Chapter 95
The head chamberlain entered the quarters, walking toward the sofa where Claude lay in a disorderly heap with his boots resting on the furniture’s edge. As the servant tugged the drapes aside and unlatched the windows, the heavy bank of smoke that had settled in the room began to drift away. The air from outside carried a hint of humidity, yet it was a welcome relief compared to the stale, foul odor that had gripped the interior.
“My Lord.”
Claude looked up, his gaze entirely vacant. Used to seeing the prince in such a state, the chamberlain handed him a cup of water. Claude gulped it down with desperate speed. Liquid spilled from the corners of his mouth, trickling down his jaw and staining his collar. Still feeling the burn of thirst, he thrust the empty vessel back at the servant. The moment it was refilled, he emptied it again in a single, long swallow.
His bleary eyes made it impossible to discern if he was merely exhausted or under the influence of some other substance. With a pained groan, Claude squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his aching temples before rolling over to press his face into the upholstery.
“Please wake up, Your Highness. A visitor has arrived.”
The chamberlain spoke with quiet persistence. Claude opened one eye, squinting.
“A visitor?”
“His Grace, Duke Woodpecker, is waiting to see you.”
“Was there a meeting scheduled?”
Claude slurred the question. Before the servant could manage an explanation, the doors were thrown wide. Both men turned toward the noise. Still wearing a dark scowl, Claude watched as Yuls and Adi marched into the room.
“Where did you lose your manners, Yuls? Barging in like this?”
“I could ask you the same. You’ve kept me standing there for ten minutes.”
“I don’t recall agreeing to see you.”
“The fact that you’ve forgotten doesn’t mean the engagement never happened.”
It was a fair point. Claude truly had no memory of it. He wondered exactly how much he had drunk the previous night. Or perhaps it wasn’t just the alcohol, but some other additive he had consumed. Regardless, he seemed to have made it back to his bed without causing a public scandal. Either that, or his staff had performed a miracle in dragging his limp body back here.
Claude forced himself into a sitting position. Yuls took the chair opposite him. The contrast was sharp; while the Crown Prince looked like a wreck, Yuls sat with perfect poise, his clothing immaculate. Adi took her station silently behind the Duke.
“I can give you a moment to wash your face if you need it,” Yuls remarked dryly.
Claude ignored the jab, instead casting a heavy, lingering smile toward Adi.
“My, what a lovely girl. I see you’ve donned your Knight’s colors today.”
In place of the crimson gown she had worn before, the uniform masked her shape completely, designed for nothing but utility and movement. Yet, that very modesty gave her an air of forbidden allure. The way the fabric sought to hide her form suited her far better than Claude had expected.
“Mind your tongue when speaking to my knight,” Yuls warned.
“Do you never let her out of your sight? I find myself quite jealous.”
“Someone should bring the Prince more water or perhaps some tea. He clearly hasn’t regained his senses yet.”
“Actually, a pipe might be just the thing to clear the cobwebs,” Claude suggested.
“Do not dare smoke in my presence. It’s disgusting,” Yuls snapped.
Surprisingly, Claude yielded. His head was spinning and his stomach felt precarious; a pipe might actually make him sick anyway. The chamberlain provided Claude with tea and offered a cup to Yuls, though the Duke dismissed it with a sharp wave of his hand.
The warmth of the tea brought a glimmer of clarity to Claude’s mind. He slumped back against the cushions and finally asked, “So, what exactly did we discuss yesterday?”
Yuls’s expression darkened. He wondered what kind of poison the Prince had taken to have his memory wiped so thoroughly.
“A great deal happened after you departed. The Council of Elders is sharpening their blades.”
“Ah. Did I ask you to keep an eye on them for me? What is it they’re after now?”
Claude’s voice trailed off as he slid further down the sofa. He was nearly horizontal again.
“The Audit Agency,” Yuls said shortly.
“They are arguing that the agency lacks the necessary neutrality and independence. Because the agency also handles routine inspections of officials, there is talk of implementing ‘logical restraints’ on its power. And as you know, that agency…”
“…is under my command.”
Claude pulled himself upright as he spoke. He knew the people working under him were often involved in shady business, but the open hostility toward the Audit Agency was bold. If they hated being watched so much, they should stop breaking the rules. Their perspective was entirely lost on him.
“They are also accusing you of mishandling your power of pardon.”
Claude pointed a finger at his own chest in disbelief. Misusing pardons? He had many flaws, but that wasn’t one of them. If they wanted to ruin him, they should at least pick a lie that wasn’t so easy to disprove—
“Specifically regarding Count Grimaldi.”
“…Oh. Yes. I suppose I did do that.”
“Many people hold a grudge because of how difficult the Count was during his time on the Privy Council. He single-handedly stalled several legislative agendas. Their stance is that once a committee clears a bill, it should move forward automatically. They claim the Privy Council is holding things hostage and want to move toward a system of automatic referral.”
“Automatic referral… so they want to strip the Privy Council of its teeth?”
“It’s less about the Council and more about stripping you of yours.”
“Just mine? If they do that, they weaken the King’s standing as well. He won’t allow that to happen.”
“The King will be fine. But what about your position?”
Claude fell silent. It was true; the reigning monarch wouldn’t actually lose anything. Even if the Council’s power was reduced, the King still held the final signature on everything.
“The Elders want to clip your wings now. They know that once you take the crown, they won’t be able to push you around like they do today. You aren’t blind to how many people want you gone, are you?”
“Which is why they are all flocking to you instead.”
Before the Count had been eliminated, there was Luigi, but he was no longer a factor. A small funeral had been held within the walls of Pallesa Palace, but it was so quiet that the capital of Ionad barely noticed he was gone.
Some nobles made cruel jokes about how Luigi had started and ended his life in the same palace, but no one truly felt the loss except for Marchioness Connolly. And even she likely didn’t care much.
Luigi never truly belonged to the Kingdom of Dalkatir. The notion that he had come there to hold any real power was a fantasy.
Yuls Woodpecker, however, was a different story.
“It’s quite a burden, having a cousin as gifted as you,” Claude remarked.
Yuls had both the strength and the respect of the people.
“The Privy Council never thought I was gifted. Neither did the other councils.”
“That’s only because you were a child then.”
“I only looked like a child.”
“People can only judge what they see. Which makes the current version of you perfect, doesn’t it?”
The man sitting across from Claude was undeniably impressive. His face possessed the delicate, haunting beauty of the Witch, but his frame was powerful and masculine, leaving no doubt about his strength. His hair wasn’t a common orange or rust; it was a vivid, deep red that looked like a gemstone. And his eyes…
“I’m curious to see how long the line of people wanting to make you King actually is.”
Yuls was the image of the previous Duke. Their temperaments were different, but the colors were identical.
The old Duke had been born with a strange lack of color. His skin and hair were so pale they were almost white, contrasted by piercing red eyes.
Because he couldn’t stand the sun, he always wore heavy black clothes and wide hats. He only felt comfortable in the deep shadows of the Oak Forest, where the light couldn’t reach. It was there that he supposedly found a woman with hair so red it matched the color of his eyes perfectly.
“I have no interest in the crown,” Yuls replied.
“Why? Most people would kill for that seat.”
“Only because you want it. I am content in the South.”
“You don’t have a single drop of Southern blood in your veins.”
“I am of the South. You know that better than anyone.”
“…Right. The Witch was from the South.”
As a boy, Claude had often wondered how a union between a human and a Witch could even result in a child.
“As long as you own that forest, I suppose you’ll never leave.”
He had spent years wondering if the child of a Witch was human or something else.
“It has been that way for generations.”
“Because it is my land.”
“It might mean more than just property.”
The answer Claude had eventually found was simple.
A Witch only ever produced another Witch. Anything that came from her was part of her kind. They were a race of women who used men only to continue their female line.
Claude looked at the contradiction in front of him—the Witch’s son—and chuckled softly.
The previous Duke had locked the Witch away when she tried to return to her woods. The stories said he built a massive glass house to keep her happy as she faded away from sorrow. He filled it with plants to mimic the Woodpecker Forest, giving her a private cage.
It sounded like a romantic legend, but it had curdled into a ghost story.
Amidst the rumors of the forest growing wild and the sound of screaming in the night, the Witch finally became pregnant. The dark omens proved true.
“Can we talk about why I’m actually here? You didn’t invite me to discuss my family history.”
A boy had been born.
“Correct.”
A Witch was only supposed to have one child in her life.
“The local lords want to act on their own.”
One child to take the name and the power.
They said the Duke was overjoyed when Julius Caspras was born, but the Witch was devastated. She called the boy a mere human and cast him aside. Before she died, she supposedly cursed the man who had kept her prisoner.
Claude didn’t know the name of the spell, but from that day on, Julius Caspras stopped aging.
“On their own?”
And then, that curse had finally been broken at Pallesa Palace.
“Our grandfather held a terrifying amount of power, but…”
Since that moment, one thought had consumed Claude.
“…the current King is nothing like him.”
If he could just figure out what had finally broken that curse, he would have the ultimate leverage over Julius Caspras.
