It must be Marie.

Thinking she had finally come to push her back inside, Isabelle raised her head without much suspicion.

“Um.”

But the voice that reached her was deep.

Surprised by the unexpected sound, she looked up – and there was Laurent, holding out both a candlestick and his face.

Though startled, Isabelle straightened her posture, careful not to show it.

“What brings you out at this hour?”

“I felt like taking a walk.”

“At this hour? Shouldn’t you be in the middle of dinner?”

“You doubt me, Duchess.”

He didn’t seem to be very good at lying. Instead of answering, he just grinned sheepishly.

He probably hadn’t meant to, but somehow it felt comforting – and so Isabelle offered a faint smile of her own.

“How long have you been here?”

“I came to gather some branches, but then… I saw you rushing past the colonnade…”

“So you decided to follow me?”

“I-I’m sorry. I was just worried about you.”

Laurent seemed worried that he might have overstepped and offered a hasty apology.

But Isabelle was more than willing to let it go.

Any kind of comfort would do. And right now she needed it.

‘Philip was like that too, wasn’t he?’

The lobby of Château Zaphcada was especially slippery right after it had been mopped, and Elisabeth, who ran fearlessly around the place, scraped her knees almost every day.

Grand Duchess Cassandra was a rather strict woman.

Unlike Grand Duke Theodoros, who rarely scolded his daughter, she didn’t comfort Elisabeth when she was on the verge of tears – instead, she made her read the moral story “Impatient Nicky” dozens of times.

Whenever Eli grumbled about that particular story, which she particularly disliked, her cousin Philip would quietly come by and leave a plate with a custard pie on it.

Eli had always liked that kind of comfort from Philip.

Much more than someone asking if she was okay and patting her skinned knees.

Whenever she called out to Philip when he tried to slip away quietly, the shy boy always said the same thing: “I-I was just worried about you.”

The same feeling came rushing back and Isabelle bit her lip.

When Elisabeth, the Grand Duchess of Imanoria and former heir to the duchy, died, Philip, her late uncle’s only son, was named as her successor.

He had become a father at an early age and was one of Isabelle’s few sources of comfort.

Raising two children, he had grown into a stable man, and his wife was a wise woman as well.

Though his duties kept him from writing often, Isabelle believed he would manage.

But today, the name “Philip” brought only sadness.

“Um, Madame?”

Come to think of it, this man… he does look a bit like Philip.

The dark hair, the gentle expression – everything about him.

Isabelle, who had been staring at the approaching Laurent, finally shivered slightly and handed over the candlestick.

“It’s nothing.”

“Oh, come on. It’s clearly not nothing.”

“I said it is.”

When she still refused to say more, Laurent gently took the candlestick from her, unfolding her fingers one by one.

“It’s in my hands now, Madame.”

It was a charming kind of threat.

It even reminded her a little of Alathea.

Admitting defeat, Isabelle gave a small shake of her head.

“Someone I know came to mind. You look a lot like him.”

“Who-who is it?”

“My cousin.”

Laurent’s eyes immediately lit up. Perhaps because he was so close to the candleholder, the sparkle in his eyes seemed twice as bright as usual.

“Someone from Imanoria, then!”

“That’s right.”

“Can you tell me about him?”

He seems to love foreign places so much – what reason could there be for him to stay in Hérétiques?

He didn’t seem to have any connection to Henri.

If he had, he wouldn’t have approached Isabelle, nor would his eyes have lit up at the mention of Imanoria.

When she remained silent, just looking at him, Laurent began to fidget with his hands and muttered in a resigned tone, as if confirming what he had suspected:

“I must have… touched a sore spot. Please forget it. I’ve overstepped.”

“No, it’s not that. I was just trying to recall a faint memory.”

Seeing the way his expression fell so quickly, Isabelle reached out and waved her hand as if to say that wasn’t the case.

Laurent’s face instantly lit up.

Could anyone be more transparent than him?

Isabelle smiled back and began her story.

“He also loved flowers. He even used roses he’d grown himself when he proposed.”

“Is he married?”

“He has two children.”

At that, Laurent let out a soft “Wow,” his mouth falling open.

He looked about the same age as Isabelle, who was twenty-two this year.

Whether in Châteaubienne or Imanoria, it was common to tie the knot around eighteen – so it was likely that Laurent also felt some pressure to marry.

“Is there someone you have feelings for?”

Laurent quickly shook his head.

Isabelle was momentarily surprised by his decisiveness, but then he turned the question back to her.

“No. What about you, Madame?”

The question surprised her.

To ask such a thing of a woman who’d already put her hair up – she looked at him in confusion, not understanding his intention.

Laurent quickly added.

“Monsieur seems to care for you, Madame, but I just… can’t tell how you feel.”

“Arnaud?”

“When you first arrived, he looked for you every day. Eventually he stopped…but it still seems like his feelings haven’t changed.”

It wasn’t completely unexpected.

He probably hadn’t resented her at all.

Their first meeting had been terrible, yes – but if you asked her if he had been completely indifferent, she couldn’t say that either.

Isabelle replied, looking over Laurent’s shoulder.

“I loved him.”

“Even now?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

If it hadn’t been love, it wouldn’t have hurt so much.

Isabelle pitied herself, too, as Arnaud must have done when he had no choice but to turn away from her.

As the grief subsided, reason began to take its place.

Wasn’t she the one who had once sworn she would do anything to save Arnaud?

Even if the price was his illegitimate child…

“That’s nothing to pity.”

Perhaps sensing that Isabelle was slipping back into the shadows, Laurent moved the candlestick closer to her.

“I’ve never been in love myself… but I know one thing: it’s nothing to pity. Madame, please don’t see yourself that way.”

As always, he ended with a smile.

That smile was so dazzling that it almost hurt to look at it – Isabelle, hiding the pain rising in her chest, gave a small nod before she even realized it.

“Your name was Laurent Duc, wasn’t it?”

“Y-yes. I’m Laurent.”

“Show me the garden once in a while, will you? I feel a little lonely without company…”

“Are you sure that’s okay?”

He looked surprised by Isabelle’s suggestion.

It seemed he was still bothered by the time Arnaud had interfered. Isabelle nodded again.

“Isn’t it your job to take care of the garden I’m supposed to see? Then of course it should also be your job to guide me through it.”

“I’m glad I finally have a reason to tend to it. I’ve been feeling pretty discouraged – no one ever comes by.”

Considering something so serious had happened there, it was surprisingly well kept. Isabelle’s eyes widened.

“Not even Camille? How come no one ever comes here?”

“Monsieur doesn’t like to walk. Madame Saint-Mang is the same. And besides, there’s not much to see here…”

At those words Isabelle looked around the garden once more.

The only flowers were the rose bushes that climbed up the walls of the cathedral like iron bars.

The walls enclosed by those bushes were a reddish ochre color – at night they took on a blood-stained hue, making the place all the more desolate.

Iron bars, blood, brambles, massacre… Whatever they might represent, none of them spoke of salvation.

Keeping her eyes on the wall, Isabelle finally spoke.

“There were many victims, weren’t there?”

“Yes… during the morning prayers, of all times…”

“Yes, they say the attack happened just as the morning prayers were about to begin.”

Laurent replied, looking at the same spot.

“The Ribeon Massacre…”

The incident that left the monastery in ruins and claimed the life of the late King’s eldest daughter, Marie-Thérèse de Jalbert, who had been staying here-it came to be known as the “Ribeon Massacre”.

Although no clear culprits were identified, it was later discovered that Ribéon, the neighboring village, had been a secret meeting place for Protestants.

“Isn’t it absurd?”

“What is?”

“To destroy an entire village just for holding a single meeting – and then go so far as to name the massacre after it.”

The royal family of Châteaubienne, a traditional Catholic house, claimed to be uncovering the truth, but instead carried out executions in Ribéon as ruthlessly as a rat hunt.

Isabelle, who had also heard about the incident from Arnaud, spoke with clear disapproval in her tone.

“In the end, they never even found the real culprits. So who mourns for them?”

“Their only crime was to be born in Ribéon.”

When she sighed and turned her head, she found Laurent looking at her with an expression she had never seen before.

He seemed both frightened and unsure.

Just as her lips began to part, wondering if she had said something wrong, he finally spoke.

“My grandfather was from Ribéon. So was my father.”

“Oh…”

“After the massacre, my grandfather and father were taken away and subjected to terrible torture, simply because they were born in Ribéon.

Neither of them could stand it…and both eventually died.”

Se had never imagined that she would be talking to someone directly affected.

Isabelle slowly raised her hand to her mouth and looked at him.

He still smiled every time their eyes met, as he always had – but now it was a smile laced with pain.

“People mourn the massacre, but they never think about Ribéon itself.”

“But you, Lady Isabelle… you thought of us.”

Laurent smiled again, but this time it was no longer painful.

At that moment, the only thing reflected in his eyes was Isabelle.

And before she realized it, he had started calling her *Lady Isabelle*.

“I-I should go now. Thank you, I enjoyed our time together.”

It was a smile she couldn’t quite interpret, so Isabelle decided to walk away.

Without meeting his gaze, she held out her hand, and the young man knelt before her.

Something warm and soft again rested on the back of her hand.

Her heart fluttered as it had before and she felt the need to pull her hand away quickly.

But Laurent neither stepped back nor let go.

He simply looked up at Isabelle from where he stood – and the hand he was holding gradually grew warmer.

“I am Laurent Duc, Lady Isabelle.”

“Yes, I know. You told me yourself that you are Duc…”

“No – I mean, please call me Laurent.”

At those words, her mind seemed to go completely blank.

For a moment, her thoughts became hazy and all she could do was bow her head deeply.

Maybe he took that as an answer, because Laurent didn’t press her any further.

Her chest felt… strange.