Chapter 120: The Garden of Poisoned Roses
Chapter 120: The Garden of Poisoned Roses
Through the suffocating darkness, a pair of gleaming gray-blue eyes stared directly into mine. Edward stood tall, and with a nonchalant flick of his wrist, he tapped my shoulder lightly.
“What if there had been real bullets in that gun? I might actually be lying here dead.”
“A shame, truly. I wish I had killed you,” I answered coldly.
“So resolute. And yet, not even a trace of regret in your expression,” he mused, narrowing his eyes in boredom as he retrieved the pistol from my hand.
I watched his movements carefully. “I’m disappointed,” I said with deliberate coolness.
Edward let out a soft chuckle, as if it were all some amusing performance.
“Please, Duchess Schultz. You knew there were no bullets in it, didn’t you?”
For a moment, it felt as though my skull had been struck from behind. My breath caught. He had known. He had calculated every possibility—including the chance that I might sense the ruse.
And now, he was enjoying my disarray.
With a smile perfectly suited for royal portraits and morning headlines, Edward slid the pistol into his waistband and cast a pointed glance at my thigh.
“And I know precisely what you’ve hidden under that skirt.”
I instinctively moved the leg concealing my revolver, but he did not pursue the matter further. Instead, he spoke again, voice suddenly playful.
“That little performance was delightful to watch, though I must say acting doesn’t suit you. If you ever find yourself disgraced and divorced, spare the stage—leave it to the professionals.”
A sociopath in silk gloves. That was what he was. Polished, poised, and deeply deranged.
I met his gaze with unveiled disdain. “If you truly want to kill me, why not make it official?”
Edward tilted his head, feigning contemplation. “Tell me… have you ever heard of Carlos Roulette?”
I frowned. The name was unfamiliar.
He grinned. “It’s a charming little game. Place one bullet in a revolver, spin the cylinder, press it to your head, and pull the trigger. Then pass it along. Rather like Russian roulette.”
Madness.
“It’s a test of fate,” he continued. “And I believe we have the perfect tools right here.”
He eyed my leg again. A subtle chill crept up my spine.
“Should fate favor us and neither die, I’ll consider it your victory—and perhaps offer you a boon in our next delightful encounter.”
I stared at him, momentarily stunned.
“A game?”
He nodded slowly. “Should the press find out that Duchess Schultz attempted to murder a royal, imagine the headlines.”
He wanted scandal. Chaos. Me, cornered like a beast.
“Try to think positively,” he added, flashing a cruel grin. “I may yet offer you mercy.”
“Oh, I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood,” I said, voice turning icy. “My disgust stems not from fear, but from the realization that I’m conversing with a creature so beneath humanity.”
His grin widened. “Beneath humanity? What a savage tongue.”
“Whatever shame my family bears is mine to bear. And as for scandal—well, my husband already seeks divorce.”
He blinked. “Divorce?”
“He’s tired of my endless scandals. Can you blame him?”
Not a complete lie. Johannes had indeed asked for a divorce. He simply hadn’t withdrawn it yet.
Edward stepped back, his interest seemingly waning. But then he murmured, almost gleefully:
“If you become a commoner again, your fate is sealed. The moment you raised a gun to me, you signed your own end.”
“Is there anything you can do?” I retorted. “Because I can reveal the truth—that Edward Windsor is Mussen’s killer.”
His expression twisted. He grabbed my chin, hard. A chemical scent clung to his hands.
I recoiled instinctively. He must’ve mistaken it for fear.
“I meant for you to stay quiet,” he hissed. “But if you won’t—well, don’t.”
I said nothing. Not from fear, but because my thoughts had shifted to a terrifying possibility.
Eden Blanc. A garden blooming with white roses turned green. A scent like chemicals. Like poison.
Frederick tended that garden. The scent clung to him. It clung to Edward, too.
A murder without a corpse. The garden had been dug up.
And the killer stood before me.
Was Edward burying his victims beneath the flowers? Were those unnatural roses the result of the very poison that killed them?
My voice trembled as I spoke.
“You… Did you use poison to kill those women? Did you bury them beneath Eden Blanc?”
Edward’s hand twitched. His grin faltered.
And then—
A scream pierced the air.
“Aaaah!”
I whipped my head toward the sound.
“It’s poison! The Marquis of Hatzfeld has been poisoned!”
Murmurs exploded beyond the door.
“Who could do something so horrible?”
“My God!”
Panic. Chaos.
I turned toward the door, then back to Edward. His expression had been quickly wiped clean, replaced by a mask of politeness.
“Ah,” he said softly. “My little event. It seems to have started earlier than planned.”
“What?”
“I merely kept you here to avoid disruption. But our game remains open. I do hope you avoid divorce. It wouldn’t be as entertaining.”
The door burst open. Light spilled into the darkness, and I squinted against the sudden glare.
Nobles, journalists, and chaos filled the hall. The collapsed body of the Marquis of Hatzfeld lay amidst the storm.
Johannes was there. His gaze met mine.
And then—
“Duchess! The Marquis fainted after touching stockings from your maid! Explain yourself!”
A woman’s accusatory voice rang out.
My breath caught.
‘Ahin?’
I saw him on the ground, restrained by guards, trembling.
Edward leaned in, voice low. “What do you think of my masterpiece?”
I bit back a scream. He was using Ahin—a powerless servant—to destroy me.
I looked away from Johannes. He must not intervene.
I had to reach Ahin.
Then Edward spoke aloud:
“Strange, isn’t it? The Duchess was never alone. There was no opportunity to swap the stockings. Doesn’t it make more sense that her maid acted under someone’s orders?”
He turned his eyes to me, glinting with mischief.
The net had been cast. The trap was complete.
And the devil behind the garden of poisoned roses stood smiling.
