Chapter 52 : The Toad’s Offer and the Unyielding Flame

The moment we set foot in Barberin Castle, I couldn’t help but let out a muted laugh—not from delight, but from sheer disbelief. The reception, if one could even call it that, was pitifully lacking in grace or grandeur.

No nobles. No chamberlain. Not even a servant in sight. Only a silent guard greeted us, guiding us in like forgotten guests to a long-abandoned theater.

And in the grand throne room, the King awaited—not as a sovereign crowned with dignity, but as a half-bald toad perched upon stolen majesty.

“Our magnificent Commander Schultz, Duke of Mussen, has deigned to visit this decrepit old place,” he drawled, a mock smile curled upon his heavy lips. “What an honor it is indeed.”

He lounged upon the throne with boredom seeping from every gesture. His half-lidded eyes gave us a glance as if we were mere entertainment for his idle day.

“I was rather astonished when I heard you’d arrive today. Such fervent loyalty—I hardly deserve it.”

His breath wheezed beneath the weight of his swollen form, and his hair, sparse and ghostlike, fluttered with every exhale.

Then his eyes fell upon me, gleaming with distasteful amusement.

“I longed to witness the face of our famed duchess,” he sneered. “So beautiful, they say, that her radiance reached even the capital.”

An empty rumor, surely. Still, I forced a smile, for false beauty travels faster than truth—and grows more extravagant along the way.

The King licked his cracked lips and gave me a look soaked in greasy charm. Then, suddenly, he feigned offense.

“Tell me,” he croaked. “The royal family sent flowers—begonias, no less—for your wedding. Did you receive them? I ask only because I haven’t received so much as a note of thanks for our benevolent gesture.”

Johannes didn’t flinch. His voice cut through the air like tempered steel.

“Ah, the begonias? I hadn’t realized warnings could be sent with such elegance. We’ll remember to respond more fittingly next time.”

The King’s lips twisted. His mask cracked—but only briefly. Then, he donned his courtly smile once more and asked:

“Was that Edward’s doing?”

He passed the blame with the grace of a serpent shedding its skin. Pathetic.

But then came the true reason for our summons. His words slithered with intent.

“I find myself wishing for a wife as enchanting as yours, Duke. A commoner, yes, but one with beauty to rival legends. What do you think?”

Johannes met him with cool indifference. “As Your Majesty wishes.”

Displeased by his lack of enthusiasm, the King turned to me instead. “And you, my lady?”

“Anyone would be honored by such notice,” I replied, voice flat, eyes dull.

Not the answer he craved. The King’s jowls trembled with a sigh, and his thick belly swelled as he exhaled.

“Enough pleasantries,” he said gruffly. “Let us speak of reparations. What shall you do, Duke, about the embezzled funds?”

Johannes raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid I have no knowledge of such funds, and no obligation to pay what no longer exists.”

He was right. With the former Duke executed, the burden of repayment died with him. But the accusation remained—a tarnish on the Schultz name, deliberately wielded.

The King turned his slimy gaze to me.

“And you, Duchess? What do you think?”

“I believe debts should be paid,” I answered steadily. “But if there is no trace of the money, how can we be expected to restore it?”

He nodded slowly, lips puckered in mock thought.

“A noble answer. But I’m not convinced.”

And then came the trap.

“Oh, I’ve heard of the Schultz family’s financial woes. No access to funds, I’m told. How unfortunate.”

It was a lie. We had assets aplenty, though funds were frozen. But I would not correct him.

“So,” he said, smirking, “if I offered to lift the restrictions and erase the accusations—would that be of interest?”

I said nothing. The offer hung in the air like a poisoned fruit.

“There is a condition, of course,” the King continued, voice thick with false civility.

“I ask not of you, Duchess. I have little to gain from you. I ask Duke Schultz.” He paused—then dropped the veil.

“I desire your wife. Name your price.”

The words fell like thunder upon marble.

My stomach twisted. My vision blurred.

But Johannes… did not flinch.

“It’s a tempting offer,” he said, calm as a still lake. “Very much so.”

My heart stopped. A flash of betrayal surged through my chest.

Was this what he meant, back on the train? ‘I’ll go along with whatever they want.’

Was this the path he chose?

The King leaned forward, eager, certain of his victory. “Everything you lost—honor, power, freedom—could be returned. You need only give her to me.”

But Johannes turned. And in that moment, his gaze pierced me—deep, unwavering, tender, like the calm before a storm.

“Unfortunately, I must decline.”

The room froze.

The King’s face twitched. “What?”

Johannes spoke, voice firm, eyes ablaze.

“She is rare. Beautiful. Capable. The kind of woman one does not abandon. Not for wealth, not for power. Not even for a crown.”

My breath hitched.

The King burst into laughter, but it was hollow.

“So, the great Duke still has a heart,” he mocked. “I didn’t expect such romanticism.”

“I only refuse to trade diamonds for dust,” Johannes replied.

The King’s eyes darkened. “You jest with your life, Duke.”

“And you insult mine,” he returned, unmoved.

The tension lingered like smoke.

Finally, the King leaned back, a forced smile upon his face.

“You’ve traveled far. Stay, rest. Or will you refuse even that?”

“We will,” Johannes said without hesitation.

“Then so be it. Rest well—while you still can.”