Chapter 100 : : A Kiss Amidst Ashes

Chapter 100

“It means that you are shaken by the Duke. So I was confused the whole time.”

Once I began to speak, the weight pressing on my chest lifted more easily than expected. For a fleeting moment, I believed that laying bare the truth would set my heart at ease.

“I don’t know much about relationships,” I confessed softly, “I’ve never been this close to anyone, except for my father… and a few neighbors. So I don’t know whether what the Duke does for me stems from mere kindness—or something more.”

Silence.

“That’s why… every time you’re kind to me, my heart trembles.”

The more I spoke, the more wretched I felt. There was no warmth, no flicker of emotion from Johannes. I hadn’t expected a confession in return—but the cold indifference in his eyes was unbearable. His gaze, blue and glacial, pierced through me, and suddenly I felt as though I were drowning in ink-black waters, alone and unseen.

I turned away, eyes fixed upon the flickering fire. Its restless dance echoed the chaos in my heart.

Johannes’ voice, low and distant, broke the silence.

“So what does that mean?”

“…Yes?”

My head turned toward him, startled by the hollow detachment in his tone.

“Do I have to react to your feelings? One by one?”

His words were soaked in weariness—almost disdainful. He looked at me not as someone cherished, but as a burden too troublesome to carry.

My chest caved under the weight of his indifference.

“If you’re implying that I should feel the same—”

“Absolutely not,” I interrupted, hastily burying the ache swelling inside me. “You need not worry. I don’t harbor such presumptuous hopes.”

I knew. This wasn’t the kind of bond where feelings should ever take root. Ours was a transaction—an arrangement. For one of us to harbor affection was, perhaps, offensive to the other.

I looked away and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, attempting to recompose myself.

“Let me be clear,” I continued, “I’m not hoping you’ll feel anything for me. I only spoke because if I didn’t, my heart might have burst.”

“…”

“I feared that if I kept letting this go, I’d start believing every word you said.”

For the first time, something flickered behind Johannes’ eyes.

“So before that happens, I needed to know: Did you have anything to do with my father’s death?”

He stared at me blankly. Then, with painstaking slowness, he shut his eyes… and opened them.

“None. Not even the smallest part.”

A wave of breath escaped my lungs.

“Then why did my father warn me to avoid you…?”

But even I knew that was an unfair question. How could Johannes know what even I did not?

Still, his answer stunned me.

“I know why.”

My eyes widened, searching his for the truth.

But he didn’t elaborate. Instead, he turned away, his face a sculpture of composed detachment. He stared into the embers of the fire as though willing them to speak on his behalf.

And then, with a voice heavy and deliberate, he said:

“Edith Prim… I am the horse.”

A tremor ran through me.

Not Edith Schultz. Edith Prim.

He’d drawn the line.

With that single name, he pushed me away—as if to remind me I was merely a pawn, a utility, nothing more.

My heart clenched. I understood… but the pain was no less sharp. Foolishly, I had hoped. Hoped that behind his quiet kindness lay something deeper, something real.

But it had all been roleplay.

My chest grew tight. My eyelids burned. Tears blurred my sight.

And then, for the first time since my father’s passing, I wept—helpless, without dignity.

I raised a trembling hand to my cheek. Wet.

How pitiful.

Just as I tried to wipe the tears away, Johannes reached out and took my hand.

Startled, I met his gaze. For once, his expression was not unreadable.

“Do you want an answer from me?”

“No,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to cry. It’s just—”

“There’s only one answer I can give.”

He cut me off gently and extended a hand to brush a damp lock of hair from my cheek.

His eyes, a storm of conflict and tenderness, wavered.

He exhaled.

“Have I said this before? You always manage to break the rules I set.”

“…”

“Edith Prim,” he murmured, “I regret becoming involved with you. In any way.”

And then—his lips met mine, light as dusk, soft as sorrow.