards on the table.

“I am well aware of your ambitions within the palace,” Claude continued. “But you cannot ignore your own lands. What use is being the King’s right hand if you have no one to inherit your title?”

Claude’s eyes drifted back to Yuls and Adi, his gaze turning venomous. The sight seemed to irritate him for reasons he couldn’t quite name. He turned back to the Count.

“Everything you’ve done was supposed to be for the sake of your territory, wasn’t it?”

No, Spencer thought. It began for her. But that life had been destroyed long ago.

“Well?” Claude pressed. “What do you intend to do?”

“Is there truly a need for action? She is a Grimaldi by blood. That fact remains.”

“And if you lose her while you’re sitting idle? What then?”

“Losing her? Compared to a family of low standing like the Zids, her being tied to the Duke is a far more favorable outcome.”

Claude hummed thoughtfully. “And what about me, Count?”

The question hadn’t even crossed Spencer’s mind. It was a preposterous notion.

“A blood connection is the ultimate security, is it not? Even if it remains a secret between us.”

Spencer let out a sharp, dry sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. The Prince was suggesting they make her his mistress—that her child, the Count’s grandchild, would be a royal bastard. The idea sat foul in his stomach.

Spencer believed in the hierarchy of the world, and that the crown sat at its peak. On paper, the Prince was the ideal choice. But this Prince was a tainted thing.

The true heir should have been Luigi Francopan. He should have carried the royal name of Dalkatir, not his mother’s. But Luigi was dead—and Spencer knew he was the one who had effectively pulled the trigger on that life.

Luigi hadn’t been a saint either. Between him and Claude, there was little to choose from. Both were disappointments. They were living proof that sometimes, a high birth couldn’t fix a rotten soul.

“She is striking,” Claude said, his eyes fixed on the floor below. “When I first encountered her, she was a mess of grime and sweat. I didn’t see it then. But tonight… she is transformed. How did everyone miss it?”

He answered his own question before Spencer could. “Prejudice, I suppose. It’s only logical. No sane woman would choose the life of a Knight. It’s grueling even for men. I simply took her for a handsome lad. There are plenty of those, after all.”

Claude glanced at the Count. “She doesn’t resemble you at all.”

“She is the image of my wife,” Spencer replied.

Claude’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Now that you mention it, I see it.”

The eyes were a perfect match, though his wife’s had possessed a softness that Adrina lacked.

“Your wife must be a great beauty. Is that why you’ve kept her hidden away in the North all these years?”

It hadn’t been a deliberate choice to hide her, though it had served a purpose. The truth was simpler: she hated the capital. She loved the rugged beauty of their lands and the people they ruled. She had been happiest among the common folk, living a life of freedom.

If only she hadn’t given him a child.

“It’s a waste to let such a woman wither in the countryside,” Claude remarked.

Spencer’s eyes flashed with a sudden, murderous intensity. Claude flinched, startled by the raw ferocity in the Count’s gaze, but he quickly masked his fear with a shallow grin. The family really is his Achilles’ heel, he noted.

“My wife’s health is fragile,” Spencer said through gritted teeth. “She cannot endure the journey to the capital.”

“I am aware. But she did visit once or twice, didn’t she? If she had been a fixture of the court, your children might have had a very different standing.” Claude paused, his voice dripping with false regret. “Well, at least the one who survived might have.”

Spencer didn’t dignify the jab with a response. His silence was more menacing than any retort. Claude, sensing the air growing thick with tension, turned his attention back to the ballroom. He spotted Lea Lintu looking up at them. She offered a convenient exit.

“That young lady’s stare is becoming quite pointed. I should probably make my appearance downstairs,” Claude said. Spencer stepped aside without a word.

As Claude approached the grand staircase, he snatched a drink from a passing servant’s tray. He murmured a brief word, drained the glass in one go, and handed it back. The servant spoke in return, but the din of the party drowned out the exchange.

Spencer watched him go, shaking his head in quiet disdain. On the lower floor, Claude accepted another glass. This one was clear, looking more like plain water than spirits.

“He must be parched,” Spencer muttered.

The boy was utterly unfit to wear a crown.