Chapter 32 : The Price of Silence
Chapter 32
Since everything had begun according to his terms, it seemed only fair that the conclusion would rest in mine.
I nodded slowly.
“Of course, should there be a divorce, I will ensure generous alimony and proper compensation for the role you’ve performed thus far.”
Sir Fret let out a bewildered sigh, adjusting his cuffs with an air of frustration. His voice held the tone of someone genuinely aggrieved.
“There’s always something new I don’t know about…”
“Now that you do,” Johannes responded coolly, “there won’t be a problem.”
Sir Fret narrowed his eyes. I, unable to conceal the awkwardness that clung to me, busied myself with rearranging the silverware, subtly joining the conversation.
“I already owe the Duke a hundred million Berg. That reward is more than sufficient. He’s also granted me the freedom to continue my pharmaceutical studies. No matter how long it takes, it’s my responsibility to repay the debt through service.”
Johannes turned to me, his gaze lingering. For a moment, his brows furrowed, but then returned to their usual, indifferent stillness.
“You do realize, don’t you, that I may want you to continue this role… indefinitely?”
I lifted my head at the shift in his tone—deeper, quieter than before.
“…Pardon?”
This marriage had been one of clear purpose. Five years, perhaps ten at most. A lifetime was never part of the plan.
But even so, walking away now wasn’t an option.
Though he had never demanded repayment of the full amount, I had every intention of honoring it in full.
Assuming I succeeded in becoming a pharmacist… the road ahead was long.
I frowned slightly, meeting his gaze. Johannes let out a faint laugh.
“Why do you look so serious? It was a jest.”
“No! This isn’t something to joke about. The matter of the successor—”
“Rather… what became of the murder case?”
Sir Fret had opened his mouth again to speak of succession, but I quickly shifted the topic. It wasn’t curiosity that drove me—only the need to steer the conversation elsewhere.
Johannes appeared mildly surprised by my sudden inquiry. The relaxed calm in his eyes sharpened.
“Are you sure you want to know? It might make you uncomfortable.”
“…Yes. For now.”
I wasn’t certain whether I believed him, especially given his tendency to twist the truth. But the glint in Sir Fret’s eye implied that there was more than what was said.
“If you insist.”
He began speaking as he casually sliced into a piece of lamb, blood still vivid on the plate.
According to Johannes, the murder was every bit as horrific as the initial reports had described.
The investigation had initially focused on a potential grudge. But suspicion grew quickly—there was no identifiable connection between the victim and the accused.
The killer had struck the victim repeatedly in the head with a hammer. Despite the grisly detail, I didn’t even flinch.
When Johannes paused, concerned by my reaction, I shook my head.
“Please, continue.”
Apparently, the murder hadn’t occurred in the square. The victim was killed elsewhere, their body dismembered, sealed into suitcases, and thrown into the square’s central fountain.
It wasn’t discovered until ten days later, when one of the bags surfaced.
“So people were passing through that square… for ten days.”
Johannes gave a quiet nod.
There had been two primary suspects: the victim’s aging mother—who had supported him well into his forties—and an old friend deeply indebted to him.
In the end, the friend was declared the culprit. It was an answer so neat, so convenient, that it barely surprised me.
I glanced at the newspaper on the table and murmured,
“Still… how can a friend—?”
“No.”
His firm interjection stopped me.
“Sometimes people prefer a lie to the truth. There are more lies in this world than truths.”
I remained silent. I understood more than I wished to.
“…Are you saying you framed someone innocent?”
Johannes nodded without hesitation.
“Why?”
“Because it was the most efficient way to satisfy everyone’s needs.”
Everyone’s needs.
The face of the man—the so-called killer, whose name I didn’t even know—flashed through my mind.
I let out a quiet, bitter laugh.
“I wonder if that man’s needs were met—after being labeled a murderer and locked away overnight.”
“He received ample compensation. He will be hated, yes—but his family can live in comfort for the rest of their lives.”
“And now that the culprit has been ‘caught,’ the public can breathe easy.”
I didn’t ask whether he had orchestrated it.
It was obvious. Every decision of weight in Mussen passed through Johannes Schultz.
He had signed off on framing an innocent man. Just as he had signed off on marrying me.
The only difference between that man and me was luck—he had none. I did.
His expression betrayed nothing. The ocean of his gaze remained smooth, still, unshaken.
My throat felt tight. I forced myself to swallow.
The back of my neck, exposed by the way my hair was pinned high, prickled under the silence.
And then I asked the question that mattered most.
“Then who is the real killer?”
Far away, in the capital’s Barberine Castle, Edward Windsor stood by a tall window, staring out with evident boredom.
“I hear His Majesty has asked after the Duchess.”
His aide, Moritz Weaver, approached and spoke softly. Edward turned his head lazily.
“Oh? His Majesty no longer deigns to summon me personally?”
“……”
“I’d be happy to report and rid myself of this nuisance quickly… but unfortunately, I’ve yet to make up my mind. I still don’t know what kind of woman this Duchess really is.”
He ran a hand through his hair, the memory of Edith Prim’s vexing expression flitting before his eyes.
“Johannes Schultz isn’t the sort of man to marry a commoner just for her looks.”
And yet… they seemed like lovers, genuinely in love. That alone was strange.
In all the years he’d known Johannes, Edward had never once seen him take interest in a woman.
As he bit down on his lip, Moritz carefully handed over a document.
“About the Duchess… here’s the background you asked for. There’s little of note. Even the villagers said she was an unremarkable girl.”
The file was thin—only a single page.
“She studies pharmacy, which is the only mildly unusual detail. But even that hardly counts.”
Edward frowned slightly.
She truly was… ordinary.
Could it be that Johannes had truly lost himself after the death of his father?
If so, that worked to Edward’s benefit. He asked idly, as if it were a passing thought.
“So why did he marry her?”
“It’s said the Duke paid off the Duchess’s debts.”
“Debts?”
Edward’s tone sharpened slightly.
“Yes. The Count of Swabia had apparently dragged her into some shady loan business. Sailors at the scene claim the Duke proposed to her on the spot.”
“…What?”
Johannes Schultz proposed to a woman—there?
Edward let out a laugh—wild, amused, unbelieving. He wiped the tears from his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief.
“So he actually fell in love? How… dull.”
Then his voice turned cold.
“Tell His Majesty she’s a plain, inconsequential woman. I’ve already planted the seed of doubt. If Johannes doesn’t truly love her, she’ll run.”
Moritz bowed.
“Yes, sir. Also… His Majesty is considering appointing you as Mussen’s police chief.”
“To Mussen?”
Moritz nodded.
“The murder case stirred unrest. Public trust in the police has crumbled, and Duke Schultz’s rising popularity has only complicated things. So… there is pressure to reform the Mussen police.”
“In other words, I’m being sent as a sacrificial pawn.”
“You are being sent as a trusted fixer.”
“…How flattering.”
Edward Windsor—bane of the royal family. He was used to this role. Too used to it.
He waved Moritz away.
“At least I won’t be bored. Go on, then.”
“Should I destroy the file?”
“No. Leave it. I’ll need something to pass the time.”
Even after Moritz left, the amused smile never left Edward’s face. He reached for the discarded paper on his desk, intending to throw it away.
But his eyes caught on something.
His fingers stilled.
“…Edith Prim?”
