Chapter 59 : Whispers Beneath the Crown

✦❖✦ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓𝟗 — Whispers Beneath the Crown ✦❖✦
Where trust trembles, and shadows speak louder than words…

In the hushed stillness of the carriage, my voice—sharpened by unease—finally broke the silence. Edward’s eyes narrowed, studying me with unsettling focus.

Only then did he straighten himself and murmur coolly:

“Have you thought carefully about what I said? Sergeant Prim once asked if I’d ever mentioned Johannes Schulz in my letters.”

I frowned at the brazenness of his inquiry. Slowly, I lifted my gaze to meet his.
He was watching me as though inspecting a mystery—his stare neither warm nor hostile, simply curious in a way that demanded answers.

“When you look at me like that,” I muttered, “it feels like an interrogation.”

“Ah. Perhaps because it is my job,” he replied with a light chuckle. “Your Grace must understand that.”

His face showed no trace of shame or apology. Only the ease of a man too used to being obeyed.

“I found it curious,” Edward continued, “that the Duchess believes she and her father were close. Yet from what I observed… the two did not seem very well connected.”

He shrugged, casual as ever.
“So tell me—did Sergeant Isaac ever mention Johannes in his letters?”

I could not respond. Not immediately.

In truth, I had no memory of Johannes being mentioned in Father’s letters. Yet Edward’s words still refused to settle comfortably. The letters had ceased in August. Four whole months lay between that silence and the December tragedy.

Johannes said they grew close during winter. But is it not possible they spoke before?
Even in a fleet constantly braced for war, bonds could be forged in brief, stolen moments.

I frowned, reluctant to let Edward’s narrative control me.

“Well,” I said at last, “there were many letters. My father often wrote them like diary entries—I can’t recall every line.”

“Hmm… So you haven’t received anything since August?”

“That’s right. Things began deteriorating then.”

“I visited the Baltic Fleet in November. I recall the atmosphere being… tense,” Edward said, smiling thinly.

“Then perhaps their relationship soured between those times,” I countered.

His smile deepened—pleased, perhaps, that I was entertaining doubt.

If I took Edward’s words at face value, everything aligned to warrant suspicion. Had I not already distrusted him, I might’ve believed him.

But something else gnawed at me, sharper than uncertainty.

“There’s something strange,” I said slowly. “How do you know my father?”

He was no soldier. Even if he’d visited the fleet, it made little sense that he would’ve interacted closely with Sergeant Prim—especially considering my father’s disdain for royalty.

Edward’s expression stretched, the corners of his lips curving with artful innocence.

“I visited under solemn order from His Majesty the King. Surely you don’t doubt me? That would be… disappointing.”

When I said nothing, he wrinkled his nose and continued:

“Sergeant Prim was part of the fleet’s inspection detail. I happened to encounter him during my assessment.”

I eased slightly. That was Father’s assignment.

“And Johannes—can I confirm when he befriended Sergeant Prim?”

“I already asked. He claimed they became friends in August.”

“August?” I echoed. “But you know them both. Is that enough time for such intimacy?”

Edward closed his eyes briefly.

“If you think I’m speaking ill of him out of spite for your wife… You’re free to ask any sailor aboard the Baltic.”

He sounded so certain—as though Johannes’ motives were not what they seemed.

“And Sergeant Prim,” he added, voice softening, “was in perfect health the last time I saw him.”

“…What?”

My head jerked up. This was new.

Healthy? Until at least November?

“But now—he’s dead. Just like that.”

Edward clicked his tongue.

“Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

❖═❖═❖═❖

“…Madam! Madam!”

“Huh?”

Ahin’s voice jolted me from my thoughts. I blinked and turned to find her staring at me with concern etched across her face.

“What were you thinking?” she asked. “I’ve been calling for ages—was that Prince Edward?”

“Oh… yes.”

“He didn’t say anything strange, did he? You look unwell.”

“No, no. Nothing strange. He simply… asked a few things about my husband.”

It sounded simple, even trivial. But the seed of doubt that Edward had sown… was sprouting.

My gaze flicked toward Ahin.

‘What if even Ahin… is one of Johannes Schulz’s?’

❖═❖═❖═❖

At the same moment, Johannes frowned as he received the report from Edith’s escort.

“Edward Windsor?”

His voice was clipped, irritation bubbling beneath its surface.

“Yes, sir,” the servant replied cautiously. “The carriage stopped in front of the police department.”

Johannes scoffed.

“Coincidence? Or design?”

“No definitive proof yet. Unless… a spy infiltrated Castle Evanstein.”

“Or the coachman was bribed?”

“Unlikely. It aligns with Director Windsor’s usual schedule.”

Johannes sneered. “So. Perfect timing. How convenient.”

He reached instinctively for a cigarette.

“First off—no, she wasn’t dragged into the station. She’s likely in his carriage.”

The scene played clearly in his mind:
Edward Windsor, sly as a snake, catching Edith off-guard, coaxing her into conversation with false politeness and veiled threats.

And Edith, proud yet bound by etiquette, unable to dismiss a royal without grace.

He smirked bitterly.

“The person nearest the carriage?”

“Miss Ahin, sir. Her personal maid.”

“Just a maid,” he muttered.

Edith Prim. A calm girl from the northeast with eyes that never said too much. That was why Johannes had allowed her close.

But now…

“Even if you ask her, the streets were loud. She may have heard nothing.”

The servant nodded. “That’s true.”

“Don’t touch her.”

“…Pardon?”

“She needs someone of her own. Don’t pressure the maid.”

If Ahin was compromised, they’d lose the thread entirely.

“Aren’t you going to find out what they discussed?” the servant asked hesitantly. “You’ve been apart for some time. And if she’s facing Windsor—”

“That’s presumptuous.”

Johannes’ voice darkened, and his eyes turned glacial.

“She is my wife. Do not speak of her so carelessly. Do not presume to understand her.”

“…Understood. Forgive me.”

The servant bowed deeply.

A memory of Edith’s solemn face flickered in Johannes’ mind—eyes downturned, silence heavy. Was that what others saw when they looked at her?

❖═❖═❖═❖

Then came the sharp, hurried sound of heels in the corridor—an urgent knock.

“Commander! The Duchess has arrived!”

Johannes crushed his cigarette against the windowsill and turned.

She stood there—his wife, Edith Schultz.
Expressionless. Composed.

A mystery even storms could not unravel.