Chapter 94 : 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐔𝐍𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒
Chapter 𝟗𝟒 : 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐔𝐍𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒
“What are you doing now?”
My voice, low and urgent, trembled as I hid behind Johannes.
“There is no harm in being careful,” he murmured.
“Of course, that’s true,” I whispered, “but this is a little… excessive.”
I was just about to plead with him to lower the pistol, to stop pointing the barrel at thin air—but when Johannes turned to meet my gaze, I faltered.
“My wife,” he said, his tone laced with sharpness, “is someone who always ends up where trouble brews. The fact that we are the only ones here, under such haste, should explain enough.”
“…Yes, of course,” I murmured.
When I finally conceded, Johannes arched an eyebrow and opened the door.
Standing there was a man of modest height, middle-aged, gentle-faced, and outwardly harmless. Even as the cold glint of a firearm leveled at his chest, he reached out, nonchalant, and brushed the barrel aside with a finger.
“Who fears a pistol, or a royal dog? Come now—let us not play the fool.”
Johannes slowly lowered the gun, his voice sharp and cool as frost. “State your business.”
“What a stern young man,” the stranger replied with a scoff. “Do they teach soldiers to be so stiff these days? Not in my time. Discipline has gone the way of dust.”
His gaze slid toward me, and he squinted, crow’s feet deepening as he studied my face. Then his eyes widened, and he nodded slowly—as if some private truth had just been confirmed.
“I couldn’t believe it,” he said at last, “but you really are Isaac’s daughter.”
He cast a knowing glance at Johannes, brushing his chin with a slow hand.
“Hmm… seems the intruder ought to identify himself first. Villagers said a stranger had arrived. It appears they were right.”
“We came here under legitimate right,” Johannes countered. “Which makes you the intruder, by any logical measure.”
“True enough,” the man conceded. “Edith is the daughter of Isaac and Candice, the rightful owners here. But who are you, to speak of legitimacy so boldly?”
Clearly, this man hadn’t a clue who Johannes Schultz truly was.
Given that Duke Schultz’s face had only recently graced the press, and that Herzburg was a city cut off from the world— it was no wonder he didn’t know I was married to a nobleman.
And perhaps it was for the better. People in Herzburg had little warmth for anything royal. Though Johannes was of noble blood, that meant little to them.
Still, I couldn’t allow this tone of insolence to linger.
“This is my husband,” I said simply.
“Huh?” the man blinked, seemingly caught off guard. He scratched his forehead. “Ah—I see. My apologies. It slipped my mind that Edith was old enough to marry. I thought of her still as a child.”
“Had she been alone,” Johannes said with chilling precision, “your rudeness might have gone unforgiven.”
“I truly meant no harm,” the man replied sheepishly.
Johannes offered no further acknowledgment, so I stepped forward.
“And who might you be, to call at such an hour?”
“Oh! I nearly forgot to introduce myself,” he exclaimed. “Porche Max. An old friend of Isaac. Been living in Herzburg since your parents moved here.”
“Since when did my parents move here?”
“Right after leaving the capital.”
The moment twisted into a darker shade.
Why had my father never mentioned Herzburg? Why had he hidden this place from me?
Perhaps this man, this Max, held answers.
Cautiously, I offered him an invitation.
“Would you care to come in?”
“Truly? I’ve always longed to step inside again. Ever since it was shut away…”
I looked to Johannes. He nodded, though clearly without delight.
Then—surprisingly—he took the man’s coat.
“Since there’s no butler,” he said blandly, “I’ll play host. It’s courtesy.”
Porche Max looked bemused, but relented, removing his coat and handing it to Johannes.
As he entered, he wandered through the home like a ghost returning to an old haunt. Murmurs of nostalgia fell from his lips, reverent and wistful.
But something about the familiarity with which he touched things began to unsettle me.
“Ah, Isaac loved this piece. Never let me near it,” he murmured, caressing a carved statue. Then he turned. “Is Isaac Prim… truly alive?”
A strange question. Random. Hollow in delivery. His eyes fluttered, as if expecting—or fearing—an answer.
“Yes?” I said cautiously.
“Oh, nothing,” he said quickly. “Just—I received a letter. Thought it strange, but now that I see you, it seems genuine.”
“I don’t understand.”
“A letter. Handwritten. It said someone might come seeking answers, and they’d find something left behind here. Only Isaac would know to write something like that.”
“Forgive me, but my father is dead. He could not have written to you.”
Max frowned. “Only Isaac could’ve sent it.”
“But you just said you read about my father’s death in a newspaper.”
He blinked. Stammered.
I pressed on. “But the people of Herzburg live entirely isolated. You didn’t recognize my husband earlier. So how could you have read about my father’s death?”
His composure cracked. Sweat beaded his forehead.
There was no way he could know.
Johannes remained still, unreadable.
My grip moved to the hidden revolver strapped beneath my dress. Swiftly, I drew it.
Porche Max tried to reach for his weapon, but I was faster.
“You’re hiding something.”
He froze, hands raised, eyes wide.
“This time,” I said, turning toward Johannes, “I saved you.”
