Chapter 34 : Of Letters, Pies, and Unspoken Warnings
Though nothing had truly changed, there was an undeniable freshness in retracing the streets I once called home. Each cobblestone whispered memories beneath my steps—familiar, silent witnesses to my former life.
‘Have I grown too accustomed to a life of splendor?’
Even the stagecoach felt foreign now. Its worn cushions, once tolerable, now pressed into me with discomfort that mirrored my restlessness.
“This is… harder than I remember.”
The carriage rolled gently onward until, at last, we turned onto my old street—lined with quaint, timeworn houses steeped in character. There was an intimacy in their faded facades, a warmth that no palace could ever replicate.
As I descended from the coach, my gaze fell on the mailbox.
“Hmm?”
It was brimming with letters, nearly overflowing. I straightened my garments and gathered the bundle, curiosity already piqued.
‘No sender?’
Indeed, none of the envelopes bore a return address. But in Docilia, each city uses its own distinct stationery. Judging by the unfamiliar paper, I assumed they hailed from elsewhere.
[Do not marry Johannes Schulz. He will destroy you.]
[Heed this warning: flee from that man. The truth you uncover will unravel you.]
The handwriting was unfamiliar—erratic, desperate. As I leafed through the stack, the messages blurred into one another: dire warnings, venomous insults, pleas of concern.
‘Was this penned by a noblewoman, perhaps, who once fancied him?’
A plausible theory. I had no close friends. No confidantes. No one who might have taken issue with my marriage out of personal attachment.
[Please, for your sake, leave.]
It ended, ironically, with a heartfelt request. But whatever concern the author harbored came too late—I was already a wife.
I crumpled the letter without ceremony and slipped it into my bag.
The house stood unchanged, a relic untouched by time. Nothing was out of place, no dust dared settle—it had been cleaned, likely by order, in my absence. Yet the air inside was cool and hollow.
Someday, I would have to sort through it all.
Just as I stepped outside, a familiar voice called out.
“Edith!”
It was Mrs. Pensler. Without hesitation, she ushered me into her home with the same motherly authority she had always possessed.
“Oh heavens, child—why does your face look so pale? No, wait, what am I doing? Sit, sit! I’ll fetch you something to eat.”
With a flurry of motion, she examined me, fussed over me, then set water to boil. Soon, the comforting aroma of her savory pie and spiced tea filled the air, wrapping me in memory.
One bite was all it took.
A warm, rich flavor—perfectly balanced. Not too sweet, not too bland. No chef at Castle Evanstein could hope to rival this humble pie. With it, every ache seemed to soften.
“It’s delicious, ma’am. It hasn’t been long, but I missed this more than I realized.”
Her smile beamed at my words, and I dutifully cleared every crumb under her expectant gaze.
Then, as if a dam had broken, her words began to pour.
“Do you know how frightened I was? The navy, right outside your door! And you, taken away like some criminal—I wasn’t even allowed to speak to you.”
“I’m so sorry. It was… a complicated day.”
“Oh, I heard. Loan sharks, forged documents—what nonsense! I was just about to bring you your favorite stollen when they whisked you away.”
“I—”
“And it was the best stollen I’ve ever made! Perfectly aged. You would’ve adored it. But no, instead—marriage!”
She didn’t let me get a word in. Her voice, her energy, her warmth—it was exactly the same. And for a moment, so was I.
“I suppose now I must call you Duchess.”
I smiled, idly turning the teacup in my hand.
“No need. Just Edith is fine.”
“But… titles exist for a reason.”
She waved a hand, half protesting, half hoping I’d insist again.
“Please. It makes me uncomfortable.”
“…Well, if you insist.”
She had known me too long to feel at ease calling me anything else.
“I should have told you beforehand.”
“Nonsense. It’s the Schultz family—we don’t simply announce such things lightly. But have you seen the streets lately?”
She shivered visibly.
“That dreadful incident—and they still haven’t caught the one who did it.”
Her fingers clasped mine tightly.
“Still… marriage is a blessing. Congratulations, dear. Truly.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
She leaned in, lowering her voice.
“But be wary. Nobility is a world of shadows.”
“My husband isn’t like that.”
Her smile faltered.
“Perhaps. But early days can hide many things.”
I looked at her, trying to read her sudden change in tone.
“Oh, forget me. I talk too much. Getting old makes one ramble.”
She chuckled to herself, then veered the conversation elsewhere—nobles, scandals, Louisa’s divorce from Count Wagner. And I let her talk. That, too, was part of the comfort.
Mrs. Pensler had always been a talker. One visit could stretch into hours. But I didn’t mind. Not really.
‘Because it felt like home…’
Then came a knock.
Startled, I stood.
“A guest? I should leave so you aren’t inconvenienced—”
“Nonsense! I have someone you should meet. Just wait a moment.”
She hurried to the door. A moment later, she returned, not alone.
The woman who entered was striking—porcelain skin, flushed cheeks, and a cascade of crimson hair. Her build was statuesque, almost regal. Scandian, I guessed.
She studied me with open curiosity, freckles dotting her youthful face.
“Edith, this is Siname Kelly. She just moved into the house across from yours. Such a sweet girl—and so rare, these days.”
“Oh!” I said, smiling. “How lovely to meet you.”
“…”
“Edith Schultz—previously next door. Are you perhaps from Scandia?”
Siname’s expression changed.
Had I said something wrong? In Scandia, did greetings follow different customs?
Before I could retreat, she stepped closer—bold and fast.
Startled, I took a step back. She examined me more closely, her gaze almost childlike in its intensity.
Then she spoke.
“Are you truly Commander Schultz’s wife? Of the Baltz fleet?”
Her voice was melodic, unexpected—a glass bead rolling across a marble floor.
Why did she ask with such weight?
“For now… yes?”
Her mouth fell open.
I blinked, confused, as she picked up a leftover piece of pie and muttered:
“How are we supposed to live next to someone who flaunts madness like that?”
