Chapter 98 : Of Shadows Unspoken and the Flame of Doubt
❖ Chapter 98 ❖
Of Shadows Unspoken and the Flame of Doubt
At last—I gave voice to the question that had tormented me for so long, the one buried deepest within the chambers of my fear and confusion.
It was not merely a question. It was a plea, an accusation, and a trembling thread of hope all interwoven.
Had Johannes Schulz—this man cloaked in grace and mystery—committed the atrocities that had stained Mussen with blood? Had he played some part in my father’s demise?
If he were truly guilty, he would understand the weight of what I was asking.
If not, he would receive my words at face value.
And yet, regardless of his response, I felt an unexplainable clarity bloom within me. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, I had dared to speak the storm aloud. How long had I twisted in silent agony beneath the burden of this suspicion?
All the while, I had clung to a desperate hope: that Johannes was not a murderer. That he had no part in my father’s end.
“I ask this question,” I said softly, almost reverently, “because I want to trust you. No—because I already do.”
I drew in a slow breath, my lungs aching as though with the chill of winter air. Johannes tilted his head ever so slightly, the ghost of amusement in his eyes.
“I didn’t expect a question more surprising than the last,” he murmured, brushing a hand across his face with a quiet chuckle. “And yet, here we are.”
The moment may have been ill-timed to him, but for me, it was the only time that mattered.
“Are you… doubting me?”
“I always have, if I am honest. And even now… I cannot say that doubt has left me entirely.”
“You suspect me in connection with Sergeant Prim’s death?”
I nodded slowly, unable to meet his gaze.
“My father warned me to stay away from you, Duke. He never explained why.”
Johannes closed his eyes for a long, weighted moment—then laughed again. Not in ridicule, but in something closer to resignation.
I had feared this moment.
Feared the storm it might conjure. Feared the ruin it might bring.
But now that the words were out—spoken into the open air—they no longer held their fangs. What had once seemed insurmountable now lay before me, stripped of power.
How easily the shadows scatter when met with light.
“That was the question you were holding back?”
His voice was soft, undisturbed. Though surprised, he bore no trace of anger—only a quiet attentiveness, as though this too had long been expected.
I nodded, breathless.
After wrestling with it so long, the truth seemed… simple. And light.
The reason I had hesitated until now?
Because doubt had its claws deep in me. Because part of me feared that the answer I would receive might be yes.
And once spoken, some truths cannot be recalled.
“Then,” Johannes said, lifting his gaze to mine, “allow me a question in return.”
“Yes. Please.”
“Was there any real reason to suspect me? Any concrete justification at all for such a belief?”
I hesitated—then shook my head.
“No. No reasonable basis. Only fear.”
“Because your father told you to?”
I folded my hands together, pressing them tightly.
“He told me to stay away. But never said why.”
There was more—far more—that I could not tell him. That this place, this moment, had once existed only in pages of fiction. That I had read these events before living them.
But how could I say such things aloud without sounding utterly mad?
So I chose silence instead.
“There were… circumstances that led me to question you. And I feared that if I sought the truth, I might not be strong enough to endure it.”
Johannes studied me quietly. He seemed neither offended nor wounded. Only thoughtful.
“Then,” he said with the gentlest of smiles, “why not trust me now, as you did before? I am not infallible, Edith. But I’ve never given you reason to doubt me.”
That was true.
He had never broken my trust. Never lied. Never harmed.
He had been kind—even when he needn’t have been.
And that, I realized with a throb of shame, was the root of it all.
“You treat me far better than I deserve,” I whispered.
His brows knit faintly, confusion in his eyes.
“What does that mean? That I’ve been too kind?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what it means.”
“I vowed to fulfill my role as your husband. Why is kindness a fault in that?”
Because… because it stirred things in me that I had no right to feel.
Because his gentleness did not feel like an act. It felt like truth. And that made it dangerous.
Cruelly, tragically, Johannes Schulz was the kind of man who had no idea how devastatingly kind he was.
And I was the only fool falling into the depths of it.
“I—”
I faltered.
And then, with a trembling breath, I dared to say what I had buried in silence for far too long.
“I’m shaken, Duke. By everything you are. The way you look at me. The way you speak. It unsettles me… and excites me. It makes me doubt myself.”
His expression froze, the faintest furrow appearing between his brows.
Perhaps he thought I was being presumptuous.
Perhaps he had never suspected I might feel this way.
But I couldn’t keep hiding behind silence anymore. I couldn’t keep pretending that his warmth didn’t reach into the hollow places of my soul.
“Please,” I whispered. “Don’t misunderstand. I know what you’re doing. I know you’re just fulfilling your role. But my heart—my heart is reacting to things it shouldn’t. And I am… afraid.”
For a long time, he said nothing.
Then—so softly that it felt like a prayer spoken into moonlight—he said:
“Edith Schultz… why are you afraid of me?”
Tears stung the corners of my eyes.
Not because I feared him. But because I feared what I might become if I fell too far into him.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I said. “I’m afraid of what I’m beginning to feel.”
A quiet hush settled between us.
In that silence, so heavy and fragile, the fire in the hearth flickered—soft and uncertain, like the beginning of something that could either warm… or destroy.
