Isabelle hurried out of the garden. She didn’t dare look back, afraid of running into him again.

“Lady Isabelle.”

It was a title only someone like Alathea could get away with.

Back at Château Zaphcada, everyone had called her that – but things were different here.

She could have scolded him for being rude, but Isabelle hadn’t felt the slightest bit offended.

If anything, it was quite the opposite.

The sight of her flushed cheeks alone made that clear.

She quickly raised a hand to her face, but since Laurent’s hand had touched it earlier, it did little to cool her.

She wondered if she should dip her head in cold water when a lantern appeared in front of her.

“Madame.”

Looking closely, she saw that it was Marie.

It wasn’t a very welcoming face, so Isabelle said nothing and just looked at her.

Marie, for her part, made her intentions clear by walking ahead.

Isabelle followed, and before she knew it, they were back outside her quarters.

The evening cleaning seemed to be over, as everyone was heading in the opposite direction.

“Madame, good evening.”

The maids bowed to her as usual, but while they were still bowing, they exchanged glances with each other.

“You’ve been working hard.”

Although a little confused, Isabelle replied politely.

Even after she walked away from them, she kept her ears open.

This kind of atmosphere never arises without a reason.

“That’s what I heard.”

“Oh my, then…”

But maybe she had walked too far – Isabelle couldn’t hear the whole conversation.

It felt eerily similar to when Arnaud had brought home his new mistress.

The thought made her heart race.

Without a word, Isabelle snatched the lantern from Marie – almost as if she were snatching it – and hurried up the stairs.

“You’ll hurt yourself.”

“Marie.”

Marie, who had shown only a faint, casual concern for her, twitched her eyebrows the moment her name was called.

It was a silent question-Is there something you want to say?

“You felt it too, didn’t you?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Madame.”

“The atmosphere…”

Just as Isabelle was about to continue, the sound of several footsteps echoed behind her.

They weren’t light – clearly the footsteps of servants.

“There you are, Mario!”

One of them, calling the name of a servant who usually waited on Camille, looked directly at her.

Then two other servants, who had just come up the stairs, approached Isabelle.

“Take her with you!”

The moment the order rang out, the rush of footsteps toward her was almost inevitable.

It wasn’t long before both of her arms were grabbed.

The lantern fell with a sharp clang.

“W-what do you think you’re doing?”

“Forgive us, Madame. These are Monsieur’s orders…”

Only now did the situation sink in, and Isabelle furrowed her brow in disbelief and looked at Mario, who was standing firmly in front of her.

“You are not the kind of man to be so rude. Did Madame Saint-Mang give the order? How dare you treat me like this?”

Mario sighed before her.

It was an act of insolence.

For a mere servant to sigh in front of Monsieur’s wife – Isabelle couldn’t let it go and shouted.

“What do you think you’re doing, sighing in front of me? I demand an answer – why are you doing this?”

“What do you think you’re doing in front of me?! I said answer me – why are you doing this?”

“Madame, please compose yourself.”

Even in the face of her shouting, Mario didn’t even flinch.

Then, glancing between the restless servants and Isabelle, he flicked his finger.

Only then did the servants release their grip on Isabelle’s arms.

Marie remained at a distance, watching the scene unfold.

“You must come with us for now.”

“And I asked why I should go!”

In the end, Isabelle was the only one forced to confront this rudeness directly.

It was only after she openly expressed her displeasure that Mario finally spoke properly.

“Monsieur has been poisoned. The poison came from the court, and the doctor thinks it probably came from a meal. That’s why we wanted to bring in the person most under suspicion.”

The moment she heard those words, Isabelle felt her heart drop to her toes.

It was a figurative expression – but it didn’t feel that way at all.

It really felt like her heart was being ripped out of her chest.

“Arnaud was poisoned?”

“Fortunately, it was discovered early, so his life was spared.”

Perhaps seeing the color drain from Isabelle’s face, Mario lowered his head slightly and informed her of Arnaud’s condition.

It was the complete opposite of how they had treated her – as a suspect – but her expression was so terrible that he probably felt compelled to speak.

Still, his life was hanging by a thread.

Having murdered the late King and harboring treasonous intentions, Arnaud was considered by Henri’s loyalists to be someone who should be executed without question.

After the death of her eldest daughter here, and now the near loss of both her second son and her husband, the Dowager Queen Marguerite’s condition had only worsened.

It was quite possible that Henri-or someone else who could no longer bear the situation-had sent the poison.

Even without the promise made to Isabelle, Arnaud was someone who could easily be killed if one really wanted to.

Isabelle’s hands trembled, unable to pick up the pieces of her heart that had been so completely shattered.

He had almost died. He almost died… and….

“It may not seem so fortunate to you, Madame.”

But she couldn’t let the confusion overwhelm her.

Mario’s mocking tone followed quickly.

Cruelly, it seemed that both he and the other servants had decided to ignore the deathly pale look on Isabelle’s face.

Halfway back to her senses at those words, Isabelle looked up at Mario in disbelief, as if to say, What on earth are you talking about?

In response, Mario’s thin, bloodless lips clicked with a sharp tsk.

“Take her.”

And with that signal, the arrest began.

The moment Mario gave the order, the servants who had briefly released Isabelle’s arms grabbed them again.

The grip tightened mercilessly, and her expression twisted in pain from the pressure on her skin.

“Ah-why, why are you doing this?”

“Ignore her. Take her.”

“Let go! I said let go! How can you suspect me – on what grounds?”

As she struggled, strands of her gray-streaked hair began to come loose, but the servants pressed on mercilessly as if none of it concerned them.

Isabelle was dragged down the corridor like a sack of grain toward Arnaud’s private chambers at the end.

“Let me go-let me go!”

“Madame, we brought Madame Latvien.”

When they reached the door, Mario, who had previously shown no trace of politeness, suddenly spoke with more formality than anyone else, respectfully requesting entry.

Then, with a creak, the door opened.

At that moment, Isabelle gathered all her strength and freed herself from the servants.

Without even bothering to lift her robe, Isabelle strode boldly into the room – only to find a scene not much different from the hallway.

Bare walls, still stained with spilled wine; a canopy bed that was tall but lacked any grandeur; dusty candlesticks and a console… It was worse than what she had seen that night.

Who would ever believe that this was the private chamber of royalty?

There was only lamplight in the room and Isabelle couldn’t hide her shock.

“You have come.”

But what shocked her most was the sight of Arnaud sitting in the middle of it all.

He greeted her in a weak voice, looking so unsteady that it seemed he might collapse at any moment.

The tunic he wore seemed to have been thrown on carelessly, its neckline loose and disheveled.

His once beautiful golden curls had become dry and brittle, like straw.

How could she not run to him?

Forgetting why she had been dragged here in the first place, Isabelle rushed toward Arnaud.

“Arnaud, what on earth…!”

“Protect Monsieur!”

But she didn’t get far – her path was abruptly blocked.

Camille, who had been standing by the bed, shouted something at Mario.

The moment Camille screamed, figures – whether they were servants or guards, it was unclear – rushed to pull Isabelle back.

With several strong men grabbing her at once, the result was inevitable.

“Please stay still.”

“Just let me see if he’s okay, please… don’t do this, okay? I’m his wife, for God’s sake!”

Even though she knew screaming like that wouldn’t help, Isabelle clung to them desperately.

At this point, she still believed it was all a simple misunderstanding.

The idea that she had tried to poison Arnaud was completely absurd.

Surely, this time, even without her saying a word, they would realize it was a trap.

With this thought, Isabelle looked back at Arnaud.

Then Arnaud stood up and began to walk toward Isabelle.

He staggered, needing Mürier’s support to keep himself steady.

Just as he reached her, Arnaud spoke:

“Madame de Châtour… you really are…”

Ah-that look again.

That terrifying, emotionless look she had always feared so much.

He raised his arm high.

She could see how close it was-it almost brushed her face.

He was going to slap her.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Disgusting thing, you should have passed out by now!”

“I can’t have an heir because of you. You’ve poisoned my food every time!”

“If you want to die, do it outside. You’ll stain the carpet!”

At the same time, Louise’s voice echoed in her mind.

She had beaten noble ladies without hesitation, so why not a prisoner from a small kingdom like hers?

As a result, Isabelle’s cheeks were always red.

The nightmare wasn’t over yet.

“…..”

But there was no slap. Her body didn’t shake.

This time her eyes opened by themselves.

And what she saw – she could hardly believe it.

“You… you’re…”

Arnaud stood there, choking back tears.

His lips were pressed tightly together, trembling as if they might burst, and he looked down at Isabelle with tear-filled eyes.

Those blue eyes, glistening with emotion, rose to Isabelle’s throat and stole her breath.

They were like a rising tide.