“Everyone, help His Excellency! Why are you still not coming in?”

Camille’s shrill voice rang out. The servants, who hadn’t responded to earlier calls, now rushed into the room and burst through the door.

The strongest of them lifted Arnaud, who was clawing at the floor and howling, and placed him on the sofa, holding his struggling torso in place.

Soon after, Camille pulled a small bag from the folds of her skirt, even humming softly to herself – despite the screaming man in front of her.

What she produced was a white silk pouch embroidered with a blue crane, an exotic item from the East, currently in vogue at court.

“Hurry, Camille…”

“All right.”

He grasped weakly at the hem of her dark blue skirt, his urgent gaze wandering aimlessly. He was half out of his mind.

When Camille untied the pouch, a handful of dark green herbs with triangular tips spilled out.

She placed them on her palm, admired them for a moment, then pinched off a small amount and brought it to Arnaud’s lips.

“Come, open your mouth.”

Believing it to be the leaves of Anmadre, Arnaud obediently opened his mouth without questioning what it was.

A sharp, pungent taste scratched his palate. The bitterness was jarring and Arnaud’s eyebrows immediately furrowed.

But he had to chew it. If he wanted to escape Isabelle’s thoughts for even a moment, it was necessary.

The juice seeped between his teeth and numbed his entire mouth. Soon he felt his head being gently lowered onto soft fabric.

“Arnaud.”

Camille’s noticeably calmer voice came as a bonus. Arnaud nodded absentmindedly. Without realizing it, his breathing had become peaceful again.

“Isabelle betrayed you. She still loves Henri.”

“…….”

“She doesn’t love you. Isn’t it obvious that she went to the Château de Moerne of her own free will? In the end, she’ll kill you. She’ll do whatever Henri wants.”

Every word Camille said was enough to provoke him. But Arnaud didn’t argue – instead, he repeated Camille’s last words as if reciting a spell.

“Whatever Henri wishes…”

“Yes, whatever His Majesty wishes. Élisabeth is dead and only Madame de Château remains.”

Her words were like an incantation.

And indeed, they seeped into Arnaud and proved true in his mind. He didn’t know exactly what had convinced him, but this distortion felt comfortable.

“Élisabeth… is dead.”

Arnaud ended his muttering with those words.

His breathing was noticeably calmer now. After repeating the words several times, he felt safe. His mind began to clear as well.

Camille continued to caress him gently, and Arnaud accepted her touch like a well-trained pet. Soon he put his hands behind him and sat up comfortably.

“Do you feel a little better now?”

“You saved me again, Camille.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Was it Anmadre?”

Instead of answering, Camille silently wrapped her arms around Arnaud from behind, gently snaking around him. Her red curls flickered at the edge of his vision.

She didn’t give him a clear answer, but as always, Arnaud never doubted her.

“Shall I find something more comforting?”

“That’s enough.”

He’d finally forgotten Isabelle.

That alone was enough. Arnaud murmured with half-closed eyes and soon buried his face in Camille’s neck, like a loyal dog offering gratitude.

“Hmmm…”

Camille purred softly, tilting her head back.

She even exposed her shoulder, inviting Arnaud to easily bite into her skin, revealing her bare, not particularly pale flesh.

Perhaps sensing the change in atmosphere, the servants had long since cleared away the broken brandy bottles and quietly left the room.

As the room was furnished only with a sofa, a bed, an empty bookshelf and a table, their heated breaths echoed loudly, resembling a choir.

After greedily reveling in the sounds with his tongue, Arnaud soon returned to Camille’s neck, seemingly exhausted.

“…Make sure Isabelle stays out of my sight.”

It wasn’t a request, it was an order.

Camille, dressed rather provocatively, continued to stroke the back of his head, chuckling softly as she asked the reason.

“Do you resent her?”

“Deeply.”

“Wise answer, Arnaud.”

Satisfied with his answer, Camille smiled again. Her hand had already moved to the top of his head.

It wasn’t the kind of touch one usually gave another person. Camille had always treated Arnaud that way, a fact known to everyone but Arnaud himself.

“Tonight I’m going to give you a wonderful gift.”

Camille said, as if she were throwing meat to a dog she had finally tamed.

***

To my beloved mother,

Please forgive me for not writing sooner. Everything here has been so new and unfamiliar; I needed some time to settle in. I hope you understand.

But I want you to know that I’m doing very well now.

Ourethique is not the gloomy place we imagined – it’s actually quite beautiful. The dreary landscape we feared is simply not here. Maybe they’ve taken great care in restoring it, because flowers are blooming in every corner.

Seeing these flowers fills my heart with such joy. I wish you could be here to see them with me. I promise I’ll send you a painting soon so you can share in their beauty.

My new husband treats me with kindness and warmth. Each night I rest peacefully in the chambers he has thoughtfully prepared for me. Even the servants here are gentle and caring; they look after me with sincerity and affection.

They are such warm-hearted people, Mother. 

Their kindness leaves no room for loneliness. My days here are gentle and peaceful.

Because of your care, the pain has finally left me – I no longer shed tears.

Please tell Father that Isabelle is truly well now. Let him know that my bitterness has almost completely melted away.

I love you both more than words can express. I eagerly await your answer.

Your ever-loving daughter, 

Isabelle

“I guess I shouldn’t sign it as Eli…”

After all, it was a letter that Versica would read before sending. Isabelle looked down gloomily at the stationery on the small walnut table.

The cabinet was cozy. 

Since it had once been the nuns’ sleeping quarters, it retained many shabby parts, but she appreciated how it was divided into separate sections.

Drops of melted wax dripped slowly from the silver candlestick on the console below the window. She was sure that she had lit a new candle, which meant that a considerable amount of time had passed.

“I’ll have to ask her… to send this to Camille, won’t I?”

Yes, that was certainly the right thing to do.

Isabelle folded the letter with a bitter smile. She slid it into the cream-colored envelope she’d brought, carefully sealing it with wax to make it look presentable. After placing it neatly in the drawer below, she rose from her seat.

Perhaps hearing the rustling of fabric from outside, Marie promptly knocked on the door as if she’d been waiting for this very moment.

“Madame.”

“You may enter.”

Having served in the Queen’s quarters, Marie always stood guard when Isabelle entered the cabinet, suspicious that Isabelle might do something reckless.

Nothing had changed from her days at the Château de Moerne. Predictably, Marie opened the door abruptly, without even the basic courtesy of an if I may come in.

“What is it?”

Isabelle asked, smoothing her still disheveled dress. Marie replied promptly.

“Monsieur has summoned you, Madame.”

“Isn’t he with Madame Saint-Mang now?”

What mischief was he up to this time?

Not to call it mischief was unfair. Maybe if she’d told the truth from the beginning, it wouldn’t have come to this. Isabelle bit her lip hard.

Marie, who had been quietly watching Isabelle, slowly closed and opened her eyes, then approached her. She exchanged the candleholder for another and gently put an arm around Isabelle’s shoulder, urging her forward.

It was a quiet urging. Without complaint, Isabelle began to move.

She followed Marie as she walked ahead, candleholder in hand. Soon a door appeared in front of them, a strangely foreboding door.

“Marie, what exactly is the reason…”

“Ah, you’re here.”

Just as Isabelle began to ask anxiously again, another attendant appeared from the right, holding a lantern identical to Marie’s. He bowed politely.

“Monsieur was looking for you, Madame.”

“Me?”

“Yes, Madame.”

With that, he opened the door for her.

It creaked eerily, fitting perfectly with his ominous appearance. Taking the candlestick from him, Isabelle stepped cautiously over the threshold.

This place looked very different from the palace where Henri usually stayed.

Despite the high ceilings, the room was nearly empty. A bookshelf stood neglected, its surface scarred with visible nail marks, and the dark blue carpet beneath it was worn and frayed in places.

Even the candlesticks on the console seemed rusted and abandoned, as if they should have been discarded long ago.

Isabelle frowned and turned her head away until her gaze settled on the corner where most of the candlesticks were gathered.

“Oh my, you’ve arrived.”

Camille was standing there, her chemise hanging loosely below her shoulders, her hair completely unbound and cascading freely.

If Camille was here, then-

“So you’ve come.”

Arnaud must be here too.

Terribly, her suspicion was confirmed.

The gathered candlesticks stood next to none other than the bed where Arnaud lay, his chin propped up, looking directly at her.

His golden curls, usually immaculate during the day, were now a disheveled mess – as if someone had deliberately tousled them.

‘Is his headache acting up again? Or maybe Camille was the one who tousled it…’

As these thoughts ran through Isabelle’s mind, she bit her lip almost hard enough to draw blood. Meanwhile, Camille turned cheerfully to the man, smiling lazily.

“Well, go on. She’s here now – say it.”

At Camille’s prompting, a twisted grin crept across Arnaud’s face. It was by far the most cynical expression Isabelle had ever seen him wear.

“Yes, of course I’ll talk. Isn’t that why we brought her here?”

He seemed completely drunk. As he rose and stumbled toward her, his steps were unsteady.

In an instant, Isabelle’s face subtly changed – a turbulent mix of confusion and suppressed anger.

“Why did you drink so much?”

Supporting him was unavoidable. Isabelle instinctively reached out and caught Arnaud as he collapsed into her embrace.

“I’ve been waiting for you… just for you…”

His words threatened to bring tears to her eyes. Why did he say that now? Isabelle felt her heart being torn apart.

“You’re reckless, especially for someone who can barely handle a single bottle of wine.”

But if she really pulled away, she’d lose the chance to feel his warmth, his scent. Holding him, Isabelle turned her head slightly, scanning the room to see if there was more alcohol nearby.

However…

“What is the meaning of this…?”

“Pick one for me, Elisabeth.”

Far from finding more wine, Isabelle saw only a row of maids in their nightclothes, standing stiffly in line, their legs trembling with fear.

Arnaud’s voice came from behind her, soft and indifferent.

Clearly, these women had been dragged here without understanding why. Isabelle’s eyes snapped back to Arnaud, demanding an explanation. Without hesitation, he answered her unspoken question.

“Choose the mademoiselle who will entertain me tonight.”