Chapter 31 : When Silence Trembled in Mussen
Chapter 31
Naturally, the reception ended on the spot.
A murder, in the very heart of Mussen.
The city, long renowned for its serenity, quivered beneath the weight of such a dreadful revelation.
At first, voices rose in frenzied speculation—fabricated tales spun by those who had seen nothing. But as always, fascination faded, and life resumed its dull rhythm, as though the ground had never been stained by blood.
My own daily life slipped back into place with similar ease.
Mornings spent poring over the daily newspapers that Sir Fret delivered, afternoons consumed by reviewing documents that piled up at Castle Evanstein, evenings quietly devoted to preparing the budget.
Meanwhile, the press clung to the murder like wolves to a fresh scent.
One sensational article followed another, and even Johannes’ name began to drift ominously into the headlines.
It was early morning once more, and I was seated at my desk, sorting through papers as always.
Lord Fret, appointed by Johannes to assist with my new duties as duchess, sat across from me, immersed in his own stack of documents. I looked up from the newspaper and asked:
“Isn’t it strange? The investigation hasn’t moved an inch. Is the police department doing anything at all?”
Lord Fret glanced up, his expression shadowed by something heavier than concern.
“As you may have guessed, my lady, the lack of crime in Mussen over the years had little to do with the competence of its police. It was the iron grasp of the Schultz family — their right to summary judgment, their harsh discipline — that kept disorder at bay. Whoever committed this act likely struck when that power had been suspended… by the royal family.”
“But still,” I murmured, my fingers stilling over the pages, “the Crown can’t simply sit back and do nothing.”
A flicker passed through Lord Fret’s eyes.
“I may not have mentioned it before… but the royal family offers no support to Mussen.”
My gaze lifted sharply. “What do you mean?”
He straightened, solemn. “Every official sent to this province by the central government is someone who’s been demoted or disciplined. Mussen runs not on the grace of the Crown, but solely at the will of Duke Schultz.”
He went on to explain that it had been ten years since the last serious crime — and so, a decade of peace had left the local police almost useless. Now, without the Schultz authority actively in motion, the burden naturally fell to the family once again.
“That explains all the petitions,” I muttered, eyeing the towering stack of appeals beside my desk.
Every one of them bore the same desperate plea: Duke Schultz must act.
“I imagine,” I added with a sigh, “my husband hasn’t had a single full night’s rest since that night.”
Despite being married, I still slept alone. He insisted I have the grandest room. I was grateful, yes… but I also understood what that solitude cost him.
“I’m afraid that’s the truth, my lady,” said Lord Fret. “The peace Mussen enjoyed wasn’t born of chance — it was hard-won, earned by the iron will of the former Duke.”
And now, with a crack in that peace… no one knew what might come next.
I glanced again at the paper.
‘This could take a while…’ I thought.
But fate moved quicker than expected.
The case — to the astonishment of many — was resolved far sooner than anyone imagined.
And with it came a quieter, unexpected blessing: a meal shared with Johannes — the first since our wedding.
“You’ve lost weight.”
I watched him from across the table, noting the more pronounced curve of his jaw, the fatigue in his eyes.
“I’ve been busy,” he replied, lips curling faintly.
Indeed, even his once-perfectly tailored shirt seemed to hang just a little looser on him.
“Thank you for your hard work.”
“It’s nothing.”
The reply was simple, heavy with exhaustion. A quiet awkwardness lingered between us, a faint unfamiliarity.
I hesitated… then gently broached a topic that had lingered on my mind.
“…Now that we’ll be sharing a room, will it be uncomfortable for you? If it is, I don’t mind sleeping on the sofa.”
Johannes arched a brow.
“Are you being considerate?”
“I suppose… yes.”
“I appreciate the sentiment,” he said, voice smooth and unbothered, “but no man in his right mind would let his wife sleep on the sofa — no matter how inconvenient things may be.”
A gentle refusal, so elegant and composed that I couldn’t feel even a shred of offense.
It wasn’t until the end of our meal that he spoke again.
“How have you been?”
It sounded like a question made out of politeness, a necessary gesture. But I took it in stride.
“Well enough,” I replied with a faint smile. “Almost too well, to the point of guilt. But I’m glad the case has been resolved.”
My eyes drifted to the folded newspaper beside me, its bold headline impossible to ignore:
“Duke Schultz, Once Shamed, Emerges as Hero in Mussen Murder Case.”
The media spun stories that people could grasp — stories that comforted them. When danger stalked the streets without reason, panic bloomed. But when a villain was named and defeated, the city exhaled.
And this time, the hero they praised was Johannes.
Public opinion, which had once tilted uneasily in my direction, had shifted dramatically — soothed by justice.
Beneath the headlines, articles chronicling our wedding still ran thick.
‘I suppose I helped in some small way,’ I mused.
Beside me, Lord Fret glanced down at the paper and added:
“I see speculation about an heir is beginning to surface.”
I froze for half a second, then forced a smile.
“I suppose our performance was convincing, then.”
“Fortunately,” Johannes said, meeting my gaze, “thanks to a wife who knows how to play her role.”
I remembered that moment at the reception — the way he’d pulled me by the waist and smiled like a man in love.
My cheeks flushed at the memory, and I averted my eyes. Sir Fret jumped in just in time:
“You both played your parts so convincingly that I even forgot it was all an act.”
I laughed softly, nervously. “In that case, I suppose I should apologize — since I won’t be fulfilling the expectations for a successor.”
My words, meant lightly, caused a visible pause.
“…What do you mean by that?” Sir Fret asked.
“Our marriage is a façade. A nobleman and a commoner — an illusion, nothing more.”
Silence.
Then Sir Fret spoke carefully.
“True, your union isn’t… conventional. But most noble marriages aren’t based on love. And you two… you do seem to get along. In time—”
“That will never happen,” Johannes cut in.
His tone left no room for doubt.
Sir Fret faltered. “But, my lord… didn’t you—?”
“I supported this marriage,” Sir Fret confessed, “because I believed — finally — the Duke would consider an heir. That’s why I agreed to such an unorthodox match.”
It was the first time I’d heard him admit his true motivation.
“I suppose,” I said, voice even, “once public opinion is settled, we’ll welcome a new duchess. I’m just a commoner, after all. I hold no real value for a house like Schultz.”
“You speak of divorce…” he said gravely, “but among nobles, such things require royal permission.”
“Divorce,” Johannes interrupted firmly.
Sir Fret fell silent.
“When the time comes,” Johannes said quietly, “and your desires are clear… I will follow them. Whether I want a divorce or not — the decision will be yours, entirely.”
His expression didn’t falter. No lies, no games.
Just quiet, devastating sincerity.
