Chapter 51 : The Weight of Names and the Fire Beneath Silk
Chapter 51
I stood there, stunned—utterly disarmed.
The hostility in her eyes was no longer subtle; it had sharpened into an open blade. I could not comprehend what commoners had done to earn such contempt. But then, before my reason could restrain me, words slipped from my lips unbidden:
“So, moments ago… you must have believed I wasn’t a commoner.”
Her answer was as venomous as it was swift.
“Of course not. The stench of low birth is not so easily hidden.”
Her words cleaved through the air like a cold axe. So, then, she loathed me not simply because I was a commoner—but because I had dared, without shame, to forget my place.
A bitter laugh escaped me. It was too absurd—this cruel dance of lineage and pride. In their eyes, I was not hated for what I had done, but for who I was, for daring to exist beside the likes of them.
First Johannes. Now old Mrs. Russell. How much weight could the word “commoner” carry, that it could cast such long shadows?
As I stood adrift in disbelief, Johannes quietly stepped forward, placing himself between me and the old woman. His tall frame shielded me, and his voice came low, frigid as ice.
“That’s enough, Old Mrs. Russell. I will not stand idle as you insult my wife.”
There was a pause. The shift in him did not go unnoticed. Her eyes narrowed—not in fear, but calculation.
She raised her chin slightly, her voice sharp as glass. “I thought you were a man of sense, Duke Schultz. Perhaps I misjudged you.”
“You did,” Johannes answered with a cold smile. “And now I must return the favor. I no longer require the assistance of someone who cannot see past bloodlines.”
Her laugh was a short, scornful breath.
“So full of pride. You speak as though your position were unshakable. Tell me—what will you do when your so-called love becomes the very weight that sinks you?”
Johannes met her gaze, unmoved. “Then I will sink with her—gladly.”
The silence that followed crackled with unspoken fury.
Mrs. Russell’s voice dropped, laced with something darker. “Did you think the royal family would stand by? That they would allow a duchess without pedigree to exist without consequence?”
She stepped forward, her gaze fixed on Johannes.
“They’ve already come to me. The palace. They asked whether I might align myself with their cause.”
At last, the real game unveiled itself. Not just blood and pride—but power. Intrigue. Treachery whispered behind marble walls.
“So be it,” Johannes said quietly. “Then enjoy their company. You’ll fit right in with the jackals.”
He bowed, too politely. Then turned to me and, without hesitation, drew his arm around my shoulder.
Her sharp laugh rang out behind us. “You’ll regret this. The world you’re protecting will devour you.”
“I would rather be devoured with honor,” Johannes murmured, “than survive with rot.”
The market returned to its rhythm. The crowd moved like distant waves, unaware that moments ago, something sacred had cracked beneath polished shoes.
It was the fixer who spoke first, his voice small.
“I didn’t recognize the duchess.”
He glanced at Johannes with veiled fear. Something had shifted in him too.
“Your Grace… please, show mercy. I swear I will never deal in that medicine again.”
Johannes turned slowly, his voice level, but edged with steel.
“You pretend ignorance, yet you’ve known who we are from the start. Giltheon.”
The fixer froze.
For a moment, the world tilted. That name—Giltheon—had once belonged to a man of cunning and shadow, a weaver of secrets beneath the floorboards of empires.
“…It’s been a long time since anyone called me that,” the fixer murmured. “I thought I’d buried that name for good.”
But now the mask dropped. His posture relaxed into something too familiar. A smile played at his lips—not warm, not cold, just… amused.
“I never imagined you’d remember me, Duke Schultz.”
“I do not waste memory on filth,” Johannes replied smoothly.
“That’s harsh.” Giltheon’s gaze flicked to me. “Still, I must thank the duchess. Thanks to her… the plan failed. Spectacularly.”
“You knew what those pills were,” I said, my voice rising with disbelief. “You planned to circulate them anyway?”
He shrugged. “A market’s a market. The disease will spread in Docilia whether I profit or not. I just thought I’d earn something in the process.”
My stomach twisted.
“How could you—”
“Let the navy investigate,” Johannes interrupted coldly. “You’ll be dealt with soon enough. And if you think fleeing will help, remember—cowards die more painfully.”
“I’m not running,” Giltheon said smoothly. “But if the duchess ever finds herself with questions… I’ll be waiting. I always have answers.”
At Barberin Castle, a storm brewed in golden halls.
Edward Windsor’s sudden return had been unexpected—unwelcome to some, tolerated by others.
“Your faithful dog has returned,” he declared, striding into the royal dining hall with theatrical flair. “Did you miss me, Your Highness Christian?”
Christian, ever poised, barely lifted his eyes from the lamb on his plate. “Still so vulgar.”
The king said nothing. His silence was a throne of indifference.
“I see,” Edward went on, “that abandoning me was a political maneuver. To win Mussen’s favor, perhaps?”
“You weren’t abandoned,” Christian replied coolly. “You’re far too valuable for that. Especially now.”
Edward offered a crooked smile, all teeth and irony. “I’m honored to be used.”
“You’re not being used,” Christian said. “You’re being… positioned.”
Edward took a seat without being asked. He leaned back, casually defiant.
“I came to share a rumor. About the new duchess.”
That made Christian pause.
“What about her?”
“She’s more than she appears. Or perhaps… less. It’s unclear if Johannes married her from love or obligation. But he’s guarding her as though she were a crown.”
“Interesting,” the king muttered.
Edward noted the flicker in his father’s expression and hid his revulsion behind a wine glass.
He looks nothing like Mother, he thought bitterly. Thank heaven for that.
When we returned from Böln, Lord Fret was waiting.
“There’s a summons,” he said gravely. “From the king. He wishes to meet the duchess. Immediately.”
My heart stumbled. I looked to Johannes.
He said nothing at first, simply scanning the message with cold calculation. Then, he chuckled—darkly.
“I see Edward’s tongue has been busy.”
The next morning, we boarded the train to the capital.
It was my first visit since childhood, yet the circumstances robbed it of joy. Still, as the forest melted into coastline and stone, my heart fluttered with a quiet trepidation.
At one desolate station, I noticed the train did not stop.
“Why?” I asked.
“It’s abandoned,” Johannes replied.
“But I saw houses.”
“There’s a curse,” he said simply.
“A curse?”
“A village of alchemists once lived there. When the king ordered their slaughter, one of them cursed the land.”
“Let me guess—‘three generations of ruin’?”
“Precisely.”
We shared a dry laugh. Yet beneath it stirred something heavy, something ancient.
That soil had drunk the blood of dreamers. That curse—born of betrayal—still echoed in forgotten tracks and silent woods.
As the train neared the capital, Johannes warned softly, “Meeting the king… may be unpleasant.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because he looks like a toad.”
I blinked, confused. “Did you say that before?”
“No,” he replied, amused. “But I thought it.”
And then he laughed—that rare, honest sound that made the weight of nobility just a little lighter.
Reluctant Retinue
51 and 50 are odd. Some of the content seems to be the same, just a different translation, but some of it is new. I almost skipped 51, assuming the page hadn’t loaded properly or the chapter was uploaded twice.