Chapter 115:A Gathering of Shadows and Silk
✦ Chapter 115✦
⟡ A Gathering of Shadows and Silk ⟡
Upon arriving at Castle Evanstein, the first figures to greet us were none other than Marilyn and Sir Frett.
Marilyn, as usual, seemed entirely unaware that my disappearance had been of my own choosing. With the unwavering tone of a woman obsessed with decorum, she immediately launched into a tirade about noble manners—only to raise her voice in distress over the kind of terrible incident we must’ve encountered.
And, of course, she concluded by lamenting how she hadn’t been able to relax for even a moment since we’d gone.
Sir Frett, on the other hand, greeted us with a blade hidden behind silk:
“The Duke’s face is rather damaged.”
His words held not a trace of softness, despite the smile resting on his lips. There was something sharp—accusatory—hidden within his gaze. Being Johannes’s assistant, he likely knew more than he let on… though whether he knew about Father still being alive remained unclear.
I suppose it’s no surprise. I’ve been stepping beyond bounds I shouldn’t, pulling Johannes into ever-darkening storms. Whatever Sir Frett knows about my origins, the blame lies with me regardless.
I gave him a sheepish smile—but Marilyn immediately shot me a look sharp enough to freeze fire. A silent command: do not smile, no matter what.
I quickly wiped it from my face.
Only then did Marilyn soften.
“An invitation arrived under Prince Edward Windsor’s name while you were both away at the Duke’s residence.”
“An invitation?” Johannes echoed, arching a brow.
Sir Frett stepped forward, providing a brisk summary of its contents. In short: Prince Edward was to host an exhibition in the art city of Bamburg, inviting celebrated emerging artists.
…And the venue? The Mussen Museum.
My expression remained neutral—but inwardly, my heart writhed.
“Tell Windsor I won’t be attending,” Johannes replied icily.
But Sir Frett frowned, troubled.
“We believe it’s more than an art event—it appears to be an unofficial royal gathering. Nearly every noble will be at the opening ceremony.”
“So?”
“Due to the recent incident… the newspapers are already whispering all kinds of scandal about the two of you. Rumors are spreading among the public.”
He hesitated, then gave me a knowing glance before continuing:
“Since something unpleasant has already occurred… it may be wise to silence the rumors. There will be press and nobles at the ceremony. Sometimes, the best way to control gossip is to embrace it.”
“But the timing feels… deliberate. Isn’t this all a bit too convenient?” Johannes asked, voice low.
“From what we’ve uncovered—it most certainly is.”
“An unofficial royal event…”
He trailed off, then slowly turned his gaze to me, as if searching for a reaction. I quickly looked away, pretending indifference. Once he turned forward again, I allowed my shoulders to drop, just a little.
So the exhibition my father mentioned is happening at the Mussen Museum.
Highly suspicious.
I bit my lip, fists tightening at my sides.
Could Edward Windsor know his father is still alive?
Did something leak? Giltheon…?
I shook my head. No. If Giltheon had intended to reveal that, he’d have done so already.
Besides, no matter how talented he is, he couldn’t reach Edward with such confidential intel in just one day—not when he’d only just handed Ahin that letter.
Yes, problem solvers often delegate, but with matters like this—they always handle it personally.
So… perhaps it’s just coincidence. Or a beautifully disguised trap.
“Why do you look so pale?”
We had arrived at the bedroom. Johannes stood before the door, studying me.
“I’m just tired. It’s been a long day outside. I’ll go in first.”
I offered a vague excuse and turned to Lord Purcell.
“Lord Purcell.”
“Yes?” he replied, startled.
“When the Duke spoke of divorce…”
“Divorce?” he repeated, visibly shaken.
His usual stoicism cracked at the mere mention of the word. But when I met his eyes—light green and conflicted—he composed himself once more.
“Ah… forgive me. I was simply shocked and interrupted.”
“It’s fine,” I replied with cold calm.
Sir Frett, now visibly flustered, looked to Johannes, then back to me.
“May I ask… is there a reason for such a decision? Forgive me if that was too forward…”
He clearly hadn’t imagined Johannes would be the one to suggest it.
I exhaled quietly.
“It was the Duke who asked for the divorce.”
“What? That can’t be… surely the Duke—”
“I intend to go through with it,” Johannes cut in smoothly. “And what better stage to announce it than at the exhibition’s opening? Let the whispers cease.”
I turned to him, stunned. Lord Purcell was equally aghast.
“How can you say such a thing so suddenly?! You know a divorce isn’t that simple—it needs royal consent. One party must be proven at fault!”
“Then I’ll be at fault,” Johannes answered calmly. “There’s plenty that can be pinned on me.”
The room fell silent.
Lord Purcell opened and closed his mouth, then turned to me, eyes pleading for clarity. What happened during the day you vanished? he seemed to ask.
I simply shook my head slowly: Not now.
“Lord Purcell. I trust you’re on my side in this matter,” I said firmly. “Ignore whatever the Duke says. Instead, contact Marquess Russell. They must answer for the Duchess’s disappearance.”
“Ma’am…”
Johannes tried to interject—but I continued without pause.
“Will you do that?”
“But what about the Marquess—?”
“The Duchess vanished on a train bound for Böln—under invitation from Lady Russell. That cannot go unpunished.”
“…Ah!” Sir Purcell gasped, nodding.
I turned to Johannes, tone frigid.
“I’ll say it once more. I will divorce when I choose. You’ve done everything your way until now—it’s only fair that I do this on mine.”
“……”
“And if the money you spent on me feels wasted—so be it. But know this: I will end this marriage on my own terms. Until then… I will accept no objections.”
Leaving Johannes silent and grim-faced, I entered the bedroom alone. After changing into more comfortable clothes, I let my thoughts unravel.
Even if Edward doesn’t know his father survived, there’s no doubt he has an ulterior motive. He was there—at the tavern. He saw me. Heard me whisper the culprit’s name:
“Johannes.”
It all felt too theatrical. Too deliberate.
Which made me wonder… was this exhibition designed to remind me of who I once was?
That theory… fit too well.
I sighed and sank onto the bed, watching Johannes step into the room behind me.
It’s too early to tell him that Edward Windsor might be the killer.
Not until I have proof—undeniable proof.
Now that I knew my father still breathed… my instincts had sharpened again.
I turned my back to Johannes and closed my eyes tightly.
And so… the day of the exhibition arrived.
A day cloaked in velvet and venom, and the ghosts of secrets yet to rise.
