Isabelle was dragged all the way to her private chambers on the opposite side. She resisted several times, refusing to go, but it was all in vain.

“Well then, please rest.”

Those who had acted so ruthlessly in the hallway left the room with a polite bow as soon as they had Isabelle seated inside.

Then, with a click, they locked the door behind them, so tightly that there wasn’t even a gap between the doors.

“No!”

The private chamber, now without even Marie, felt empty. And that emptiness brought back a terrible memory for Isabelle.

There had been a time, on the day when Louise’s cruelty had reached its peak, when Isabelle had been locked in her chamber for three days without food or care.

As soon as she was released, Louise had invited her to the banquet, as if to show off, only to have Isabelle suffer from indigestion and go without food for another three days.

But it wasn’t the indigestion that tormented her. It was the claustrophobia that had begun that very day.

The feeling of not being able to breathe took over her mind in an instant.

“Is there anyone out there? Please! Someone, anyone, open the door!”

She banged on the door with all her strength, but there was no answer.

If she stayed like this, she felt she might lose her mind. Surely, if she became desperate enough, someone would open the door.

But this naive and foolish thought only made her hands burn with pain.

“Haa…”

In the end, the door never opened.

That was reality.

Isabelle soon slid down the door and collapsed on the floor.

When she stopped crying, the room was completely silent.

She loathed this private chamber – where even the sound of her head clutching echoed in her mind.

In that position, Isabelle fell asleep.

Without dreams and for a long time, she slept deeply.

A few hours later, she opened her eyes.

“Ugh…”

When she stood up, the floor was completely dark. At first she thought it was just dizziness, but it was really night.

Isabelle forced her stiff back to straighten and pushed herself up with her hands.

Perhaps because the carpet was old, the texture felt uncomfortable.

She grimaced and lifted her hand from the floor, only to feel pain rise from deep in her back.

Crawling, Isabelle made her way to the console and pulled out a match.

She struck it and lit the candle on the stand, illuminating the tightly closed door.

‘So they never opened it.’

A bitter feeling settled in her chest.What had she expected?

She figured she’d be stuck like this for at least three days, so she’d have to get used to it.

Relying on the single flame of the candle, Isabelle began to remove her robe.

After being mistreated in Moerne, she had long since gotten used to changing without the help of maids.

Just as she was almost done undoing her corset, there was a soft knock on the door.

Knock knock.

At the sound, Isabelle jumped, her shoulders jerking upward, but she quickly leaned her face close to the door and answered.

“Who…who’s there?”

“It’s me, madam.”

Hearing a woman’s soft voice, Isabelle felt a pang of disappointment.

Without realizing it, she had hoped it was her husband who had come to see her.

‘Why would the man who had imprisoned his own wife bother to visit?’

On second thought, the idea was completely absurd.

Isabelle replied in a slightly lowered voice.

“What is it, Marie?”

“I called because I have something to deliver to you.”

The way she calmly said she had something to deliver – when Isabelle was imprisoned because of people like her – was almost maddening.

It had been a mistake to let her guard down just because Marie hadn’t done anything suspicious lately.

She couldn’t forget that Marie also belonged to the King and Queen.

Her thoughts drifted until she came to the conclusion that it was all her fault.

It was her fault for letting her guard down. Her fault for showing weakness.

It was just less exhausting to think that way.

Just then, an envelope slipped through the crack under the door.

It didn’t fall easily, as if someone outside was still holding it.

“Forgive me for delivering it this way. I have strict orders from Monsieur not to open the door under any circumstances.”

“Who is it from?”

“He said you would know when you opened it. It’s not my place to tell you.”

“Did Arnaud send you?”

“Yes.”

There didn’t seem to be anything more to ask, so Isabelle quietly took the envelope.

As soon as she did, the sound of footsteps began to fade.

It was hard to see clearly in the dark, but she could still make out the name Ilyana of Imanoria written in Châteaubienne cursive.

It was the name of her cousin – now the wife of Philip, the new Lord of Imanoria.

She had also been the very first person to look for Isabelle on the day she left for Châteaubienne.

“I will do everything in my power to support my husband. So please just stay healthy, Elisabeth.”

Though she must have been under immense strain, especially while pregnant, trying to endure the tension of that day, Ilyana had embraced Isabelle with all her strength.

It was the first time her delicate body had ever felt so strong.

“Ilyana…”

She hadn’t been able to hold her since, but at least she could still receive her letters – that was a relief.

Isabelle walked over to the candle she had lit earlier and opened the letter.

My dear Isabelle,

Philip is dead.

We don’t have a single yard of brocade to cover the coffin that holds the head of our house.

If you haven’t left Chamfera yet, please send just one yard.

You must be safe.

From Imanoria,

Ilyana

***

Isabelle tried to hang herself?”

Henri had been idly swirling a glass of champagne since noon.

Perhaps he was so bored that he put his glass down as soon as he heard the news about Isabelle.

He even pushed down Louise’s hand that was massaging his shoulder to show his interest.

At the same time, the queen’s eyes widened.

Louise, who had raised a hand to her lips with a sigh, soon gave a sharp smile and nudged Versica, who was reading the letter, with her foot.

“Well, go on. What was the girl up to?”

“She seems to have read Ilyana’s letter. Two days ago a maid found her collapsed with a rope around her neck.”

Louise couldn’t help but scoff at Versica’s explanation.

Typical of Louise – who had always used Isabelle’s misfortunes for entertainment.

“So did she die?”

“Pardon?”

“Why can’t you understand simple language? I asked if she’s dead!”

Startled by Louise’s question, Versica asked back in a slightly nervous tone.

Perhaps displeased with the lack of response, the mule slipper dangling from the tip of Louise’s toes flew toward the wall.

It was always like that.

If the answer wasn’t to her liking, even slightly, she would throw a tantrum – and then leave the cleanup to the servants. That was Louise’s usual method.

Versica, though inwardly repulsed by this “procedure,” had grown accustomed to it.

She quickly picked up the mule slipper and gently placed it back at the queen’s feet.

“The maid found her early, so she didn’t die…but they say she cries and has fits all the time.”

“She’s gone completely mad!”

Someone had broken down – and yet Louise clapped her hands in joy.

Even as the couple’s loyal servant, Versica couldn’t help but think there really is no one more insane than this woman.

He kept his expression steady and continued reading the letter.

“And it seems that Monsieur has shown some intention of caring for his wife. They say he’s even started asking about what happened before.”

“Looks like the drugs are wearing off.”

“Do you think it’s true?”

“That girl will drive him crazy on her own. No need to worry. There’s no one better at poisoning someone than she is.”

At that, Henri casually draped an arm over Louise’s shoulder.

It was his way of saying he didn’t care.

He was eighteen when he pulled the trigger in the Judgement of Jalbert, surpassing Arnaud and claiming his place as the rightful heir.

It had been that way ever since.

Whatever anyone said, Henri was the one who fired the shot.

That’s what Henri believed – that he had pulled the trigger on the gun that would determine Châteaubienne’s successor.

Any rebellion by his younger brother was nothing more than a nuisance to be crushed.

And crushing it was absurdly easy.

‘He is obedient enough.’

Henri thought, feeling rather satisfied.

Thanks to him, even Isabelle had finally crawled under him without resistance.

“You must have had quite a headache.”

“I made an example of those Partaye bastards. That’s enough. A little anxiety is to be expected – don’t you think?”

“Y-yes, of course. Quite right, sir.”

There were several reasons why Henri subjugated the Duchy of Imanoria and took Isabelle as his mistress.

One of them was his relationship with Orhan X, the emperor of the mighty Partaye Empire.

Imanoria, the last remnant of the Lanthe Empire, was probably the final prize for Partaye after conquering the surrounding regions. Henri wanted to teach the pagans a lesson.

He even broke the late king’s promise to maintain peaceful relations with Imanoria.

The result was satisfactory.

In the end, he managed to have both Isabelle and Arnaud imprisoned in Antmaren.

Thanks to the publicity surrounding Isabelle, he was even able to cover up the outrageous behavior of his beloved wife – making her all the more useful.

Satisfied with himself, Henri raised his champagne glass once more.

“Would you care for a glass?”

“Hehe, I would really like to join you… but I have to write the reply His Majesty ordered.”

“Be sure to include a letter from her mother as well. It would be a problem if she really died. You have already informed her about the death of the new head of the house, haven’t you?”

“I sent that girl to deliver the message. It was His Majesty’s order.”

“Really, that girl’s not fit to be royalty either. Just look at the state of her—she’s a mess herself, so who is she to be worrying about anyone else? Don’t you think so, Louise?”

“That’s exactly what I mean…”

The queen, with her crimson hair, nestled against his shoulder as she leaned into him, and though Henri’s eyebrows knitted in annoyance, he stood up, still holding her in his arms.

“That’s right, Louise. Something interesting has come up.”

“Oh? And what is it?”

“I think we need to go to Antmaren.”

She raised her head suddenly and frowned at her husband.

“For what reason?”

“You’ll find out when we get there. I’m sure it’ll be fun.”

He slowly stroked Louise’s back. His touch was gentle, like soothing a spoiled child – but a few strokes weren’t enough to ease her mood.

Louise’s voice was still dripping with irritation.

“Do we have to stay in Héretique, too? That filthy place…”

“How could I leave you in such a place? Arananteuil is nearby – let’s spend a night at the Eurbonne estate. And while we’re at it, we can rattle Eleonore’s nerves a bit.”

At these words, Louise burst out laughing with delight.

To be able to provoke both Eleonore and Isabelle at the same time – what a pleasure!

There was no better leisure for Louise than this.

In return, the queen pressed her lips to Henri’s.

Henri, as if he had been waiting, eagerly accepted the kiss, his tongue moving deeply for a long moment.

He put his arms around her and began to lead her to the bed.

Her silhouette was clearly visible through the chemise.

Louise unfastened the buttons herself and guided Henri’s hand under the fabric, and he hungrily began to satisfy his desire.

“Henri, ah-Henri…”

“Be quiet, Louise. Versica is watching.”

The deeper his hand went between her thighs, the more Louise arched her neck, and that didn’t stop even after she was thrown onto the bed.

With an awkward smile, Versica turned away, then quietly left the room with the other servants.

Scattered words slipped out between her moans.

Each time Louise exposed her body, she asked the same questions.

“I’m… ah, I’m paler than Isabelle, aren’t I?”

“Of course you are.”

“I’m more beautiful than Isabelle, that wretched girl… more than that provincial woman from Imanoria…”

Henri, clearly irritated, forcibly silenced Louise by covering her mouth.

If he didn’t, her inferiority complex would last forever.

Although the sun was still high in the sky, it might as well have been night for them.

At least it was in Henri and Louise’s world.

Author’s note:

Brocade: A type of fabric woven with patterns—typically of flowers or foliage—using threads of various colors, often on silk.