Chapter 53 : The Garden of Thorns and Thrones
I found myself gazing silently at the figure seated before me.
He bore the same golden hair, the same ethereal eyes, and the regal sharpness of expression that marked Edward. And yet… he was nothing like him.
If Edward was sunlight caught in a mirror, then this man was the cold steel beneath a velvet glove.
Though he resembled Edward in appearance, it was Johannes whose quiet intensity he mirrored most. In truth, they looked more like brothers of spirit than of lineage.
‘That man…’
The one destined to wear the crown.
Crown Prince Christian Windsor.
His presence alone was enough to press the breath from my lungs. Even fatigue could not dull the penetrating gaze in his eyes—as if he could see right through the veil of silence I wore.
Truly, he was the future king of Docilia—everything the present monarch failed to be.
I steadied myself beneath his piercing stare and offered a formal, quivering greeting.
“It is my eternal honor to be in your presence, Your Royal Highness the Crown Prince.”
Christian responded with the faintest of smiles, as if indulging a curiosity he’d been harboring.
“I’ve long wished to meet the Duchess of Mussen. It’s a shame I was unable to attend your wedding.”
“Your words do me great honor,” I replied softly.
His gaze shifted to Johannes with clinical precision.
“Duke Schultz, I hear my father was in quite the mood. It seems you delivered a refreshing blow.”
“It was a minor matter,” Johannes replied coolly. “Though I imagine age has made his temper rather volatile.”
“You may be the only one bold enough to speak of the king that way,” Christian said with amusement.
Though the words were sharp, neither man’s expression changed. Their conversation was a duel—one of veiled blades and polite tones. Emotionless, calculated.
Then, with a smile that held no warmth, Christian changed course.
“Well then, as the Duchess is now a figure of high society, I imagine she’s filled with questions. As an apology—for both my father’s and my brother’s… unrefined behavior—I’ve decided to offer her a tour of Eden Blanc Garden.”
Eden Blanc?
The name stirred something faint in my memory. I knew not what it signified, only that it sounded sacred—perhaps a place hidden from ordinary breath.
I lowered my head respectfully, hiding the flicker of curiosity.
“It would be an honor.”
“Splendid,” Christian said. “As it happens, Edward is at Barberin Castle today, so I’ve entrusted the task to him. After all, though I own the garden, he nurtures it. It’s only fitting.”
He paused.
“Duke Schultz, I trust you have no objections?”
“None at all,” Johannes replied.
Christian turned back to me, his voice laced with courtly charm.
“And you, Duchess? Are you agreeable?”
What choice did I have? Refusal would only cast suspicion, and Christian was clearly offering me a path I was expected to take.
“Yes,” I said with a soft smile. “It is an honor.”
Christian seemed satisfied. “Then, Duke Schultz, I ask your company for a short while. It has been too long since we last spoke.”
As I stepped out of the Crown Prince’s chambers, Edward appeared—punctual as a shadow.
His gaze swept over me slowly, deliberately, like one assessing the cut of a rare gemstone.
“Duchess,” he said with theatrical cheer, “what a delight to see you again. You suit this place more than I imagined.”
“Infinite glory,” I replied, offering him a measured greeting.
“I pray it lasts forever,” he said with a mock bow. “And if it does, I shall humbly rejoice.”
He laughed, the sound smooth and unsettling.
“…Thank you.”
“Shall we go, then? Though I fear your refined tastes may find my garden lacking.”
He offered his arm with gentlemanly flair, but there was mischief glinting beneath the gallantry. A duel of wits was already brewing.
He was a man wrapped in riddles—one whose next move could never be predicted. I responded cautiously.
“I’m quite looking forward to it.”
We walked in silence through Barberin’s winding paths, where the air itself seemed saturated with the perfume of nature. And then…
“Do you know what Eden Blanc is?”
His voice broke the stillness. I turned to him, puzzled.
“No… I don’t. Is it the name of a flower?”
“It is,” he said, lips curving. “An enhanced rose variety, cultivated by my gardener. If you’ll follow me a little farther, you’ll see a field of them.”
True to his word, a moment later we stood before an ocean of green roses—impossible, hypnotic.
The scent was dizzying, heavy as velvet. It clung to the skin and pulled at the senses.
“…It’s my first time seeing green roses,” I whispered.
“Most people only know red, white, or the occasional pink,” Edward replied. “But these… These are special.”
He took a deep breath, as if drawing in the memory they carried.
“They bloom all year. The green is dominant. The rare white ones—those are mutations, recessive genes with no pigment.”
“Is there a meaning behind the name?” I asked.
His eyebrows rose. “An excellent question. You’re the first to ask.”
He looked away from the field and directly at me.
“I named it after a very special woman.”
A hush fell between us.
“Was she… someone you loved?” I ventured.
“No,” he said softly. “Someone I adored. From afar. I cannot see her anymore.”
His voice was heavy, not with heartbreak, but with the stillness of something long buried.
I had touched something personal. Regret rose in my chest.
“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“No need. It was… pleasant, in its way, to remember her.”
Then, with the practiced ease of a man who knew how to bury emotion beneath performance, he smiled again.
“Anyway, this flower is coveted by every noblewoman in Docilia. It’s rare. Beautiful. Eternal.”
It was then he said something that startled me.
“I would like you to have one.”
“For me?”
I turned to the emerald blooms, startled by the unexpected generosity.
It was a beautiful flower—but something within me recoiled. It felt… too much. Too precious. Too intentional.
I smiled gently and declined.
“No, thank you. The journey to Mussen is long, and it would surely wither. I will, however, accept the gesture—and the Crown Prince’s kindness—with all my heart.”
Edward did not seem disappointed. He simply tilted his head, expression unreadable.
And then, with eyes that gleamed like a fox before it pounces, he asked the question that had waited behind all others:
“I heard… you’re the daughter of Sergeant Prim?”
