Chapter 2 : The Man Beneath the Navy Cap
Chapter Two
Looking back now, it’s strange—how little time passed between my first meeting with my husband and our marriage. Strangely swift, unnervingly so.
Dotchilia had lost the war.
It was a bitter winter morning. I had only just managed to fall asleep, anxiety gnawing at me over my father who had gone to fight.
Knock, knock.
The knocking stirred me from my fragile slumber. I rose with slow, unsteady steps, hair tousled, breath shallow, to greet an unexpected visitor.
“Who… is it?”
A crisp white uniform. Golden buttons. A high, stiff collar.
It was the navy.
The moment I laid eyes on the man’s formidable silhouette, a radiant smile bloomed on my lips.
“Father?”
I lifted my head swiftly, a faint heartbeat of hope fluttering in my chest— But joy had no time to take root.
The man before me wasn’t my father.
A stern expression beneath his navy cap. An unwavering posture that revealed no hint of hesitation. A chilling sense of dread crept through me. The last remnants of sleep were banished. My instincts whispered:
‘He’s here with bad news.’
The man slowly removed his cap, and his features gradually came into focus. His blue eyes gleamed like a sea reflecting shattered morning light.
His lips parted slowly.
“Are you Edith Prim, the only daughter of the late Isaac Prim?”
“…Yes, I am.”
My eyelids quivered. Without realizing it, I tightened my robe around me, as though it might shield me from what was coming.
Once my identity was confirmed, he continued without a flicker of emotion:
“I regret to inform you of the passing of Navy Sergeant Isaac Prim, who succumbed to illness on the battlefield at approximately 2:15 p.m., December 18th, 1824.”
The cruelty of his words matched the dryness of his tone.
I blinked slowly.
‘What… did I just hear?’
The world seemed to dim, leaving only his image.
“What did you say…?”
It had to be a mistake. I had to be dreaming.
I steadied my breath and asked again:
“I think I misheard you… Would you repeat that, please?”
“My condolences for having to deliver such news.”
But hope did not return.
“No… This can’t be true. My father… how?”
He had written to me constantly. Told me he was safe. That he’d be back soon. That he missed me.
How could this be true?
Everything turned white. The world became a blank page. My knees buckled.
“Careful.”
The man grabbed my arm and held me upright.
Only when I found my footing again did he release me.
“…Thank you.”
I didn’t even know what I was saying. The words escaped me automatically.
When I looked up again, he was staring directly at me. His voice was flat:
“The body has been secured at the naval headquarters. You must appear at the Muessen port within a week for identification and insurance processing.”
I nodded. That was all I could manage.
I closed the door, face pale, and whispered:
“No… this can’t be happening…”
Then, slowly, I sank to the floor.
That was my unforgettable first encounter with Johannes Schultz—my future husband.
After receiving the news of my father’s death, I wasn’t myself.
Half of me insisted on seeing the body, to accept reality. The other half feared that moment more than anything.
So I stayed inside, held together by sheer force of will.
But the week passed—just as he’d said.
Long and short, bitter and breathless.
I had no strength to care about my appearance. I barely gathered my composure, dressed quickly, and stepped outside.
The streets were quieter than usual, but I didn’t even register that.
“Naval headquarters…”
I followed the paper map the officer had given me.
As I drew closer, the noise grew louder.
“Disgraceful… in this day and age…”
“Serves them right.”
Strange mutterings filled the air.
Crowds gathered tightly at the port entrance.
‘Are all these people here to identify their dead?’
Defeat brings casualties. I knew this.
I looked around, until my eyes landed on a line of naval officers.
Among them was one man who stood out.
He stood still, facing forward with rigid calm.
I watched him for a while. Then he turned.
The sunlight caught the golden naval insignia on his cap.
Our eyes met—those same piercing blue eyes.
‘It’s him.’
The man who had delivered the news of my father’s death.
I recognized him instantly. There was no need for confirmation.
I hurried toward him.
“Excuse me, could you tell me where the naval—”
I never finished.
“Ah—!”
A sudden wave of people pushed me off balance.
Just before I fell, he caught me.
I found myself pressed to his chest, crushed between him and the crowd.
I couldn’t move. I murmured:
“Thank you… very much.”
“Naval headquarters is on the opposite side. But it’s chaotic now… I suggest waiting a little.”
“Huh…?”
I looked up at him in confusion, only to follow his gaze toward the other end of the port.
My eyes widened.
‘A public execution?’
Beneath a rusted guillotine—unused for decades—stood a middle-aged man.
His clothes were simple but fine. His hair, neatly combed. His skin bore no visible wounds.
Public executions had been outlawed ages ago, deemed barbaric remnants of a darker time.
So why now?
I didn’t even feel embarrassed about being in a stranger’s arms. Shock stole everything else.
I blinked in stunned disbelief.
Then came a quiet voice above me—low and grim.
“That’s Duke Schultz.”
“What? Why would the Duke…?”
He didn’t need to answer. The crowd did it for him.
“Honestly, public execution for embezzlement? Isn’t that too much?”
“Too much? He ran off with funds equal to a year’s national budget! And no one knows where the money went.”
I inhaled sharply.
A full year’s budget? That was astronomical. And the money was gone, vanished.
Duke Schultz was widely respected—not just in Muessen, but in the capital, Baden.
And now he was accused of treason and corruption.
With Dotchilia defeated, the crown must have wanted a scapegoat. A spectacle.
But…
“The Duke… he wouldn’t do something like that.”
“The royal court issued an official statement. Everyone believes it.”
I mumbled to myself, and the officer replied curtly. The murmurs around us didn’t cease.
“Pity the young duke. He won so many victories in the war. At least they won’t touch him. I wonder if he knows yet…”
“Forget that. What about the war reparations? If the stolen money isn’t found, we’ll all pay for it with taxes!”
Voices clashed. Some defended the Duke, others tore him down.
One thing was certain:
Most of the crowd harbored no sympathy for Duke Schultz.
I stared at them—at the black sea of moving bodies.
Beyond the guillotine, the ocean shimmered under a sky so clear it felt cruel.
Too poetic for a place where lives end.
Perhaps they chose this backdrop to deepen the condemned’s regret. To show him beauty he’d never see again.
‘Did Duke Schultz really embezzle those funds? And if he did… what is he feeling now?’
Remorse? Regret? Or bitter injustice?
But his eyes…
They were empty.
Not the eyes of a wrongly accused man. Not the sorrow of a criminal undone.
Just… acceptance.
My fingers grew cold. My face paled.
‘No one guilty could wear that expression…’
A faint realization took hold of me:
‘He’s innocent.’
But who would believe that?
Or perhaps… he was simply a master of deception.
Either way—
Whether guilty or not, I had no power to intervene.
Political motives clearly lay behind this scene.
There was only one thing I could do now.
‘I must leave.’
I couldn’t stand there, gawking at what could be a terrible injustice.
“Excuse me… I should go. You said naval headquarters is that way, right?”
I turned, flustered, only to feel his grip tighten on my wrist.
“The crowd’s too thick. It’s dangerous to move now.”
“But—”
A blaring horn silenced me.
The crowd quieted. Soldiers began ascending the execution platform, one by one. The heavy cadence of their boots echoed across the port.
“Looks like it’s starting,” someone whispered.
But the officer held on, his voice low:
“It’s better… if you don’t watch.”
I looked up, and his large hand rose to shield my eyes.
And then—
CRACK—
A horrifying sound tore through the air.
Gasps and cries rang from every direction.
But he never looked away from the platform.
It was an execution that should never have happened.
