Chapter 93: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐕𝐞𝐢𝐥𝐬
Chapter 𝟗𝟑: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐕𝐞𝐢𝐥𝐬
‘Could Edward Windsor truly be the orchestrator behind the string of ghastly murders?’
Given his role as Police Commissioner, he possessed both the authority and the cunning to manipulate every crime scene to his advantage. When seen through this lens, the puzzle pieces aligned with disturbing elegance.
Yet suspicion, though tempting, could not be cast blindly. After all, Johannes Schulz—by blood and by presence—was no less a member of the royal realm. His lineage, though elusive, placed him close enough to power to warrant scrutiny.
Perhaps the epaulettes had yet to be bestowed upon him. But titles could be clarified later—either by Johannes himself or by the formidable Sir Pret.
Thus, the noose of suspicion had widened, but its tension pulled ever tighter around Edward’s name.
With a mind adrift in uncertainty, my fingers tightened around the leather strap of my satchel, only to graze something thin and foreign beneath.
A slip of paper.
With trembling hands and breaths caught in the web of dread, I unfolded the parchment. My father’s penmanship stared back at me—inked confessions veiled in sorrow.
[Edith, If you’ve found this, it means you chose to ignore my warning.
Or perhaps you have uncovered all I left behind, and begun to grasp why I vanished into silence. Still, this only affirms that you wish to trust your husband.
You were born with doubt in your bones, yet if you are brave enough to challenge fate and stand firm in your convictions—then I have always believed in you.
Forgive me. I still cannot unveil the full truth. But know this: my plea for you to avoid Duke Schultz has never wavered.
If, despite everything, happiness graces your heart—then I cannot, in good conscience, stand in its way.
So I have left you a small clue upon the table. If you are reading this, it means you chose trust. You wished to preserve a sliver of joy.
Very well. Then I shall share a fragment of my story. Perhaps it shall answer a few of your burning questions… though only a few.
Truthfully, I never wanted to stand before you again until I had regained my strength. To be honest—I wished for nothing.
I wanted no return to this world. I wanted you never to uncover the horrors hidden within its folds.
I wished your eyes would never see its darkness. But my complacency crumbled the moment Duke Schultz entered your life and claimed your hand.]
My eyes scanned the letter, my thoughts scattered like autumn leaves in a storm.
The word ‘entered’ struck me with a chill. A word that dripped with warning.
Yet—
‘Johannes and I did not wed for love. It was a calculated alliance, each seeking something from the other. My father, blind to this, misconstrued our bond… but perhaps, perhaps he was right to worry.’
The letter continued.
[You must never heed Giltheon’s words lightly. Any further correspondence will come through him. We shall change the code with every encounter.
You may wonder why this cloak of secrecy, but understand—I cannot explain. Not yet.
Avoid the royal court. Steer clear of Lady Russell and her ilk…]
A voice shattered my solitude.
“Why do you look so deeply?”
I startled. My hand crushed the letter reflexively. Whirling around, I met the silhouette cloaked in dusk.
Johannes.
He had entered without sound, without warning—casting a long, ominous shadow.
“Hiding something, are you? So this was your reason for coming here.”
“…You saw?”
I tried to mask the crushed letter behind my back, but it was futile. He had seen enough. My silence had spoken louder than any confession.
“No need to read. I can guess what it says,” he murmured. “Another plea from your father to abandon me, yes?”
His words, so direct, left me blinking—speechless.
He leaned closer, eyes locking with mine, gaze unwavering.
“That’s what he’s always done, hasn’t he? Tried to drive a wedge between us.”
“…….”
“So it is true, then. My guess was correct.”
His face hovered inches from mine. I could feel his breath, read every flicker of tension across his brow.
Light still filtered through the window, enough for him to read the torment in my gaze.
When I offered no reply, he frowned.
“Your silence… does it mean you’ve begun to doubt me? I thought we agreed to trust one another.”
His voice, laced with wounded sincerity, nearly shattered my resolve.
Yes, perhaps I had judged too soon. But the signs, the whispers in the shadows—they left no peace.
My voice returned, brittle but sharp.
“…Why do you assume my silence is guilt? Perhaps it is you who feels the sting of conscience.”
I narrowed my gaze.
“And another thing—you speak as though certain my father still lives.”
Only days ago, he had all but written him off as dead.
Now? He spoke as though the man walked among us.
A slip?
I swallowed.
He chuckled.
“Giltheon came to me. Just as he came to you. Curled up in that narrow chair, barely holding himself together.”
Johannes added coolly, “He told me things no one else could’ve known. And he told me to stay away from you.”
“…My father told you that?”
Johannes nodded.
My suspicions fractured and fell away.
Had Johannes killed him, the man would never have shown his face.
Had he wanted me dead—he would’ve done it long ago.
I exhaled slowly.
Even now, I could feel the pull of the original tale, the narrative that sought to trap us both.
Johannes sighed.
“I don’t know what your father’s hiding, but I intend to find out.”
Before I could answer, a knock echoed sharply against the front door.
Both our heads turned.
My brows furrowed.
“…Who would knock at this hour?”
The world outside had sunken into darkness.
Who would venture to this house—abandoned and forgotten—on such a night?
The knocks continued, steady and cold.
I glanced at Johannes.
“…Who…?”
He raised a finger to his lips—silence.
Without a word, he reached beneath his coat and withdrew a pistol.
Outside, the knocking persisted.
No voices. Only the sound of fate rapping at our door.
He stepped forward, boots echoing across the hardwood.
Toward the unknown.
Toward the veil.
