Chapter 90 : Shadows Beneath the Emblem
Chapter 90 — Shadows Beneath the Emblem
Bathed in the fading hues of twilight, I gazed at my golden hair, its strands aglow with the remnants of a dying sun, mirrored faintly in the dusty pane before me.
I clutched the worn note tighter, as if willing the cipher to change beneath my trembling fingers—
but no matter how many ways I rearranged the letters, the message remained the same.
“If you haven’t given up your regrets yet, that’s right. I want to tell you that marrying that man is wrong.”
And then—
when the code was read in the light of truth, when every carefully veiled hint was laid bare—
it whispered with startling clarity:
“Run away from the man in military uniform.”
My breath caught in my throat.
Why…?
Why would my father write such a thing?
Could the anonymous letter that arrived at Mussen—hidden in fear and ink—have also been penned by him?
Why, then, would he urge me to sever my bond with Johannes Schulz, a man he once called a close friend?
Doubt, like a serpent, coiled itself around my thoughts.
‘No… could it be—was it Johannes who attempted to poison my father?’
I sifted through the fragments of truth and speculation, assembling in my mind the grim portrait of what may have transpired aboard that ill-fated warship.
Someone had tried to extinguish my father’s life—
not with sword or scream, but with the silent betrayal of poison.
He had not struggled.
That much was clear.
Which meant the assailant was someone trusted.
Someone untouchable.
Someone of power.
And Johannes was there.
He claimed closeness with my father—
but were his words anything more than a carefully spun veil?
And now my father lives, hidden in the shadows of this village, unreachable yet still watching.
Had Johannes followed me all this way not out of concern, but to stifle the truth should it come crawling back from the grave?
‘No…’
I shook the thought away.
Had he truly feared exposure, he would not have allowed me to enter this house alone. He would’ve torn it apart in secret, silencing every whisper, every trace.
And he had done none of that.
No.
This was not the mark of guilt.
My jaw tensed, and I bit down gently on my lower lip, as if to awaken myself from the spiral of suspicion.
‘It makes no sense. None of it truly aligns with the man I’ve come to know.’
A memory flickered to life—bright and sudden.
—
‘I don’t play frivolous games. Everything becomes fascinating when it holds a hidden meaning. Edith, you must approach life like a game—a brilliant, daring game.’
—
The voice of my father from a distant, gentler time echoed in the corridors of my mind.
—
‘Nothing is truly difficult, my darling. The more you believe it to be, the more it becomes so.’
‘Then… can we make the hard things easy too?’
‘Hm?’
‘Like my hair! Or math! I’m terrible at it—no matter how hard I try, the numbers refuse to obey!’
—
He had laughed, warm and sheepish.
—
‘Ah, is that so? Then let your father craft problems only you can solve.’
—
And he did.
Every time I stumbled, he created another riddle—
a thread for me to follow in the dark.
He never gave me a problem I couldn’t solve.
Never once.
I lowered my gaze to the letter resting gently in my palm.
Surely, this time would be no different.
So… what then?
Why did he not return the moment he knew I had wed the wrong man?
Why bury truth in riddles, instead of appearing before me?
Why… this gentle nudge toward divorce, rather than a desperate father’s plea?
‘If Johannes had truly tried to kill you… wouldn’t he have come rushing to me?’
It didn’t make sense.
My brow furrowed.
“There’s something…” I murmured beneath my breath, eyes sharpening.
I began to reread the letter, not with emotion, but with logic—
as my father once taught me.
And then—like a coin glinting at the bottom of a fountain—I saw it.
One phrase, hiding in plain sight, woven from the first letters of each paragraph like threads in an invisible tapestry:
Drawer number four.
My heart leapt.
It was a clue.
A game.
Without hesitation, I scoured the room until I found the old drawer chest. My knees kissed the dusty floor as I knelt before it.
One.
Two.
Three…
I opened the fourth.
Inside: worn clothing, aged by time and memory. At first, I thought I had been mistaken.
But my hand, digging deeper, brushed against something cold. Hard.
And paper—wrinkled, dry, and rustling with secrets.
I pulled them out slowly.
Then froze.
—
‘Never let your thoughts grow rigid, Edith. Fixation blinds us. It draws shadows where light was waiting to bloom.’
—
Another whisper from my father’s wisdom.
And suddenly, the wall of suspicion I had built around Johannes crumbled.
Was he ever the villain I feared?
I had seen only fragments: glimmers of golden hair, flashes of navy blue eyes, echoes of pain from the past.
But never proof.
The story I had read—the tale of blood and betrayal—was set far in the future.
And the future… is not yet written.
I had assumed too much.
Believed too little.
All because I feared him.
I let my mind chase specters and shadows, rather than seeking truth.
And now, in my palm, I held a single piece of that truth.
I looked down at the object I had unearthed.
An epaulette, regal and ornate, bearing the royal emblem—
the insignia of power, worn by only three men in the realm:
The King.
Christian Windsor…
And Edward Windsor.
Edward—the prince in exile. The guest in Mussen.
The man cloaked in silence.
A chill settled in my spine.
Could it be…?
The murders. The poison.
My father’s fall.
All pointing not to Johannes…
But to Edward Windsor—
the royal serpent hiding behind a golden crest.
aliceyriz
aha, knew it. edward is soo suspicious. maybe johannes will become a murderer in future—when edith being murdered by edward, but this time, that man is innocent (for this case, maybe)