How long had she been crying? As the shaking subsided, Isabel slowly pulled away from the man’s embrace. He didn’t try to stop her either, as if he’d already decided to let her go. 

In the awkward silence, she just kept folding and unfolding the handkerchief he had given her. Should she thank him? Or apologise? 

She couldn’t quite decide. 

“I must have shown you a terrible sight for a first meeting. I’ll wash the handkerchief and return it to you.” 

Isabel gave an answer that was neither. 

Then the man who had been kneeling quietly in front of her stood up without a word and rose with her. 

“Please take it as a token of my heart.”

A hand, rough and scarred, rested on hers. Isabel looked silently down at the man’s hand on hers, then caught sight of her wedding ring on her index finger and quickly pulled her arm away. 

What does a married woman do? 

The man hastily withdrew his hand as well. 

It was a moment before the silence was broken. 

“……I have never seen your face before.”

“When you first came, you stood so far behind me. But I saw you, Madame.

If she was honest, it was mostly her own fault for being too caught up in a scuffle with Versica to notice her surroundings. 

When Isabel nodded slowly, the man reached for her hand again.

Something soft and warm lingered on the back of her hand before he left. It had been a long time since she had received such a gesture, and Isabelle couldn’t bring herself to look directly at the man kneeling before her.

“I am Laurent Duc. The gardener at Héréthique.”

“I see, Duc.”

“My family has long traded textiles and such from the monastery of Herethique, but after that incident I’ve taken over the landscaping here.”

Though vague, Isabelle immediately understood what that incident referred to. 

It must have been the Ribeon massacre that took place here four years ago.

Seeing that Laurent’s expression wasn’t very pleasant when he mentioned *that incident*, Isabelle naturally changed the subject.

“Do you know where Thea is buried?” 

“If you walk a little past the auditorium, there’s a cemetery. That’s the only place where there would be a grave.” 

“Lead the way.” 

No matter how humble the grave, it was where Alathea would be laid to rest. 

Even if Marie hadn’t cared enough to attend the funeral, at least this man would. That was enough.

Laurent nodded a few times, and with the veil draped over her arm, she stepped out of the prayer room.

“Madame, do you like flowers?” 

“In Châteaubienne, wouldn’t it be a problem if you didn’t?” 

“When I heard you were coming, I planted everything I could along the cloister – seeds or not.” 

“But the summer is over.”

Laurent, who hadn’t stopped talking during the whole walk, suddenly put both hands to his mouth when she said that it wasn’t the right time to plant flowers. 

It really hadn’t occurred to him. 

It was oddly endearing to see such a big man at a loss. A small laugh escaped her lips. 

It was the first time she’d smiled since arriving in Antmaren. 

Laurent seemed to light up as well. 

“But I can also make artificial flowers, you know! I’ll weave you a flower ring. A crown too!” 

“If that’s what you want, I’d prefer something that doesn’t wilt.” 

“It’s warm here, even in winter. As long as there are flowers, it’ll always feel like spring.” 

With those words, sunlight seemed to shine on Laurent’s face. 

It was a smile as bright as midday – bright enough to make even wax flowers bloom. 

And seeing that smile, someone naturally came to mind. 

‘Arnaud.’

If this man was midday, that one was a sunset. 

Unlike Laurent, who always seemed to glow brightly no matter what, Arnaud smiled like something slowly fading. 

It was a smile that always made her think of the end. 

And Isabelle loved Arnaud’s pained smile. 

When he was innocent one moment and then smiled as if he could leave at any moment, it always made her feel anxious. 

Arnaud – who would become precious again just as she was beginning to forget him – she had loved him all along. 

She had loved him, but… 

“Madame?” 

She hadn’t just drifted off in her thoughts, she had stopped walking. 

Noticing her distraction, Laurent, who had been walking a few steps ahead, turned around.

As soon as she saw his approaching face, Isabelle gave a small shudder and returned to reality.

“What were you thinking so deeply about?” 

“Oh, it was nothing. Anyway, you said it doesn’t get cold here even in winter?” 

When she changed the subject, he went along with it without question. 

Laurent quickly changed his expression and started chatting again, matching her pace as they walked. 

“It’s warm here, since we’re in the southern region. Isn’t Imanoria similar?” 

“The capital even more so.” 

“If it’s Pleve, that’s where Zaphcada Castle is, isn’t it?”

Imanoria, its capital Pleve and Zaphcada Castle…

The first was something Sébastien had mentioned, but the rest – it had been a long time since she’d heard those names. A small smile formed on Isabelle’s lips.

“I wanted to write a travel diary. In Imanoria, I mean. A country bumpkin with big dreams, I know.”

“You must especially love the Phoebe Sea.”

“The sea! How did you know I’d never seen the sea?”

She had only mentioned it in passing, but his eyes lit up so eagerly that she was at a loss. 

Isabelle replied with a smile that could have meant anything, then quickened her pace.

Suddenly, Laurent stood up and started rummaging through his pockets, his hands still covered in dirt. 

What was he looking for with his hands like that? 

After a few failed attempts, he finally pulled out a rosary with a wooden cross. 

“If I bury this with her… it’s a bit shabby, isn’t it? Considering it served a lady like you.” 

He hesitated and started to pull his hand back, but Isabelle instinctively reached out and grabbed it, stopping him. 

It was a scene neither of them had expected. 

Isabelle was equally flustered, but Laurent was so stunned that his face was practically red, so it fell to her to calm him down. 

She quickly withdrew her hand.

“Forgive me.” 

“I-it’s all right. More importantly, your delicate hand-it’s covered in dirt…” 

“I can just wipe it off.”

It was similar to what he had said in the cathedral. Laurent seemed to realise this too, for a bright smile returned to his face. 

As if that weren’t enough, he took the handkerchief she was holding and gently wiped the dirt from her hand. 

A ticklish sensation stirred in her chest. 

Isabelle, who had been staring at his hand, pointed to the rosary on his wrist and said.

“Will you bury it with her? Alathea would be pleased.” 

Even at her words, the man hesitated – but with no choice against Isabelle’s fixed gaze, he gave a reluctant nod. 

Taking the rosary from her, he knelt on one knee at the spot he had dug. 

Deciding to leave the funeral to him, Isabelle stepped back and silently watched his back. 

It was broad – surprising for such a gentle face.

He reminded her so much of Arnaud. 

It was only after thinking about him twice that Isabelle realised how much she had longed for her husband. 

To see traces of him in a complete stranger – it was ridiculous. 

Isabelle looked at the man again. 

The rosary was no longer in his hand, so it seemed he had finished the funeral. 

And yet Laurent made no move to get up. 

“Amen.” 

Stepping closer, she saw that he was saying goodbye to Alathea – someone whose face he had probably never seen. 

It was a strange thing. 

His slightly lowered eyes looked sad.

Her heart felt heavy, as if it were sinking under water. 

Isabelle closed her eyes tightly for a moment, then opened them and knelt beside him to begin her prayer.

“May You guide the final path of this poor little lamb…”

When the prayer was finished, she didn’t forget to make the sign of the cross – just as Alathea had done all her life. 

She made it, even at the risk of her life, for the maid who had cared for her until her last breath.

It was Laurent who helped Isabelle to her feet after the prayer.

She didn’t refuse his courteous gesture, taking his arm as she stood. 

Dressed in mourning clothes, the two of them could easily have been mistaken for a married couple. 

Isabelle’s smile turned to Laurent. 

It was as if she had finally let go of half of Thea. 

She smiled as if to say it was all thanks to him, and Laurent once again pressed a kiss to the back of her hand—
Completely unaware of who was standing behind him, or how long that person had been there.

“What on earth… is this?”