𝗪𝗵𝗶𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗩𝗲𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 || Karl Heisenberg

Chapter Eleven: Lies

Oskar's surprise turned into a grim determination as he called out to the Duke, urging him to halt the carriage. With a wince of pain, he hopped out of the wagon and strode over to where Pepper, the speckled horse, was grazing on a winter fern. The animal regarded him with a playful snort before returning to her meal. Oskar shot her a glare, his agitation evident as he grabbed her reins.

"Thank you for the ride, Sir Duke," Oskar began, his voice tense with underlying urgency. "But if I don't return on this steed, there will be questions I'd rather not have to answer."

The Duke nodded understandingly, his expression grave. "You're in a precarious position with your friend under the sway of Lord Heisenberg. I wouldn't wish the burden of secrecy upon anyone."

Oskar furrowed his brow at the Duke's words, a mixture of frustration and determination flickering in his eyes. "Ésme's presence with Heisenberg isn't by choice. I need time to recuperate, and then I'll devise a plan to rescue her."

The Duke's expression turned solemn as he issued a cautionary warning. "I wouldn't advise it, my boy. Heisenberg is a man of a volatile temper. Crossing him could prove perilous, especially when it comes to reclaiming what he sees as his possession."

"Is that why you remained passive while I was being beaten?" Oskar's voice was edged with bitterness, his tone revealing his lingering resentment.

"If he wanted to beat you into the ground," The Duke's voice carried a solemn weight as he turned his head away from Oskar. "He wouldn't stop at just kicking you." With a decisive snap of his reins, the Duke urged his horse forward, disappearing into the night, leaving Oskar to ponder his words.

As Oskar journeyed back to the village under the watchful gaze of the moon, a sense of apprehension churned in his stomach. He grappled with the impending task of explaining Ésme's absence to Luiza and the challenge of concealing Roscoe. The moon's radiant glow illuminated the snow-covered landscape, casting an otherworldly shimmer over the silent woods. Despite the beauty of the scene, an unsettling stillness hung in the air, unsettling Oskar as he traversed the deserted forest. Yet amidst the eerie quietude, the moon served as a poignant reminder of Ésme, evoking memories of their shared past and igniting a flicker of warmth in his heart.

"Why are you running so fast?" Oskar's voice broke through the brisk night air, his breath visible in the moonlight. Ésme, her dark locks swaying behind her, pulled him along by his skinny forearm.

"Because I want to show you before the moon gets any lower!" Her laughter spilled out like music, echoing through the trees.

"Gosh, Ésme, I see you twice a year and you practically make me run a marathon every time," Oskar chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Your father is Luiza's stable hand, you better get in shape before they put you to work as well!" Ésme teased, her grin infectious as she glanced back at him.

"There!" Ésme's voice was filled with excitement as she pointed to the river ahead. "Isn't it gorgeous?" She settled onto the cold ground, sighing contentedly. The sight of the river was indeed breathtaking, its surface reflecting the moon's glow like a shimmering mirror. Where the moon's beams didn't reach, the stars filled in with their gentle light, casting a magical aura over the scene. Oskar turned to Ésme, her cheeks flushed with happiness, and felt a sense of peace wash over him.

Though she didn't notice him in the same way he noticed her, Oskar knew he would give everything to make her happy.

Ésme's eyes fluttered open reluctantly, her limbs sore and her throat raw from the tears shed the day before. Taking a deep breath, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and surveyed the unfamiliar room she found herself in. A thick blanket, adorned with intricate patterns, enveloped her, providing a comforting warmth against the chill. The crackling of a well-tended fire filled the room, a comforting sound that eased her senses. On a small wooden end table nearby, a pile of old books awaited her, their worn pages promising endless stories and adventures. Beside them sat a plate of half-burnt toast and what appeared to be pickled eggs, a simple yet thoughtful gesture. With a tired sigh, Ésme rested her head back on the armrest of the sofa, feeling a sense of gratitude for the unexpected comfort.