Chapter 63 : Threads of Poison and Power

Chapter 63

Sir Fret fell silent. He moved toward the window, drew the curtains shut, circled the room once, then returned to stand before me.

“I don’t know how Mussen descended into this madness, but…”

“…”

“For now, I suggest you refrain from leaving the house. I suspect the master’s absence is intricately tied to this string of incidents.”

“Alright.”

I gave a small nod, my thoughts adrift in Lord Fret’s office, which had grown too quiet, too heavy.

Something absurd kept creeping into my mind, a suspicion so wild it verged on hysteria: that the person who killed my father and the one abducting women were the same man.

I shut my eyes tightly, trying to crush the notion. It was preposterous.

But then, Edward’s warning echoed in my memory—words spoken in the carriage with a grave tone.

‘Anyway, be careful. Mussen’s state is unstable. You may not want to trust even your husband too easily.’

‘What do you mean? That the situation in Mussen is not good?’

‘You’ll understand soon enough.’

It seemed they could no longer hide the truth. Eventually, they made it public, likely in a desperate attempt to prevent further victims.

But as if mocking their efforts, another chilling headline was printed.

“How long will the murder case without a body continue?”

—

“Where have the women of Mussen gone?”

Johannes scoffed at the headline blazoned across the front page.

The Mussen Police Department—namely, Edward Windsor—had hidden this grotesque crisis far too long. They only revealed it when concealment was no longer feasible.

Their official explanation? That they wanted to prevent public panic. But Johannes knew Edward Windsor too well. He was not a man moved by the plight of commoners.

Johannes now understood what lay beneath the surface: this was a veiled attack, a game meant to humiliate Duke Schultz.

And yet, the responsibility for crime lay with the police. The department had already been scorned once in the court of public opinion.

“Public opinion has been subdued thanks to the royal family’s interference.”

Public sentiment was easily swayed. Control it once, and it becomes a puppet in your hand.

A subordinate arrived, face pale, handing over a document.

“It’s shameful to report this, sir.”

“What’s shameful is letting Windsor’s sins go unpunished. Our task is simple: uncover the truth, and lay his corruption bare.”

But how? Even Johannes didn’t yet know. His planted men around Windsor had nothing substantial to report—a sign that Edward was treading very carefully.

With a sigh, Johannes dismissed the man. But what followed only deepened the mire.

The next morning, a letter arrived at the naval headquarters where Johannes had spent the night. Short, but potent, the message read:

[I know the true culprit behind the murders in Mussen. I might be able to help.]

And beneath that, scrawled with emphasis:

[There is one condition. Divorce Miss Edith Prim—your wife—and I shall reveal the killer.]

His brows furrowed deeply.

Miss Edith Prim.

Not even “Duchess.” The writer of this letter clearly detested her union with him. Was this some cruel joke? He doubted it. The stakes were too high.

Only two types of people could dare pull such strings: a royal, or a murderer.

His eyes caught on a word near the end.

[Commander.]

Instantly, a face flashed through his mind.

Could it be Isaac Prim?

Impossible. Edith believed her brother was alive, but hadn’t she seen him die with her own eyes?

Even if it were Isaac, Johannes would never relinquish Edith.

He narrowed his gaze and crushed the letter in his hand.

Too many vultures hovered around his marriage. It was time to fortify their bond beyond the reach of petty threats.

—

Two days had passed since I learned of the disappearances.

Johannes returned home just before dawn, his presence stirring me from a restless slumber. He lay beside me, his expression drawn and fatigued.

The shame of having slept embraced by him had faded. My mind was too preoccupied with dread and unease.

He remained silent for a long time. I whispered his name.

“Duke.”

No response.

“Sleeping soundly?”

Still nothing. I rose cautiously, thinking he had drifted off. But when I turned, I saw his eyes closed—peaceful, unaware.

You’re asleep already… You must be exhausted. No doubt you’ve seen the same terrifying headlines.

Dawn crept in, its pale light casting a soft glow across his face.

I found myself gazing at him in silence. Had I ever observed him this closely, this quietly?

Just as admiration welled within me, his eyes opened.

Startled, I gasped.

But Johannes seized my wrist, pulling me gently until I was atop him.

Flustered, I blinked rapidly, trying to orient myself.

“What is it?” he whispered, his voice warm with mischief. “Caught admiring me in my sleep?”

“I wasn’t—!”

“Peeking, were you?”

His laughter rumbled low in his chest.

Embarrassed, I wriggled, trying to escape, but the more I moved, the closer I seemed to press against him.

“When will you let me go?” I asked with exasperated amusement. “If I confess to stealing a glance, will you set me free?”

“I knew all along. Doesn’t matter.”

I gasped. “You were pretending to be asleep?!”

“It’s been a while since you called me Duke. It was… endearing.”

“Anyway!” I huffed.

“Can I steal a glance while you sleep, then?”

I hesitated, cheeks aflame. “I suppose… a wife is allowed to look at her husband. But right now, this position is just…”

“Strange?”

“Yes! Let’s get up—this is too…”

But I didn’t finish. Johannes shifted swiftly, and suddenly I was sitting on his lap, our upper bodies pressed too close for decency.

“Embarrassing now?” he teased.

Our faces were inches apart. I could feel the warmth of his breath. My eyes darted nervously.

“From what you just said,” he murmured, “there doesn’t seem to be any trouble between husband and wife.”