Chapter 56 : Echoes in the Silence of Winter
Chapter 56
Upon returning to the solemn grandeur of Evanstein Castle, I did not hesitate.
I walked straight to the inner chamber—my sanctuary of memories and quiet grief.
Since my father’s passing, I had avoided every object that bore the scent of him, every trace that echoed his presence. My heart, raw and trembling, had banished them to a hidden corner where they would not pierce my sight.
But now—now, it was time.
With hesitant fingers, I peeled away the layers of cloth cloaking the old belongings, and unearthed a heavy wooden box. I sank to my knees before it, staring blankly, as though the answers I sought might rise from the wood itself.
Had my father ever mentioned Johannes in his letters?
‘Did he… ever?’
A chill rippled through me. How could I have failed to ask such a simple question?
After he departed for war, Father wrote to me with religious devotion, recording every mundane detail as though I were the guardian of his soul. His letters came thick and frequent, bundled monthly like offerings. Enough to fill this very box.
Yet… not a single mention?
I shut my eyes, delving into memory.
‘I don’t know…’
Perhaps I’d forgotten. Or perhaps—no, if it had been there, I would have remembered. If Johannes Schulz had meant anything to my father, I would have known.
I could still recall it all:
—The letter from March 9th, lamenting the tasteless jerky and bitter soy milk.
—The entry from June 1st, where he, alongside his roommate, discovered a gas leak and saved the fleet.
—The final one, August 30th—full of joy, promising an early return.
But nothing… Nothing of Johannes. Not even his name. Not a whisper of his rank, nor his presence.
Could I be wrong?
My hand trembled as I turned the box over, letting the tide of letters spill around me like waves. Desperation clawed at my chest as I rifled through them.
“Doesn’t exist…”
There was nothing. No matter how frantically I searched, the truth remained unchanged.
“Why… isn’t there anything?”
My voice cracked into the silence.
Lifting my head slowly, my face pale with the weight of realization—I was left with only one unbearable question:
Did Johannes… lie to me?
I returned to our bedroom in a haze of conflict. Johannes sat upon the bed, wholly immersed in a book, the amber light casting sharp shadows across his face.
I lingered, watching. Then, quietly, I approached and sat beside him.
He said nothing. Not even a glance.
It felt deliberate—as though I were invisible.
A strange offense bloomed in my chest, though I could not pinpoint the root of it. My emotions, tangled and senseless, led me to dive dramatically beneath the covers.
Still—no response.
I glanced sideways at him.
Should I ask? Should I confront him about my father?
It would be better to hear it from his lips than let suspicion fester. I studied his eyes, weighing the moment.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
His voice was sudden, but not unkind.
I slid from under the blanket, my heart fluttering.
“…You once said you were close with my father. When… did that friendship begin?”
His eyes narrowed. He closed the book with a soft thud and placed it on the nightstand. I could almost hear the gears in his mind turning.
After a quiet breath, he surrendered a vague answer:
“Was it when the tide began to turn?”
“When exactly would that be?”
“Why ask?”
“I’m simply curious,” I said with a smile I didn’t feel. “When did you become friends?”
“…I don’t truly recall.”
“Has it been long?”
“You sound like an inquisitor. This is new.”
His brow arched in mock surprise. I waved my hands quickly.
“No! That’s not what I meant.”
“…It was winter. Near the end of the war.”
“Winter…?”
That would mean November. My father died in December. So their supposed friendship lasted barely a month?
Could one forge a deep bond in so short a time?
Well, perhaps. Living together aboard the same ship daily—perhaps then, yes. But still…
Both Johannes and my father were not the type to grow close easily. One might warm quickly—but two? Unlikely.
‘Could they have even spoken properly?’
I knew I was being overly suspicious. In other circumstances, I would have accepted it with a nod.
But everyone around me—everyone—warned me of Johannes. In this world of secrets and shadows, who could erase doubt?
I sighed.
“…So, how did you become friends?”
His expression shifted. His mouth twisted slightly, and he gazed at me with sharper eyes.
“Why does my lady ask such a thing? Do you suspect me of lying?”
“No—”
As I avoided his gaze, Johannes seized my wrist and pulled me forward.
Suddenly, I found myself awkwardly on top of him, our faces far too close.
My breath caught. His azure eyes locked onto mine, unwavering.
“Then why can’t you look at me?”
“…I’m embarrassed by this posture.”
I looked away.
“During the reception, you didn’t seem embarrassed at all. Wasn’t it you who wrapped your arms around my neck?”
“Then…!”
“I won’t release you until you give me a proper answer. Unless you wish to remain like this, speak honestly.”
He laughed, low and dangerous, drawing me nearer. His breath ghosted over my lips.
What is this?
Johannes Schulz had never behaved this way before.
Was he testing me? Punishing me?
His gaze was piercing, insistent—as though he would unearth the truth from my silence.
My embarrassment gave way to indignation. I frowned, forgetting, for a moment, my earlier suspicions.
“Is the Duke interrogating me now?”
“Hardly. Do you think this is my method of investigation?”
“…It’s painful enough.”
He flinched, just slightly. His expression darkened with something unfamiliar—hurt?
Then came the next blow.
“While I have you here… one more question. Are you truly not disappointed in me at all?”
“…What?”
The question struck like lightning from a clear sky. I blinked rapidly, stunned.
Had he been harboring that doubt all along?
“Is this really because I said I wasn’t disappointed… before?”
“I’m merely asking.”
Maybe I had said the wrong thing. I thought it was the answer he wanted.
Still, I pressed on, gently.
“Then allow me to ask in return—are you upset because I said I wasn’t upset?”
His expression froze.
Really?
I searched his face. But I saw only discomfort. Until—
“Isn’t disappointment normal between married couples?”
His voice was low, but the words were weighty.
My heart plummeted.
And suddenly—I felt it. That creeping sensation through my wrist. A warning.
This—this could turn dangerous.
We were both standing on the edge of emotion, and any misstep could fracture us completely.
We must not cross that line. Not now.
“I’m sad,” I whispered. “So… please, let me go.”
My hand gestured gently.
His brows furrowed again, but he obeyed. Slowly, he released me.
I turned and lay back, unsettled.
The questions returned, flooding my mind once more—about Johannes, about my father, about everything that didn’t quite fit.
And sleep did not come.
