Chapter 33 : The Daughter of Isaac Prim
Chapter 33
Was Prim a common surname?
Edward leaned forward, narrowing his eyes as he examined the document more closely.
“Mother: Candice Keller, deceased during childbirth. Father: Isaac Prim, a petty officer in the Docilian Navy. Served during the war.”
He exhaled long and slow, voice laced with disbelief.
“The Duchess… is the daughter of Sergeant Isaac Prim.”
His hand clenched the paper as a forgotten memory surged to the surface—sharp, vivid, and unwelcome.
Their first encounter had been uneventful. Cordial, even. But what followed had turned sour with time.
It had been during the royal investigation. Edward had boarded the anchored Baltic, dispatched by royal decree to find fault with Johannes Schulz.
‘Are you responsible for the engine room? There’s no need to be so stiff.’
‘…The fleet was inspected not long ago. Why another one so soon?’
Suspicion brewed then. The man didn’t behave like a direct subordinate of Johannes Schulz. Perhaps he resented the royal family. Or perhaps he simply refused to be a pawn.
But Edward had pitied him. Treated him with a degree of indulgence. As one would a loyal hound doomed to suffer under harsh commands.
‘It’s burdensome, I know. But what can I do? When orders come from above, we criticize below.’
And now, the daughter of that very man—green-eyed and determined—was the wife of Johannes Schulz.
It was an ironic twist, entangling past bitterness with present reality. Those defiant green eyes… identical.
Edward’s lips curled with grim amusement.
Perhaps that was why she looked at him with such unveiled contempt.
“How entertaining,” he muttered, an eerie glint dancing in his gaze.
Far more entertaining than he had expected.
He would go to Mussen. He would see her again. The daughter of a man he once—just once—may have truly respected.
“The daughter of Isaac Prim… now wed to Johannes Schulz.”
The words rolled off his tongue like a bitter jest. He leaned back and burst into laughter, loud and unrestrained.
Then, once the fit passed, he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and spoke to the gardener writing quietly in the corner.
“Isn’t that right, Frederick?”
The old man nodded without looking up. It was not the first time he had heard Edward monologue like this.
“My condolences are overdue. To console myself, I suppose I’ll need to meet the Duchess… quite soon.”
The real culprit of the murder… still hadn’t been caught.
I had tossed and turned the entire night, sleep slipping further from reach with every tick of the clock. Eventually, I gave up entirely and remained in my study, enveloped by papers and unease.
“So people are still in danger,” I muttered, brow furrowed.
Sir Fret, who had just arrived with the day’s documents, answered with cool detachment.
“For the time being, yes.”
His tone was so calm, so unfazed, that I struggled to maintain my serious expression. But he quickly changed the subject.
“The house where you lived previously…”
It worked. My mood lifted immediately.
“My house?”
“Yes. With all the attention on the murder, and complaints from the neighbors about noise, the reporters seem to have vanished. It may be safe to return for a visit.”
“Really? When can I go?”
“Anytime you wish.”
“That’s wonderful.”
My mind wandered back to that day I’d left. I remembered Mrs. Pensler’s expression—bewildered, as if trying to decipher a riddle she never asked for.
Surely, she must have read the news by now. I hadn’t wanted her to hear about my marriage from a newspaper article. She’d taken care of me like family after Father died.
“I want to stop by the village today, then. I need to see her. She was always there for me, and I disappeared without so much as a farewell.”
“Of course.”
Sir Fret offered a carriage, but I declined. I didn’t want to draw attention by arriving in a Schultz family vehicle. Nor did I allow Howie to accompany me. My face had yet to circulate widely in public, and anonymity was a fragile blessing.
“I’m only going to look around a bit and visit Mrs. Pensler. Nothing more.”
Sir Fret smiled faintly. “You must return to the castle by six.”
By late afternoon, I left Evanstein Castle for the first time since my wedding.
“Master, I have something to report.”
Johannes slowly straightened from his chair, gaze unreadable.
A report—before his day’s work had even ended. That could only mean one of two things: Edith, or the royal family.
“Madam has gone out,” said Fret Gunner. “She refused both a carriage and an escort. I arranged one in secret. She agreed to return by six.”
Johannes’s brow furrowed.
“And you authorized this… without even informing me?”
“The guards chosen are among our finest. There is no cause for concern.”
He trailed off, sensing the rising tension.
“The danger is still present,” Johannes said curtly. “The murderer walks free. The royal family could exploit any misstep. And you let her go?”
“She’s been confined inside Evanstein since the wedding. The fresh air will do her good. I didn’t think it required explicit permission.”
Fret added, with faint indignation, “She is the Duchess of the Schultz family, is she not? Surely she does not need the Duke’s approval to leave the grounds.”
Ordinarily, that would be true.
But Edith wasn’t an ordinary duchess. Her background, her anonymity—she was still unprepared for what her name now carried. There were dangers she didn’t even know to look for.
Still, what was done could not be undone.
“And the reason for her visit?”
“The reporters around her old home are gone. We believed it best she visit before public attention returns.”
Johannes sighed.
As usual, Fret’s judgment wasn’t wrong. In fact, it was probably the most logical course. Under any other circumstance, he would have approved it without question.
But today… everything grated against him.
“I may be overstepping,” Fret said softly, “but allow me this. I understand why you care so deeply for her, Master. But if this continues… she’ll never open her heart to you.”
Johannes did not respond. He simply leaned back in his chair, hands folded.
After a pause, he spoke.
“Double the guards. If she is late, I’ll go myself.”
Was it sincerity? Or necessity?
Either way, Fret nodded and moved to his final report.
“And repairs in the west wing’s basement are inevitable. We must relocate the contents soon.”
“Fine. But ensure the Duchess does not go near it.”
Ah. So it was necessity.
Fret sighed inwardly. Poor Edith. So unaware of the secrets beneath her feet.
As the Duke remained as cold and distant as ever, Fret shook his head with quiet pity.
