Chapter 20 The Shadow of the utioner
That name was pure poison. The second Hans said it, the temperature in the room plummeted. Gisella, who was literally just bragging about her dresses, shut her mouth. She went dead pale. She dropped her teacup so hard it clattered against the table, splashing tea everywhere.
Honestly, the whole capital was probably shaking right now.
In the original book, Claus d'Alen?on wasn't just some regular general.
He was the Emperor's rabid hunting dog. The guy spent all his time at the borders slaughtering rebels and cleaning up traitors.
He didn't care about noble factions, he didn't care about politics, and he had a terrifying predator radar for bullshit.
And me? I was basically walking around with a mountain of lies.
Hans shuffled out looking like he was about to faint, leaving us in this suffocating silence. Gisella looked at me, her eyes tearing up from pure panic.
"Ilse... he's early," she whispered, her voice cracking. "My dad said if Claus comes back, it means the Emperor smells a rebellion. Does... does he know about yesterday? Did he come to chop our heads off?"
I didn't say anything. I stood up and walked over to the massive window looking out at the main street. Far off, I could hear it. The heavy, rhythmic thud of iron boots. It wasn't a fancy parade march. It was a military march—the sound of soldiers who would trample anyone in their way.
The chill crawling up my spine this time wasn't from a wet dress. It was Ilse's own muscle memory throwing a fit.
A random memory fragment flashed in my head.
A guy with jet black hair in a dark grey military cloak standing by an execution block.
I couldn't see his face, but his deep, dead-cold voice echoed in my ears: "For crimes against the empire, Ilse de Varannes is found guilty of political manipulation and attempted murder. Execute her now."
That was him. The guy who literally signed my death warrant in the original novel and kill me then. He wouldn't hesitate for a second to chop off a noble girl's head in public if he thought she was a parasite.
"Gisella," I muttered, staring at the line of soldiers appearing at the end of the street. "Listen to me. While Claus is in the city, we go ghost. No drama. No massive tea parties. No loud stunts. Nothing."
Gisella nodded stiffly. She had no idea I was hiding a whole other panic attack.
She didn't need to know I'd been digging up dirt on Julian Vance to fix her love life.
If she knew, she'd just get suspicious about why I was playing matchmaker.
For now, let her think I was just trying to keep us alive.
"What if he calls us in for interrogation?" she squeaked.
"Answer straight. No fluff. Don't add your own drama," I snapped.
I walked back to the table, grabbed Julian's report, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it right into the fireplace. It caught fire instantly, turning into ash in seconds. Evidence destroyed.
I knew I was playing with fire here. As Anna living in Ilse's body, I'd changed her from a brainless brat into a mastermind.
And that change? It might save me from the original plot, but it also made me a giant neon target for someone as analytical as Claus.
He wouldn't buy the wet dress stunt or the "wise fiancée" act we pulled yesterday.
Being a Varannes had its perks, I guess, but living this close to the city gates was officially the worst mistake my family ever made.
We were basically glued to the palace entrance—it was supposed to be a 'prestige' location, but right now?
It felt like a trap. It meant I saw everything.
Every carriage, every royal decree, and today, every single nightmare entering the capital passed right under my nose.
The massive iron gates below groaned open, a screeching sound that echoed like a warning bell.
I leaned over the railing of my balcony, my grip tightening until my knuckles turned white.
Even from the second floor, his silhouette was unmistakable.
Tall. Massive. He carried an aura so suffocating it felt like a physical weight pinning me to the stone floor.
And then, there he was. Claus d'Alen?on.
He didn't just ride in; he invaded the space, his presence hitting me like a physical blow from across the courtyard.
His silhouette was massive, radiating an oppressive aura that hung over the entire street like a suffocating blanket.
He dismounted his horse in one smooth, efficient movement, like a war machine stripped of every human emotion, cold and calculated
He slid off his horse in one fluid, terrifying motion.
No hesitation, no flair, just a machine built for war, cold and completely emotionless.
He didn't even look around like the other guards.
He just stopped in the middle of the courtyard and tilted his head up.
My breath caught in my throat. He was staring directly at me.
My survival instinct screamed at me to run, but I was frozen, trapped in the crosshairs of a man who didn't know the meaning of mercy.
My hands were dripping sweat against the marble wall.
"Ilse? What's wrong?" Gisella got up from the couch, turning even whiter when she saw me hide.
I didn't answer. My breath was shallow, my heart hammering against my ribs like it wanted to break out. I could handle a spoiled prince like Didier. I could dodge the gossiping noble hags. But Claus? That wasn't a game of chess. That was pure survival.
I leaned against the wall, muttering to myself, trying to stop my hands from shaking.
"I have to stay the hell away from that guy. No matter what."