Chapter 117 : Where Roses Never Wilt
✦❖ Chapter 117 ❖✦
“Where Roses Never Wilt”
It all began with a quiet misalignment—
A subtle crack between two hearts beating as one, yet walking divergent paths.
Though the silence between us lasted mere days, it birthed a tension too dense to ignore. Or perhaps… I was the only one who felt it pressing so heavily against my chest.
When I stepped out, dressed and ready, Johannes stood waiting by the carriage. His brows furrowed, lips parting with a remark so absurd, it cut through the air like a misplaced note in a symphony.
“Don’t tell me the Duke’s meals have become intolerable?”
I narrowed my eyes, taken aback by the abruptness. He scanned me—blatantly—as if I were a subject of scrutiny, not his wife.
“I haven’t the slightest clue what you mean.”
“You look… too thin.”
Only then did I realize—my appetite had been waning. Meals had become perfunctory, tasteless. Still, Ahin and Marilyn had complimented me. I didn’t appear sickly… did I?
Before I could answer, his voice softened.
“Is something troubling you? Is someone… causing you distress?”
A laugh escaped me—bitter, sharp, uncontained.
If you’re so concerned, perhaps sit with me at dinner again.
Perhaps rescind your call for divorce.
But no.
Johannes had said it, and though the proceedings never followed, the words remained—heavy, prideful, permanent.
I replied, my tone clipped and cold.
“All the staff treat me well. Shouldn’t you have asked that when I first arrived at your estate? A little late to be concerned, isn’t it?”
“……”
“You may not realize, but the person troubling me… stands quite close.”
He winced but said nothing. Wordlessly, he extended his hand.
It was time to depart. Reluctantly, I placed my gloved hand in his, and together we stepped into the carriage. Silence followed us in—tense, unspoken.
This exhibition… was no mere art show. It was a battlefield.
I needed my mind sharp—untainted by distraction.
As the wheels turned, my thoughts drifted to the artist: Jean Dürer.
“Jean Dürer, the rising star of Bamburg—his art rejects delicate refinement in favor of fierce, sweeping strokes that pulse with raw emotion. His most famed piece: a still life of roses that dissolves into chaos when viewed up close. Yet from a distance—it becomes breathtaking. A mystery in bloom.”
“Recently, he stirred controversy by painting Eden Blanc—a sacred symbol of nobility. No one knows why Prince Edward, of all people, would choose to feature it in such a prominent exhibition.”
“Maybe… he’s making a statement.”
“A dangerous one,” I thought silently, then forced a smile. “Please, continue.”
Sir Fret kept explaining—anxious that I might be overwhelmed by aristocratic scrutiny. He needn’t have worried. The stares wouldn’t come from curiosity… but from disdain.
I had publicly humiliated the Marquis of Hatzfeld. I would be neither welcomed nor forgiven.
And that was just fine.
I inhaled slowly, bracing myself, and met Johannes’s eyes.
“Don’t worry about me.”
“Please, don’t worry.”
We spoke at the same moment—an awkward harmony that lingered in the air.
Johannes seemed startled. So… he was worried too.
I broke the tension first.
“The Edward Windsor I once knew would never dare to move against us in public.”
Johannes looked as if he would reply—
But the carriage had stopped.
The museum loomed like a fortress of secrets, and a storm of reporters swarmed at the entrance.
Cameras flashed. Voices shouted.
I tightened my grip on Johannes’s arm, playing my role: the perfect duchess.
When the museum doors opened, Edward Windsor stood there, bathed in light and charm.
“Ah! The Duke and Duchess Schultz have graced us with their presence! What an honor.”
His smile was refined—curved just right.
Too right.
A practiced expression painted in malice.
“May I present my partner—Marquis Hatzfeld’s daughter.”
And just like that, the knives were drawn.
The nobles arrived one by one, and soon, the opening began.
“Dear guests, thank you for joining us. I hadn’t expected such a crowd—please forgive any shortcomings.”
But there were none. The museum gleamed with precision, each exhibit curated with fanatical perfection.
Every detail whispered control.
Then… Edward’s gaze found mine.
He smiled, again.
The artist was introduced: Jean Dürer. A young man, his face half-hidden beneath a wild beard. Despite the extravagance of the setting, he looked painfully out of place.
When he began to speak of his painting—Eden Blanc—his voice trembled.
Edward’s brow furrowed. Displeased, he cut the artist off.
“He means to say there is beauty that never fades.”
Of course. Eden Blanc was a white rose said to never wilt.
But no flower defies time—at least not without help.
Formaldehyde? Chemical embalming?
I thought back to Frederick, the gardener. That sterile, acrid scent clung to him.
Then a voice rose from the crowd:
“Your Highness, is it true Eden Blanc never withers?”
Edward smiled calmly, as though expecting the question.
“Ah… That was my gardener’s doing. But who’s to say? I’ve not been granted immortality, after all.”
His laughter was soft—silken. Deceitful.
He offered refreshments, and without shame, reintroduced his partner—the daughter of the very man I had ruined.
The nobles flocked to her like bees to rot.
Their hypocrisy would have stunned me—had I not expected it.
“I hear you and the Prince share quite the connection,” one said sweetly.
So that was it. Edward was reshaping the narrative.
And I was the villain.
I stood closer to Johannes, trying not to let our relationship appear strained.
But their voices still pierced through.
“Baroness Vermont isn’t here?”
“Apparently she fell ill quite suddenly. Exhaustion, they say.”
“Strange. She was fine only days ago…”
My chest tightened.
Johannes leaned close, whispering in a voice that only I could hear.
“You don’t look well.”
“Huh?”
His hand brushed through my hair—gently, intimately.
‘There will be eyes upon you both. Do not announce a divorce.’
Sir Fret’s warning echoed like a bell in my mind.
And then—Johannes whispered again.
“I listened to you. And to Fret. I won’t speak of divorce—not today. Let’s not hand him the stage.”
I blinked.
He was choosing… me?
“I don’t know what you hope to learn by studying Edward Windsor so intently,” he added, “but if you plan to move your pieces… then use me. Let me be your blade.”
He smiled—softly, boldly.
For a moment, I forgot to breathe.
How long… have you been watching me like this?
Not out of control.
Not with suspicion.
But with faith.
His voice dropped, barely audible now—meant only for me.
“So trust me. And provoke him however you please.”
