It took her a long time to find the words, her hands too shaky to even tremble as she stared at Arnaud.

“Arnaud…”

“Wretched woman! Traitorous spy! How could you do this to me?!”

What followed was fury.

His voice, sharp as iron bars, pierced the air right in front of Isabelle.

Still not understanding anything, she could only stare at him-at which point Arnaud turned his back and waved his hand sharply.

“Search her.”

“Yes, Monsieur.”

The moment his order was given, the servants began to search Isabelle’s body thoroughly.

She struggled, demanding to know what they were doing, but it was useless.

Just as before, her arms were bound tightly.

“Let go! I said let go!”

“Please stay still!”

Dark-clad men ripped ruthlessly through her clothing.

One of them handled the fabric as if to tear it.

Overcome with shame, Isabelle could only choke back tears.

But even her trembling eyes didn’t earn her any sympathy – Arnaud didn’t even turn around.

He acted as if she wasn’t even in the room.

How long had they searched her?

By the time they had gone through her robes and even unfastened her stomacher, one of the servants pulled something from behind her back.

“I found it!”

At those words, everyone turned to look at Isabelle.

But she didn’t have time to realize what the servant had found on her, or why it had attracted everyone’s attention.

She was too overwhelmed trying to pick up the torn robe and skirt.

Her shame had reached its peak.

She had sworn never to cry again – but the tears would not stop.

“Huuh…hnn…”

Feeling as if her dignity had been stripped from her, Isabelle cried helplessly.

No matter how hard she tried to hold on, the cloth kept slipping out of her hands.

And so she never saw the expression on Arnaud’s face as he looked down at her.

He stood silently before her, then motioned for the doctor standing at a distance to take something from the servant.

Recognizing the man, Isabelle saw that it was Lord Nouvelier – the same doctor who had treated Agnès.

“This leaf…is it the one?”

Why did his voice sound so anxious when he wasn’t the one being accused?

Through tear-filled eyes, Isabelle looked up to where Arnaud was standing.

What the servant handed over looked like a small leaf, and the doctor took it, pulling out a monocle to examine it closely.

After a short moment, Lord Nouvelier finally spoke.

“Y-yes. This is what Monsieur was poisoned with.”

“Gasp-“

At that moment, Camille let out a sharp breath of shock.

Mürier and the other servants did the same.

Only then did Isabelle realize – she had become the prime suspect.

“No! That’s not true!”

It was absurd. She had never even handled a leaf.

Court ladies might carry poisons as a precaution, but Isabelle wasn’t like Henri or his wife-she had no real political enemies.

Which made it all the more impossible.

Isabelle knew nothing about poisons.

She would never use one to kill Arnaud.

And so she recoiled violently.

Without her clothes properly gathered, her hair a disheveled mess – completely unaware of how she looked – she screamed:

“I’ve never seen this plant before, Arnaud! How could I have ever tried to kill you?”

“Did Henri order you to do this?”

But what came back was a cold interrogation.

No matter how hard she tried, Arnaud’s gaze only grew more distant.

Where should she start rebuilding?

Or rather – were there even any pieces left for her to collect?

“Are you saying… I tried to kill you for Henri’s sake?”

“It’s an Eastern herb – from the East! If someone hasn’t been to Moerne, they couldn’t even get it – so how is it here?”

When Isabelle also spoke in disbelief, Arnaud exploded in frustration.

And he wasn’t entirely wrong.

Until recently, she had been the only person in this place who had returned from a stay in Möerne.

But that wasn’t enough to condemn anyone.

It was just a connection – a very small one.

But Arnaud looked like he was going to judge her, even for something as insignificant as that.

No matter how many times she saw it, that expression was always unfamiliar.

“I… I really… I never…”

“Why can’t you say anything? Madame de Châtour, how far do you want to disappoint me? A woman like you is just…!”

That expression again.

Even as he accused her, it was Arnaud who wore a pained frown, as if he were the one wounded.

She tried desperately to understand why he looked like that.

Was it because of what had happened in Calvador?

But wrong was wrong.

Yes, Isabelle had lost Arnaud’s trust – but she had never tried to become his enemy.

Even if that was what everyone else wanted, she wouldn’t have gone along with it.

With trembling hands, Isabelle slapped her chest a few times, then spoke plainly to her foolish husband.

“If it’s something from the East, doesn’t your mistress have something like that?”

At the sudden accusation, Camille looked genuinely startled.

Her round, jewel-like eyes darted around before finally fixing on Isabelle, who was quickly in tears.

“W-what are you talking about…?”

“Eastern things are your specialty, aren’t they? The very first day we arrived in Antmaren, I asked you if you remembered the crane vase that was brought into the inner quarters.”

But Isabelle had no intention of entertaining her dramatics.

Arnaud had also turned.

His forehead was furrowed, as if he was hearing all this for the first time.

It was the same expression he had when he first heard about Agnès.

Glancing back and forth between Camille and Isabelle in confusion, Arnaud finally fixed his gaze on Camille, who simply chewed on her fingernails without offering an answer.

“C-Camille.”

“It’s not me-it really isn’t!”

It had to come out sometime.

Isabelle felt her ragged breathing finally begin to settle.

Now all she had to do was watch it all unfold – watch the hem of Camille’s skirt flutter as she stamped her feet in panic.

“Sir, that object does not belong to Madame Saint-Mang.”

But as always, the one who held the truth did not take Isabelle’s side.

The voice from behind immediately drew everyone’s attention.

Even Isabelle turned to it – her gaze naturally following – and at that moment her eyes met those of the speaker.

“It was something Madame brought from the palace in Möerne. She was delighted to receive it as a gift from His Majesty the King.”

“You-what are you saying?”

It was Marie, the maid.

Isabelle was so stunned that she couldn’t say a word.

She just stared at Marie in disbelief – and then Mario, who had been standing near the door, approached and joined in.

“I saw it too when we were unloading Madame’s things. There was a celadon vase carefully wrapped among her things – I was curious what it was. Madame Camille would never do such a thing.”

It was then that Isabelle realized she was standing in the middle of a perfectly orchestrated set.

The eyes of the two servants were shockingly calm, and Camille, emboldened by their support, collapsed to the floor as if her legs had given out.

“Camille!”

“I-I swear it wasn’t me, I would never…”

Then Camille began to let her tears fall, one by one, like crystal drops.

True to the One who had orchestrated this plan, there was not a trace of falsehood in her performance.

Everything she had done had led to this moment.

“H-huahhh…!”

She finally broke into pitiful sobs.

Arnaud, kneeling beside her, quickly opened his arms, and Camille wasted no time burying her face in his chest, her shoulders shaking.

No one could possibly comprehend what Isabelle felt as she stood there in stunned silence, watching it all unfold.

As Camille’s sobs began to fade, Arnaud turned his gaze to Mario without hesitation.

“…Confine Madame to her chambers. Do not let her take a single step outside.”

The words came like a bolt from the blue.

At the word confinement, Isabelle felt a shiver run through her entire body.

Lock her away? No, he couldn’t.

Not Arnaud.

“Arnaud, how could you! How could you do this to me!”

“I said take her away, now!”

She screamed his name until her voice almost broke, but Arnaud never once looked back.

Deliberately avoiding her gaze, he only barked orders to the servants on the other side of the room.

Even though it was their master’s order, the servants hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of locking up the lady of the house.

But at Arnaud’s shout, they all rushed at Isabelle at once.

“Let me go, you bastards! I said let go! Why do you keep threatening me?”

With both arms seized and no chance to fix her clothes, it was inevitable that her stomacher would come undone.

Isabelle, her chemise now fully exposed, struggled with all her strength against the pull that was dragging her away, screaming with everything she had:

“Arnaud, it wasn’t me! No matter what anyone else says, I didn’t do it! I’ve never even seen this plant….”

“Take her away.”

Arnaud spoke as if he desperately wanted her out of his sight.

His voice, coming after a long silence, was strained – held back by something unspoken.

Why did he always act like he was the one suffering more?

Her confusion turned to anger.

She couldn’t take it anymore.

“You-you don’t know anything!”

“……”

“You don’t know what it’s like for me to be trapped here, or what kind of resolve it takes to endure your hatred!”

Even as she screamed, her throat tightened.

She hadn’t wanted to cry – really, she hadn’t.

But tears were not something that could be stopped by will alone.

It was a truth she never wanted to face again.

“How long are you going to act like a child?! You don’t know anything…!”

“Madame!”

“I was the one who cleaned up the mess you made! No decent person would do that-how could you treat me like this?! No matter how much I…!”

“Madam, please calm down!”

“Let me go! I said let me go – just… please!”

Unable to watch any longer, the servants began to restrain her – nervously looking at their master, afraid to provoke his anger.

Most of them, under the guise of trying to calm her, simply dragged her out of the chamber.

No matter how much she screamed, they showed no intention of letting go.

The force that tightened around her arms slowly drained her of any will to resist.

Author’s note:

Stomacher – A stiff, V-shaped panel of fabric worn over the chest and stomach, often used in historical European fashion to support and shape the upper torso. It was typically inserted or pinned into the front of a bodice.