Chapter 20 : Beneath Moonlight and Masks
It was a night bathed in silver. The moon hung high, casting its ethereal glow upon the earth — a perfect evening for a grand banquet.
The dress, it seemed, had reached Edith Prim as planned. Johannes rested his chin on the back of his hand, pondering quietly.
Would his little scheme shift the outcome? Even slightly?
It had started with nothing more than idle curiosity — a harmless jest, if even that.
Would Edith cling to her pride?
That had been the question. A trivial provocation dressed as a prank. One he had no intention of withdrawing… at least not until the report came.
“I just received a message from Madam Marilyn. It appears Miss Prim isn’t feeling well.”
Fret Gunner straightened, adjusting his posture before continuing.
“You sent her a muslin gown — sheer and flimsy. Even if the castle is warm, it’s the dead of winter. Surely you realize how inappropriate such attire is.”
In essence: What were you thinking?
Even Johannes, deep down, knew the gesture lacked any trace of sensibility.
“So she wore it?”
“Apparently so. Marilyn didn’t offer much complaint.”
“She’s a fool, then.”
Fret hesitated. “It’s not foolishness… She likely didn’t feel she had the right to reject a gift from her lord.”
“You’re still calling that loyalty?”
Johannes’ voice was flat.
Fret clenched his jaw, biting back his retort. There was no explaining it to someone born into power — who had never needed to survive it.
“Is the banquet ready?” Johannes asked, brushing off the topic like dust from his sleeve.
“It is. Every noble in the capital has arrived.”
“Very well. Proceed.”
Fret gave a slight bow, though the look in his eyes lingered with unspoken thoughts.
As the room emptied, silence claimed the space once more. Johannes remained seated, drumming long fingers against the polished wood of his desk.
His eyes wandered — then landed on a shawl.
White. Thick. Embroidered with gold. It had been prepared alongside the dress, yet never sent.
He hadn’t meant to send only the gown.
She had shivered before his eyes, trembling, and yet… still avoided him.
Did she truly despise him so much?
The thought left a bitter taste.
Docilian nobles were known to defy the seasons. Vanity came before reason. But Edith — she wasn’t raised among them. She didn’t know the rules of their cruelty.
Perhaps… he had gone too far.
With a quiet sigh, Johannes stood. He took the shawl in one hand and exited, the click of his boots echoing through the marble halls.
And then, he saw it.
A sight so absurd, he almost laughed.
“I didn’t expect the Schultz name to fall this far.”
His voice rang out, sharp and cold.
The man strangling me flinched.
His hand loosened, and I collapsed to the floor, gasping for air. I coughed and sputtered as the chill of the marble seeped through my bones.
My eyes darted upward — and there he was.
Johannes.
He emerged from the darkness like judgment itself, clad in a black tailcoat that framed him like a sculpted shadow. In one hand, he held the forgotten shawl — white, soft, out of place in this brutal scene.
His eyes, once fixed on me, shifted to the man.
“I see,” Johannes said coolly. “So you thought you’d try this here, in my castle.”
“N-no, Your Grace… I-I thought she—!”
The man stammered, trembling. He looked like a child who had been caught stealing silver from the royal table.
“I thought she was a spy sent by the palace…!”
Johannes didn’t stop walking. He passed him with disdain, offering no reply. Instead, he knelt beside me and extended a hand.
I took it without a word.
He pulled me to my feet and, with terrifying gentleness, draped the shawl around my shoulders.
Only then did he turn.
“Count of Swabia,” he said with chilling precision. “Tell me — does this young lady look like a threat to you?”
His voice dripped with mockery.
“She doesn’t even look like someone trained to defend herself. Yet you attacked her. Fascinating judgment.”
The Count of Swabia paled, jaw tight.
Johannes’ tone sharpened like a blade drawn from its sheath.
“It seems the bloodline of Schwaben never does dilute, no matter how many generations pass.”
The Count twitched, face darkening with rage. “Do not slander our family—!”
“Is there a family left to slander?” Johannes replied flatly.
Where the Count raged and shook, Johannes remained composed — untouched by his fury.
“I once thought the bastard son of the Count was the embarrassment. But now, I see there are greater fools.”
His voice remained level. That made it worse — because every word cut like glass.
“You dare—!”
“I see now. You’re upset because I protect my fiancée?”
He tilted his head, ever so slightly. The gesture made the Count shrink in place.
“She’s not surprised,” Johannes added softly. “That should tell you something.”
He didn’t have to say more. Everyone in the corridor understood.
“Don’t twist this—!” the Count shouted, flailing. “I simply suspected she might be a spy—”
“Ah. Like your father sent spies in dresses?” Johannes’ voice was colder than snow.
The Count turned crimson, lips flapping.
“Absurd! You’re being unjust!”
“If it were truly justice you sought, you would have brought her to me. Not tried to choke the truth out of her in the shadows.”
Johannes’ voice lowered.
“And if your house is innocent… why silence her like a criminal?”
The Count froze.
“Your family’s reputation is already in ruins after the Banux scandal,” Johannes said, voice now silk over steel. “Do try not to accelerate its fall.”
No reply came.
Only silence.
Johannes straightened, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve.
“You’ll wait at your estate. We’ll deal with you — appropriately.”
The Count fled, red-faced and defeated.
Only Johannes and I remained.
“Thank you—”
“How did you end up here?” he snapped.
His voice was sharper than before. Stern. Controlled.
Moments ago, he had spoken with terrifying calm. But now — now he was angry.
And that anger? It was all for me.
Was it acceptable to bare fangs behind closed doors, as long as the nobility didn’t see them?
My relief curdled into resentment.
Was his fury because I was hurt… or because someone had dared harm his ducal property?
I lifted my chin.
“I got lost.”
He frowned. “At this hour? Shouldn’t you be preparing for the banquet?”
“I had a headache,” I muttered. “The room was stifling. I asked Marilyn if I could get some air. I didn’t want to ruin the event… so I stepped outside.”
My voice cracked.
The explanation, the guilt, the need to defend myself — it all came spilling out like a dam breaking.
“I don’t even know why I’m justifying myself. Why are you angry at me?”
“I’m not angry—”
“You are. You didn’t yell, but you are.”
I stared at him, frustration rising like fire in my chest.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for causing a scene. I know the banquet matters. I know your image matters. But I didn’t expect to be attacked in the one place I thought I was safe.”
My fingers gripped the shawl around my shoulders — the only warmth in this cold, cruel place.
“I know it’s selfish to want you to worry about me. But could you not, just once, ask if I’m alright?”
My voice cracked again. “Just… pretend. Even if it’s only for show.”
When he’d saved me, I’d felt — stupidly — like I belonged to him. Like I had a place at his side.
But now? Now I was just a burden. A disruption.
My throat burned with unshed tears.
“For me,” I whispered, “I was truly glad the Duke came.”
“…That—”
“I know I don’t have the right. But I had to say it.”
Silence.
He didn’t reply. His face was unreadable — neither kind nor cruel.
I bowed deeply.
“Thank you,” I said, voice soft but steady. “For saving my life.”
