Chapter 22 Behind the Carriage Curtains
a week. Seven days that felt like seven damn years.
Ever since Duke d'Alen?on showed his face in the capital, the whole city went dead quiet. No more lazy tea parties, no more light gossip in the gardens. Everyone was stiff, paranoid, and looking over their shoulders.
Living as Ilse wasn't just about dodging social traps anymore; it was about covering up a mountain of felonies.
The original Ilse hadn't just been a spoiled brat, she was a systematic traitor.
Behind the fa?ade of fancy dresses and tea parties, she had spent years selling classified military data on the black market, feeding her father's bottomless greed and turning our family estate into a cesspool of state level corruption.
If a man like Claus, a ruthless, analytical hunter of traitors, ever decided to audit our records, it wouldn't be a "misunderstanding."
It would be an execution order. Every single time our carriage hit the streets, I yanked the curtains completely shut, terrified that one wrong move would expose the rotting secrets of my predecessor.
I wasn't just hiding from the plot, I was hiding from the gallows.
"Ilse, why are we shopping in the lower merchant district again? The downtown shops are way better. Madame Laurent even said she got a new shipment of southern silk," Gisella whined next to me.
She was aggressively fanning herself, looking bored to death.
"It smells like dead fish and dust here. My dress is going to get ruined."
"The stuff here is unique, Gisella. You won't find this kind of inventory in the usual noble shops," I said, not even looking at her. I just kept peeking through a tiny slit in the curtain.
I wasn't exactly lying, but the clothes weren't the point.
This district was the main hub for military logistics.
According to Ben, the sketchy informant I paid a ridiculous amount of cash to Julian Vance had a strict habit of inspecting the Western Logistics warehouse here every single Tuesday afternoon.
I just needed to drop Gisella in the right place at the right time.
If she knew I was setting her up with the cold, rigid Holy Knight, her massive ego would ruin it.
She'd either refuse out of spite or try some embarrassing, over the top flirting. It had to look like a total accident.
"Besides," I turned to her, patching up the excuse, "aren't you sick of the same old boutiques? Seeing how the other half lives builds character. It makes you look mature."
Gisella snorted, but she stopped complaining.
She was a spoiled brat, but as long as I kept feeding her ego and calling her 'mature and open minded,' she'd basically follow me into a ditch.
The carriage slowed down as we hit the crowded main street of the district.
The smell of burning firewood and heavy spices from the warehouses started leaking through the cracks.
Through the window slit, I spotted a few Holy Knights guarding a massive stone building.
The sign on the door read Western Logistics.
My heart did a violent thud against my ribs. Julian Vance should be stepping out any second.
"We're getting out here," I said suddenly.
"What? Here? Ilse, there's literally mud on the pavement!" Gisella argued, but she still shuffled out of her seat.
The second our boots hit the ground, the noise of the slums slapped us in the face. Street vendors were screaming out prices, and crowds of commoners were pushing past small, dirty shops. I grabbed Gisella's elbow, steering her toward an old, dusty bookstore right across from the military warehouse.
"That shop has a collection of rare old poetry, Gisella. I remember you saying you wanted to read some," I lied, pointing at the sketchy-looking building.
We were just about to cross the muddy street when I heard it.
Clop, clop, clop. Heavy horse hooves hitting the stone in a perfect, disciplined rhythm.
It was him. Julian Vance.
He was riding a massive white stallion, wearing his spotless Holy Knight uniform. Not a single spec of dust on him. Two subordinates followed behind him at an exact, robotic distance. Julian slid off his horse with zero wasted movement, tossed the reins to a guard, and turned toward the warehouse.
"Ilse, wait... isn't that Viscount Vance?" Gisella whispered, her voice instantly switching to high pitched excitement. The complaints about the mud vanished. Her eyes went wide, staring at the high tier guy standing in a total dump. "What is he doing in a place like this?"
"Who knows," I muttered, playing dumb. "Probably some urgent military business."
Just as Julian reached the warehouse door, he stopped dead.
Some kind of knight instinct must have triggered, because he whipped his head around and looked straight toward the bookstore.
Straight at us. His sharp eyes cut through the crowd.
For a second, our eyes locked. He gave me a completely blank, unreadable stare, and then his gaze slid over to Gisella.
Everything felt like it went into slow motion.
I held my breath, waiting for the fallout.
Was he going to freak out because her brown eyes triggered his stepmother trauma?
Was he going to turn around and run? But Julian did something completely out of script.
He gave a stiff, basic noble nod, then turned around and marched straight toward us.
"Lady Ilse," his voice was deep and freezing, way colder than I expected.
He ignored Gisella entirely, his eyes pinning me to the spot.
"I have a question about a logistics report sent to your estate a month ago. Why is the Varannes family signature sitting on a document that's supposed to be classified military property?"
My stomach dropped straight through the floor.
I didn't know anything about a document. Turns out my little stunt last bounquet didn't clear my name, it just got me dragged into a massive fraud scandal. Julian Vance wasn't here for a romance plot. He was here to bust me for espionage.