Chapter 50 : A Crown for the Unwanted

❖ Chapter 50  ❖

I stood there, stunned. Her hostility wasn’t veiled—it was raw, deliberate, and without restraint. For the life of me, I couldn’t comprehend the venom laced in her voice. What fault did I bear beyond the lineage I was born into?

Before I could stop myself, the words tumbled out—quiet, incredulous.

“So then… a moment ago, you thought I wasn’t a commoner…?”

A cruel smile curled her lips.

“Of course not. The stench of low blood runs deep. It cannot be mistaken.”

Ah.

So even among commoners, there were those who knew their place—and those who dared to forget it. And I, in her eyes, was the latter.

A soft, bitter laugh escaped me—quiet, but it echoed loudly in my chest.

A duchess, they called me. But to them? I was just a girl who had overstepped, a weed that had dared to bloom in a marble garden.

First Johannes, now this woman… Why did they all cling so tightly to this phantom called nobility?

I had no words left. My lips parted, but nothing came. It was then that Johannes moved. Silently, he stepped in front of me, shielding me with the breadth of his back. His voice, when it came, was ice forged in steel.

“Old Mrs. Russell. That’s enough. I will not suffer another insult hurled at my wife.”

The old lady’s brows arched slightly, as though she hadn’t expected the duke to unsheathe his loyalty so openly. For a breath, she wavered.

She lifted her chin like a queen before execution. “I once believed we were alike, Duke. I see now, I was mistaken. With that attitude, you’ll never receive my support again.”

Johannes chuckled. It was low, almost amused.

“Indeed. I think you’ve misunderstood me for far too long. And as for your support, old lady—I’ve little desire for it anymore.”

“You sound quite confident,” she scoffed.

And then her voice changed—low, ominous, pregnant with purpose.

“Did you know the royal family came to me? Oh yes. They haven’t stated it outright, of course, but they made their intention clear—they wish for me to stand beside the Crown.”

My breath caught.

So it was true. Johannes had once sought her support. And now she was threatening to wield it against him.

Still, he remained unshaken.

“Then I’m happy for you,” he replied coolly. “Running with cubs must be exhausting. But you’ll manage.”

That smile returned to his lips—not warm, not cold. Just precise.

He bowed slightly, then turned to me and gently laid his arm across my shoulders—like drawing a silk curtain between me and the world.

“Her!” the old woman barked. Her voice thundered with scorn. “You’ll soon regret this pitiful decision. That much is certain.”

“There will be no regret, madam,” Johannes replied, serene as ever.

And then he stepped aside, clearing the path—for me, for us.

The market around us still buzzed with motion and sound, but within our little circle, silence reigned like a fog.

It was the fixer who broke it—his voice a sheepish murmur.

“I-I didn’t recognize the Duchess…”

He seemed to be measuring Johannes with every word, gauging the atmosphere with a merchant’s intuition.

Perhaps he realized now the weight of the affair. Perhaps he knew he’d been caught dancing too close to flame.

He shifted, looking for the right opening. Then, with forced lightness:

“Your Grace… if you’ll overlook this just once… I swear, I’ll never touch unregistered medicine again.”

Johannes turned his head, his gaze level and unreadable. His voice dropped—calm, bone-dry.

“How strange to pretend ignorance.”

“…Pardon?”

The fixer blinked, lost.

“Giltheon,” Johannes said plainly. “You’ve never been one to miss a noble’s shadow. You knew exactly who we were the moment we arrived.”

I turned to him in shock.

He knew?

He knew all along?

Not just about me—but about this place, this man, this… underworld?

Giltheon’s face shifted.

Gone was the stiff merchant. In his place stood someone altogether different—looser, slyer, coiled like a fox who had shed his borrowed coat.

“Well. It’s been a long time since anyone called me that.”

His voice was smooth, unbothered.

Johannes narrowed his eyes. “I assumed you were in hiding.”

“I’ve been in plain sight all along,” Giltheon smiled. “But who could’ve imagined the grand Duke Schultz would come sniffing around my alley?”

Johannes’ chuckle held no warmth. “I don’t chase filth.”

“Oh, come now,” the man teased. “How was I to know what that pill really was? But thanks to your duchess, the entire deal crumbled. What am I to do with that?”

His tone remained easy, almost casual, but every word was barbed with cunning.

“You were willing to sell it anyway?” I asked, voice sharper now.

He didn’t deny it.

There were whispers, rumors—merchants accepting smuggled goods, trying them under the table before legalizing them. Had that been his plan?

My mind spun. Shame, fury, disbelief—each emotion knotted in my throat.

“How could you…?”

Johannes stepped in.

“The illness has already reached parts of Docilia. You know what this is. And you know it’s wrong.”

Giltheon sighed.

“You nobles think the world runs on virtue. But we? We run on coin. It’s nothing personal. So, if you’d be kind…”

“No,” Johannes said simply. “Kindness is for the misguided. Not for those who know the truth and choose to peddle poison anyway.”

“Ah… but how could you prove what I knew?” Giltheon leaned in slightly. “You know how airtight this business is. Sacrifice one scapegoat, and the system cleans itself. That’s how it’s always been.”

Johannes didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.

“The Navy will intervene soon,” he said instead. “If you flee, it won’t be mercy you find. It’ll be consequence.”

“Flee?” Giltheon smiled with mock offense. “Duke, you wound me.”

Then, his eyes shifted toward me.

“You came for a reason, didn’t you? If you return safely next time… perhaps I’ll give you the answers you seek.”

To be the royal family’s discarded son was both a burden and a game to Edward Windsor.

The streets of Varden were lined with newspapers shouting the name Christian Windsor.

“The prodigal heir declares a new era!”

“Christian Windsor will rise to the throne!”

“And what of Edward, who hides in Mussen?”

Edward strolled leisurely through the capital as if none of it mattered.

“They still announce my brother like he’s a bloody prophet,” he muttered. “I told them not to bother sending a carriage.”

Frederick, ever faithful, walked beside him in silence as they approached the towering gates of Barberin Castle.

“It hasn’t even been that long,” Edward mused. “Yet something about the capital always smells like fresh arrogance.”

When they reached the gate, he barked at the guards:

“Open up. Edward Windsor stands before you. Unless your eyesight has gone with your manners.”

The guards looked him up and down. His resemblance to the portrait was uncanny—but the real prince wouldn’t arrive unannounced and unarmed, would he?

They exchanged skeptical glances.

“Go on, lad,” one said. “I won’t punish you for impersonation.”

Edward’s brow twitched.

“If I told you you’re a loyal mutt left behind in Mussen, would that jog your memory?”

The guard flinched.

But a voice from the side door rang out:

“Wait—His Royal Highness?”

The gate swung open.

“About time,” Edward muttered, brushing past. “Let’s hope you do better next time.”

He walked straight into the castle, into the dining hall where sunlight bled through stained glass and music floated like mist.

The moment he burst in, the music stopped. Faces turned.

Edward spread his arms wide with a grin too bright to trust.

“It’s been a while, noble members of House Windsor.”