Chapter 116 : The Garden of Thorns and Crowns
✦❖ Chapter 116 ❖✦
“The Garden of Thorns and Crowns”
Barberin Castle, nestled in the ancient realm of Vardon—
A single week before the fated exhibition.
The moment Christian heard that Edward had called from Mussen, a quiet smirk played upon her lips. The trap had been triggered.
As always, she believed Edward Windsor had been born to dance in the palm of her hand. What other lineage, after all, possessed the audacity to dream of the throne without the spine to seize it?
With effortless grace, she plucked the receiver from her aide’s hand, her voice as smooth and lofty as polished silk.
“Edward? My, how persistent you are lately. The court must be keeping you busy.”
There was a flicker of hesitation on the other end—a silence she allowed to bloom like a thorned rose. Only when she gently pressed him did his voice, drawn long and strained, begin to trickle into her ear.
Christian listened, her posture relaxed, her expression nearly bored. Her fingers tapped the armrest in rhythm with her thoughts until she finally interjected, lacing her voice with regal indifference.
“I see… So you seek permission? My, my. Since when did my dear younger brother begin to ask so politely? Come now, just say what you want.”
A wisp of condescension laced her tone, but beneath it lay a deep-rooted satisfaction. He still believed he had a say—but nothing ever happened without her hand guiding the strings.
“The Mussen Museum, is it? Oh, I see. Yes, of course. You may proceed. Is there anything else you need from me?”
She kept her eyes trained out the window, the words flowing from her lips without much thought. The moment he confirmed what she had already anticipated, her smile sharpened like a blade sheathed in velvet.
“Of course. But I won’t be able to attend—I’m terribly occupied preparing for the Barden Department Store’s grand opening. You know, it’s quite the global affair. His Majesty himself is deeply invested. Perhaps you’ve heard the whispers—‘First Queen’… it has a pleasant ring to it, don’t you think?”
A shiver passed through the receiver—she could hear it in Edward’s breath. The fragile rage that always simmered beneath his insecurities had surely flared.
He always hated losing to a woman.
But Edward, ever the delicate coward, would never dare lash out. That was why he could never be King.
Christian, concealing her sigh behind a composed smirk, let her words drift lazily like smoke in the wind.
“There was a time I wished to see you crowned. But that time has passed. You once told me you wanted to see me as Queen—did you not?”
A cold, wistful laugh escaped her lips.
Edward responded weakly, his voice a shadow of pride already drowned. When the call ended, Christian lowered the receiver with regal finality and turned to her aide.
“When is the trial for the Count of Swabia?”
“One month from now.”
“So there’s time to maneuver.”
Her heels echoed as she crossed the marble floor toward the towering windows. Below, in the royal gardens, the white Eden Blanc roses were in full bloom—pure, luminous, untouchable.
“My head aches. So many things to weigh. His Majesty despises noise, and I—well, I’m growing tired of it all.”
She paused, her voice thoughtful yet resolute.
“Send a bouquet of Eden Blanc to comfort him.”
And then, as if recalling a minor errand—
“Send one to the Vermont Baron as well.”
The aide scribbled the order as Christian’s voice softened, switching masks with unnerving ease.
“Lastly… tell Marquess Russell that I shall visit personally. I’m sure the dear old woman will be thrilled to assist a foreign delegation at the department store’s unveiling.”
She smiled.
“Even her pride won’t allow her to decline this.”
✦ ✧ ✦
Elsewhere, in the sunlight of a quieter morning…
“My lady, a message from Marquess Russell.”
Sir Fret handed her a neatly folded missive. As she scanned the contents, a rare softness bloomed in her chest.
The Marquess had expressed sincere concern over the Duchess’s disappearance. Even the infamous old matron herself had spoken of accountability and vowed to uncover the truth. An apology was enclosed.
Sir Fret, standing by, added bitterly:
“At first, they brushed it off. But once I mentioned the newspapers… their tone changed fast. That woman—she values image above blood.”
He clenched his jaw, but it needed no explanation. The words on the paper said enough.
She murmured with a bittersweet smile:
“So… she’s my grandmother. I doubt she’ll soften. Not after how she treated my father. I wonder if she hates me and my mother for making him disappear…”
Sir Fret looked down, guilt flashing across his eyes.
“Don’t worry. I was joking.”
But he didn’t laugh. Her once-icy presence had melted into warmth since her return, and it caught him off guard. She shook her head.
“Now that it’s all out in the open, we can play their games with sharper knives. Let them hate us for being commoners. We’ll still stand taller.”
He nodded. But then his tone shifted.
“He won’t try to announce the divorce today, will he?”
Her lips pressed together.
Since that night, she and Johannes hadn’t exchanged more than polite words. Neither had any intention of bending.
With the exhibition drawing near, their silence was a storm waiting to break.
“He won’t,” Sir Fret said at last. “He has his family name to protect. He won’t move carelessly. And if he does, I’ll stop him—whether you want me to or not. My loyalty is to the Schultz name.”
She nodded slowly. Lord Fret had been her sole voice of reason lately, whispering updates about Johannes behind closed doors. He had kept her from unraveling.
“Thank you.”
“Now, your preparations. You must leave for the museum in three hours. I’ll escort you discreetly, while Ahin and I follow in the official carriage.”
She glanced at the clock.
“Understood. Let’s hope this opening ceremony is… illuminating.”
But in truth—
She already knew it would not be.
