“Is this really necessary between fellow castaways?”

Isabel grumbled at the man before her, her hands bound with rope.

Francis Etron, a count.

The Etrons were the late empress’s family, one of the most prestigious noble houses in the capital.

They were immensely wealthy, their mines in the eastern mountains said to yield an abundance of fine sapphires and lapis lazuli.

Of course, his present appearance made that background almost impossible to imagine.

His disheveled green hair was tangled, his cheeks were hollow, his lips were chapped, and coarse, unshaven stubble covered his chin.

His shirt was torn in several places, and his waistcoat was so stained with seawater and dirt that its original color was difficult to distinguish.

Looking utterly destitute after whatever hardships he had endured on the island, he fixed Isabel with a deeply wary stare.

“Don’t play games, assassin.”

“I told you, I’m not.”

Francis remained unmoved by the look of utter frustration in Isabel’s eyes.

“Your Highness, look at that.”

He pointed to the unfamiliar contraption Isabel had built and the fire pit.

Nearby lay the remains of her rabbit dinner and the wooden skewers she had used to roast the nuts.

Erick raised his gaze and slowly surveyed them.

The seashells clattered in the breeze.

“The only explanation is that this woman has received specialized training.”

Indeed, rabbits were hardly slow enough for an ordinary woman to catch and eat.

“She must be an assassin working for the first prince! He sent her to harm you…”

“Francis.”

Erick’s lips moved.

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“Calm down and search the area. This woman may have accomplices.”

“Ah… Yes, at once.”

Startled, Francis limped away.

‘That leg…’

Watching him go, Isabel considered something.

‘But what matters now… is finding that out.’

Soon, only she and Erick remained beside the fire.

Isabel knelt before the man she had seen only in newspapers and looked up at him.

Frowning, she spoke.

“I’m not an assassin. You decided that yourself the moment you saw me.”

She protested in an incredulous voice.

Whether it was the darkness or the inscrutable color of his eyes, she could not tell what Erick was thinking. But she had no intention of wasting time on a pointless conversation.

“The Elias Mercenary Company.”

Isabel named the place she had once left behind.

Ordinarily, she rarely spoke of her past, but under the circumstances, she had to do everything she could to establish her identity.

“I was a company commander there, in charge of a hundred mercenaries. After I retired, I married Count Raymond Chester.”

Erick’s eyebrows twitched at the mention of her marriage.

Isabel shrugged and continued.

“You’re unlikely to recognize the face of a provincial noble like Count Chester, but if we send word to the family now, they’ll vouch for my identity. I’m merely the count’s wife, with no interest whatsoever in assassinating you. It’s frustrating that there’s no way to prove it on a deserted island, but…”

“Rather than your life as a countess.”

Erick cut her off sharply.

“Your life as a mercenary.”

His voice was cold and commanding.

“Tell me more.”

Being interrupted like that was rather irritating. But imperial family members considered themselves above everyone else, so she decided to let it pass.

“I joined at fifteen and trained for eight years. I finally became a company commander, but after some internal trouble, I retired…”

“You joined at fifteen?”

Erick abruptly interrupted her.

“You… Look at me.”

He brought his face closer, his eyes blazing. Isabel’s fingertips twitched.

The moment she saw his eyes up close, she knew for certain.

Erick was not wary of her.

Instead, his eyes held a strange confusion and a tangle of emotions.

“…Surely not. But…”

After studying Isabel’s face as though recalling something, he looked away with an odd expression.

She wanted to ask what he meant, but there was something more pressing.

“Since you’ve gone missing, Your Highness, a search vessel should be coming soon. Have they still not found this place?”

Rescue was, of course, the best way to survive.

“When the search vessel arrives, you’ll be able to verify my identity…”

“It won’t be coming for some time.”

Isabel’s brow furrowed sharply.

She could not make sense of Erick’s words.

“What do you mean?”

At the slight tremor in her voice, Erick looked weary, but he said nothing more.

As though he had no intention of answering.

“…”

She wanted to believe he was joking, but he did not seem the type.

Isabel’s mind raced.

Could this have something to do with the first prince Francis kept mentioning?

What if the first prince, jealous of his younger brother’s abilities, had been behind the wreck, hoping to kill them?

And what if someone was deliberately preventing a search vessel from coming?

‘D*mn it. I’ve stepped in sh*t…’

Watching the visibly shaken Isabel, Erick twisted his lips in a bitter smile.

“Someone trained to assassinate by Elias wouldn’t come to a deserted island unarmed to play at foraging. Unless they abandoned you here to eliminate you under the pretext of an assassination mission.”

“That’s a sound deduction.”

Isabel’s gaze shifted to the hand axe lying on the ground.

Her eyes demanded to know why he still had her tied up.

“Let’s agree not to ask what brought either of us here. The present is complicated enough.”

“…”

“Asking won’t change anything.”

Isabel nodded.

Then he spoke again.

“…That doesn’t mean I won’t verify your story, of course.”

The words that left his lips were chilling.

“I don’t want another uncertainty to deal with. I have enough headaches already.”

“…What will you do if I can’t prove I’m harmless?”

Looking steadily at her frowning face, Erick answered almost in a whisper.

“Who knows? Perhaps… I’ll handle it my own way.”

Isabel’s eye twitched as she glanced at the pistol in his hand.

They said imperial family members valued human lives no more than those of flies.

The second prince, in particular, was widely rumored to be ruthless.

‘Will he kill me if he finds me suspicious?’

She had been in quite a good mood while scavenging the wreck. Clicking her tongue at the thought, Isabel spoke.

“Your subordinate, Count Francis Etron. I only had a quick look, but his leg is clearly infected. He must have cut it on rusty iron. Judging by his limp, it hasn’t been treated properly, either.”

Naturally, the knowledge she had gained through wilderness survival training and missions included first aid and medicine.

“He’s already taking antibiotics.”

“If it’s still that bad, those antibiotics aren’t working. And in cases like that, rather than the antibiotics themselves…”

Just then, Francis returned from searching the area, limping as he approached.

“Your Highness, there’s no sign of anyone else. This woman appears to be the only assassin.”

“Continue.”

Without so much as glancing at Francis, Erick tilted his chin and ordered Isabel to go on.

Isabel glanced at Francis’s leg and spoke casually.

“…You should just…”

Francis blinked at her words.

What was His Highness discussing with the assassin? And why had he lowered his gun?

Isabel gave a nonchalant shrug.

“Cut it off.”

“W-what… Cut what off?”

Francis’s eyes widened in horror. Shielding his injured leg, he stumbled backward.