Chapter 22 : The Path Strewn with Petals and Thorns
I am marrying Johannes Schulz.
Ahin had reassured me that I would do well—but the tremble in my chest betrayed otherwise.
‘Why am I so nervous?’
I’d been calm while preparing for the ceremony. Perhaps the surreal nature of it dulled any real sense of consequence. But now—now that the moment stood in front of me like a towering cathedral—I couldn’t shake the unease that clawed at my insides.
From the window, I watched the guests arrive in elegant droves, one carriage after another spilling nobles like silk ribbons across the castle’s grand front steps.
“There are… so many.”
A vanished Duke returning from oblivion—arm in arm with a commoner—and marrying her no less. The mere idea had drawn in the aristocracy like moths to scandal.
‘Just look at them…’
Were they here to verify that Johannes Schulz still breathed? To see whether grief had cracked the frost of his demeanor? Or perhaps to witness firsthand how low the mighty had fallen?
The banquet had already stirred countless whispers.
And now, their hungry gazes had turned on me.
After the celebration, the rumors twisted deeper—more scandalous. Someone had seen Johannes leading me down a quiet corridor. That, alone, had been enough.
“They say the Duke wouldn’t even dare present her at the banquet.”
“Apparently, she’s not fit to be seen.”
And on it went.
‘These rumors sell like firewood in winter.’
Their fascination had grown ravenous.
I wasn’t one to dwell on others’ opinions, but the scrutiny was beginning to feel like a weight around my neck.
Just then, Ahin entered quietly.
“Madam, it’s time.”
I inhaled slowly, hoping the breath would steady me. It didn’t. But I nodded all the same.
I had taken the wrong staircase, ended up outside through a different door. The shawl I wore was thick and woolen, but the air still slipped through the seams like icy breath.
The sky hung low and gray—one of those sullen skies that seems to press down on you, as if snow could spill at any moment.
My body shivered, despite my resolve.
“You’ll have to walk alone from here,” Ahin said gently as we approached a narrow path.
There—just as Sir Fret had described—lay flower petals scattered along the bridal path.
I halted, eyes narrowing.
Begonias.
My breath escaped in a soft, astonished scoff.
It was laughable—how blatant the royal family’s contempt could be.
To send begonias to a wedding?
‘Did they think no one would notice?’
To the unknowing, begonia whispered of gratitude. But to anyone who’d studied the language of flora—as I had, once, while pouring over pharmacy texts—it bore another meaning:
Warning.
Not an accident, then. A deliberate, poisonous blossom. A royal insult pressed into petals.
It was a vulgar display, veiled under tradition.
I couldn’t avoid the path. That would be seen as disrespect to the Crown. So I did the only thing left to me.
I walked—hard—upon the begonia petals. If I must be part of this farce, I would at least show that I knew.
The cathedral’s towering shadow greeted me as I approached. Its spires cut into the sky like a sermon, ancient and unyielding.
Inside, Johannes waited.
We hadn’t spoken since that day.
I considered pretending. Smiling. But I discarded the thought quickly.
“You’re early,” I said as I stepped close.
His gaze, previously fixed on the grand doors, shifted to meet mine.
“Not by much.”
As always, his tone was even. As if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t nearly lost me, nor saved me.
His cold blue eyes drifted downward. His gaze paused.
“It’s begonia.”
I glanced down at my hem. A few petals had clung to the fabric.
‘Should’ve checked.’
He wasn’t meant to know what flowers were sent—not until after the ceremony. But now it was too late.
His expression twisted. Not with confusion—but recognition.
He knew.
“You’re not even going to hide it,” he murmured.
Startled, I met his eyes.
So he knew the second meaning.
Snow began to fall.
A flake landed on my shoulder like a whisper, breaking the heaviness between us.
“The first snow,” I murmured.
I remembered my father’s voice:
“They say if you marry on the first snowfall… you’ll live a long and happy life.”
‘We’re too awkward for that,’ I thought, pressing my fingertips to the burning edge of my nose.
“Duke,” I said softly, “did you know that?”
His eyes softened, just a little.
“Well… It’s a broad question.”
His tone was wry. I smiled faintly.
“They say that if you marry on the day the first snow falls… your life together will be a good one.”
I paused. Letting the silence settle.
“So… we’ll live well. Even without love.”
His jaw tensed.
The quiet stretched too long. I searched his face for anything—anything at all.
“Yes?” I urged.
After a moment, he answered.
“Of course.”
It was faint. Almost a whisper. But it was enough.
My heart exhaled for the first time in hours.
“Right this way, please.”
The nuns had come for us. The guests were seated.
As we walked to the cathedral’s entrance, they took my shawl. A snowflake brushed my bare shoulder.
My heart began to hammer.
‘Steady.’
I glanced at Johannes.
His posture was perfect. His chin lifted. Not a flicker of anxiety in his features.
He looked as though he were attending someone else’s wedding.
He noticed my gaze and leaned down, unexpectedly close.
“Miss Prim.”
I stepped back, startled.
“Your face is pale. You should keep the shawl.”
“No—no. We’re going in soon. I can endure it.”
“You know I forget sometimes. You’re not built for this cold.”
His brows furrowed.
“I’m fine,” I lied.
I couldn’t risk fumbling with a shawl if the doors opened. Not in front of the hundreds of eyes behind them.
‘I have to get this right.’
Didn’t I promise him?
I smiled.
Only then did his concern ease. And then—softly, unexpectedly—he said,
“The dress suits you.”
“…What?”
I blinked, unsure I heard him correctly.
He held my gaze, expression unreadable.
“I’m not saying it to impress you. It’s simply the truth.”
I blinked again. Slowly.
“I’ll accept the compliment, then.”
His brow furrowed—as though he disliked my answer.
His eyes dropped to my neck.
“Is your neck… alright?”
I flinched as his hand hovered near the bruise. He stopped short, withdrawing politely.
“No marks, I think.”
“Thanks to Marilyn’s careful tending.”
I didn’t want to ruin this moment with shadows. So I shifted the topic.
“Will the access restrictions be lifted after the wedding? To the outbuildings, the basements, I mean. Sir Fret never clarified….”
But the words lodged in my throat.
