Chapter 96
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“There is no certainty that you will ever possess a truly commanding grip on the throne,” Yuls remarked coolly.
Claude’s expression darkened. “Is that an attempt to mock me?”
“I am simply describing reality as it stands,” Yuls replied.
A sneer played on Claude’s lips. He knew that achieving his goals was far more grueling in this era than in the days of his ancestors, but he wasn’t about to let Yuls patronize him. Yuls, however, felt the need to elaborate on the decline of their power.
“The era of absolute royal authority is a relic of the past,” Yuls continued. “Back then, the Crown was expanding borders, holding its own in the Continental Union, and watching the treasury overflow with trade wealth. Military triumph allowed for total centralization. They even had the luxury of moving the capital inland to Ionad to escape naval threats. But look at the consequences of those choices.”
Claude shrugged dismissively. “Ionad is a comfortable city, is it not?”
“It is the only place that is,” Yuls countered. “Draining the treasury to build a capital in the middle of nowhere was a fiscal suicide mission. Then Luigi’s father passed, and your father only managed to seize the vacant throne by relying on the strength of Count Grimaldi. Meanwhile, my own father was so blinded by infatuation that he abandoned his duties to hide in the South. To be blunt, our predecessors were a catastrophe. My father was the most pathetic of all—if he intended to desert his post, he should have stayed gone, yet he eventually crawled back to submit to the Crown anyway. Do you have any idea what it was like to be handed a Dukedom at thirteen because of his failures?”
“I imagine it was exhilarating,” Claude quipped.
Yuls stared at him, his voice flat. “Who taught you to be so flippant?”
“Life at court,” Claude answered.
It was painfully clear to Yuls that the palace had failed to instill any sense of decorum in the prince. He wondered who had actually overseen the boy’s upbringing. If the Count had been his mentor in combat, perhaps someone else had failed the rest. Yuls, having spent his life far from the capital’s influence, couldn’t say for sure. He fell into a brief silence, which Claude took as an opportunity to twist the knife.
“If the late Duke Woodpecker had simply kept your mother close, perhaps he would have avoided that blight on his bloodline,” Claude suggested.
“The curse has nothing to do with his romantic choices,” Yuls snapped. “He was simply too fragile a man to commit to a path.”
Yuls thought of his father with a mix of pity and disdain. The man had failed as a parent and as a sovereign. He claimed to value love above all else, yet he couldn’t bear to lose his status. If Yuls had been in that position, he would have vanished into the woods with his mother and never looked back.
But he knew that was a fantasy. Even if the Duke had found his spine, the woman he loved had already moved on in her heart, and the son she bore was a deviation from the natural order.
“That lack of resolve is why the Count backed your father instead,” Yuls said. “My father’s flaws were too obvious to ignore.”
Yuls often pondered the labels the Witch used for him. She called him a ‘green human.’ He wondered if it meant he was a person cherished by the earth, or if there was a darker, more literal meaning to the phrase.
Green Man. The term haunted the edges of his mind.
He shook the thought away as a useless distraction.
“Grimaldi made the logical choice,” Yuls admitted. “I share my father’s lineage, and I am well aware of my own vulnerabilities.”
He looked Claude directly in the eye.
“I don’t want your chair, Claude. I have no desire for it. My only goal is the security of my own lands. I have no grand designs on the kingdom. However…”
Yuls paused. He had been so isolated by the cold reception he received at court that he had missed the depth of the political currents. He knew people gossiped, but he hadn’t realized the level of organized discontent until now. Had he known earlier, he might have stepped out of the shadows sooner.
Of course, had he been present, the nobles would have likely held their tongues. Overhearing their candid discussions the previous day had been a stroke of luck.
Claude’s presence had made Yuls a known figure to many, but some still didn’t recognize him. Those were the ones who spoke freely, their masks slipping as they discussed the survival and prosperity of their own territories.
“I govern the South, but it’s clear the other provinces are starving for trade,” Yuls explained. “Dalkatir has become a hermit kingdom. That is likely why the King is looking toward Thuringen for an alliance. We must reach the heart of the continent, either by sea or through the northern borders, but we’ve let our maritime power rot. If Pallesa Palace were still the seat of power, we’d have options, but Ionad is a dead end for commerce.”
The current system of centralization only served a tiny circle of royals and their favorites. Every decision was strangled by the Council, the Elders, and the Privy Council before the King even saw it. The lack of autonomy meant that even good ideas died in the bureaucracy.
“Because of royal mandates, even coastal lords are forbidden from independent diplomacy,” Yuls noted. “Trying to trade across provincial lines is a nightmare because the laws are a mess. If the kingdom is going to be this restrictive internally, it’s no wonder people are looking for a way out. They want to be the first to import foreign goods and culture for the tax breaks. Some border lords are even intermarrying with foreigners to bypass our laws. They are becoming part of other nations’ families.”
Claude frowned. “So the nobility is bitter because the Crown won’t let them trade freely?”
“Other kingdoms allow their lords some diplomatic freedom,” Yuls said. “Dalkatir does not.”
“Strong nations can afford that risk,” Claude countered. “If we let our lords negotiate with foreigners, we risk them selling us out to the highest bidder.”
“Which is exactly the problem the Privy Council is supposed to be solving,” Yuls said.
“Are you saying they were debating this after I stormed out?”
“They were likely debating it while you were sitting there,” Yuls corrected. “You simply weren’t paying attention.”
Claude scoffed. “The babbling of subordinates is usually a waste of time.”
“A leader who doesn’t listen to the people below him won’t stay a leader for long.”
“My father doesn’t listen to anyone either,” Claude muttered.
“You are mistaken,” Yuls said firmly.
The King was far more perceptive than his son realized. He maintained a complex web of alliances. While nobles were naturally prone to treachery the moment their interests were threatened, the King played them like an instrument.
He gave them enough rope to feel free, looked away at the right moments, and executed them the instant they became a threat. It was a philosophy he had learned from Count Grimaldi—a philosophy he eventually used to exile the Count himself. And now, his son had stupidly invited that same threat back into the fold.
Claude sighed and signaled to his head servant. The man moved instantly, producing a bottle of dark spirits and a glass.
“Care for a drink?” Claude asked.
“I have no interest in poison that dulls the mind,” Yuls replied.
“This is a gift from the heavens.”
“Then the gods must truly despise us,” Yuls said.
“You’re too wound up, cousin. It’s a miserable way to live.”
Claude began to pour. The thick, amber liquid gurgled into the glass, filling it nearly to the brim. It was an obscene amount of alcohol for the morning hours, yet Claude swallowed it down as if it were nothing more than water.
“Get a grip on yourself,” Yuls said, his disgust evident. “If the King decides you are a liability, he will discard you without a second thought.”
Claude’s face twisted into something that might have been a smile, though it looked more like a mask of pain. He knew the truth of Yuls’s words. The only reason he still had a place in the palace was the lack of a viable alternative. He was walking a razor’s edge; he couldn’t afford another blunder.
Yuls watched him, doubting the prince had the discipline to stop his descent.
“I suppose I’ll just have to make myself indispensable then,” Claude said, his lack of control on full display. “But tell me—what is this great sin I’ve committed?”
He looked genuinely confused. Despite the scandals following him like a shadow, he seemed blind to the line between acceptable behavior and political suicide.
“Bringing the Count back,” Yuls said. “That is the greatest mistake you’ve made recently.”
“Bringing him back?” Claude laughed harshly. “I didn’t invite him. He threatened me.”
“That is your version of the story,” Yuls said.
Yuls knew that public perception didn’t care about Claude’s excuses. When Claude tried to argue, Yuls silenced him with a look.
“Talk to your advisors. Talk to the lords who still support you. Even the Count might have some insight—he is, at the very least, intelligent.”
“You’re on my side, aren’t you?” Claude asked, searching Yuls’s face.
Yuls noticed the emphasis. Perhaps Claude was finally realizing how thin his support truly was.
“As long as you don’t cross me, I am your ally,” Yuls said, his voice dropping into a dark, solemn tone. “Just make sure you never reach for what belongs to me.”
“Is that so?”
Claude’s eyes drifted to Adi, who stood like a statue behind the Duke. Her expression was completely hollow, her gaze colder than that of a passing animal.
“In that case,” Claude said, a slow realization dawning on him, “you should probably be looking at the Count as your enemy, not me.”
Claude hoped that by painting Grimaldi as Yuls’s true rival, he could deflect the Duke’s scrutiny. He saw Yuls’s face tighten for a split second before the mask of calm returned, and he knew his words had found their mark.
