Chapter 46 : The Weight of Shadows, the Whisper of Truth
Chapter 46
“Are you alright?”
I closed my eyes for a moment, then slowly opened them. As I nodded, Johannes finally released his gentle grip.
“We should rest for a little while.”
The streets were mostly deserted, stores shuttered with a foreboding hush. Johannes led me through a narrow alley, then paused, pulling a pristine handkerchief from his coat. With care, he laid it atop the dust-covered stone steps.
The gesture caught me off guard — quietly thoughtful, almost tender.
“Truth be told, I’m not even sure how I knew,” I murmured, settling beside him. “I never really paid attention to those details before… but suddenly, it just hit me.”
Johannes furrowed his brow. “Suddenly?”
“Yes. Maybe I read something somewhere, or caught a glimpse of it during my pharmacy studies. Who knows?”
His gaze narrowed with mock suspicion. “Are you a genius, by any chance?”
A laugh burst from me before I could stop it. The question had been delivered with such solemnity, I couldn’t help but be amused.
“Maybe I am. Maybe I got hit on the head and unlocked my true genius.”
I tossed my hair back with a grin, half in jest — and was met with the softest echo of laughter from him.
Had he just… laughed?
Startled, I turned to face him. And there it was — a fleeting glimmer of warmth in his eyes, a moment of ease in his usually stoic features. The sight made me smile.
Johannes reached for my bonnet, adjusting the loose straps with unusual gentleness.
“Then let’s say it’s fair now. Wouldn’t be right if I were the only one who got hit on the head.”
The day had stretched endlessly.
By the time we returned to Evanstein Castle, twilight had already sunk its teeth into the horizon.
Without delay, Johannes summoned the family physician. The doctor examined the wound on my head, his expression turning grave.
“You must rest. No exertion. No stress. Let your body recover.”
After the doctor left, Johannes turned to me. I had closed my eyes, savoring the silence.
“He’s right. Perhaps it’s best for now that we sleep separately,” he suggested carefully.
I cracked open an eye and raised an eyebrow.
“No. The owner of this room is the duke. I can’t simply seize it for myself. And the bed is… sufficiently wide.”
His voice wavered — not with reluctance, but with something quieter. Guilt, perhaps?
“You do realize,” he added, “that you’re also mistress of Evanstein now. It’s time you start acting like it.”
Was he worried I’d slip up in public? Embarrass him somehow?
“In any case,” I replied, stretching slightly, “I’m perfectly capable of sharing a bed. It’s not like the duke flails in his sleep, does he?”
I looked up at him, expecting a dry retort. But instead, I was met with a long, unreadable stare.
His silence tugged at me.
‘Was he… embarrassed?’
When he finally spoke, his voice was lower.
‘You act like you don’t have any strange habits. You’re quite sure of yourself.’
“I sleep like a feather on silk,” I proclaimed. “Silent and still. Absolutely no disturbance to anyone.”
Johannes chuckled, shaking his head.
“No way.”
I squinted. Was he teasing me?
My father had never mentioned anything unusual. I’d never woken up out of bed, or snored, or…
‘Wait… do I snore?’
Panic stirred.
“Do I snore?”
“No.”
His answer was immediate, resolute. I exhaled in relief.
“Then what is it? Why bring this up?”
He met my gaze with quiet intensity.
“You don’t think I’d attack you, do you?”
I blinked.
“What? Of course not. That’s absurd.”
He frowned.
“You’ve been making odd jokes since yesterday. I thought maybe you were serious.”
I flushed and turned away, feigning indignation.
He patted the bed beside him.
“Enough teasing. Come here. You need rest.”
Without another word, I turned my back to him and slipped under the covers, hiding the heat on my face.
The next morning arrived cloaked in silence.
Johannes awoke slowly, the faint sound of rhythmic breathing drawing his attention. Edith lay beside him, her figure curled toward him, face partially hidden beneath tousled locks.
Gently, as if not to disturb a dream, he brushed the hair away.
She didn’t stir.
Even in sleep, she looked too pale. Her lips devoid of color, her brow still taut with pain.
‘You’re sleeping peacefully…’
He, on the other hand, hadn’t closed his eyes all night.
His gaze dropped to the bandage wrapped tightly around her head.
That fire. That train. That blood.
The moment he’d learned the train engine was tampered with — that it had been sabotage — Edith was the first thing that came to mind.
Someone had lured her to Böln with an anonymous letter. The hotel room had seemed harmless, but had she stayed… what then?
And then the train.
It wasn’t coincidence. He was certain of that now.
He had searched everywhere for her. When he finally found her, crumpled, bleeding…
He clenched his fists.
Weber. That snake. Johannes had known he was a pawn, but not one bold enough to draw blood.
Or maybe it wasn’t just him.
‘Edward Windsor?’
No… unless he knew Edith’s secret. Which seemed unlikely.
But then again, yesterday had proven something else entirely:
This woman was not who she used to be.
She had walked into a murder scene, seen death up close — and hadn’t flinched. She had questioned the officers with sharp clarity, made deductions with a logic that was beyond impressive.
It wasn’t just instinct. It was knowledge. Experience.
He had never seen this side of her before.
‘Who are you, Edith Prim?’
With heavy steps, Johannes left the room and descended to his office, where Fret Gunner awaited him.
The man handed him a crisp newspaper.
Of course. They were on the front page.
The accident had been too public to ignore, but at least the attempted kidnapping had been scrubbed — no doubt Gunner’s doing.
“Another murder in Mussen,” Gunner said quietly.
A woman, found dead in a basement.
The quiet visit had become national news.
Johannes narrowed his eyes.
“It’s not bad.”
He placed the paper down.
Then, to Gunner:
“There’s something I didn’t know about my wife.”
“We’ve investigated every avenue,” Gunner replied cautiously.
“Clearly not thoroughly enough. Did you not read the article?”
“You mean her involvement at the crime scene? The story is exaggerated—”
“If anything, it’s understated.”
Johannes leaned forward.
“Do you truly believe that she doesn’t possess investigative talent?”
Gunner faltered.
If Johannes hadn’t witnessed it himself, he might have doubted too.
But now? There was no room for denial.
“That’s why I’m asking you,” he said coldly. “Dig deeper.”
“As you wish. Though I doubt we’ll uncover anything new.”
“Try. And also… Edward Windsor. He’s been appointed police chief of Mussen.”
Gunner nodded. “We’re watching.”
Of course you are.
The implications were obvious. The crown had sent a watchdog.
Johannes sighed. It was dull, predictable.
Still, as he dismissed Gunner with a flick of his hand, a single thought remained:
He would find out who Edith Prim truly was.
And heaven help the world, if she was more dangerous than he ever imagined.
