“What faction are you from, to be so rude in front of Jalbert?”

It was only natural that the priest avoided a greeting and that Arnaud was angry – after all, their priorities were simply different.

But Arnaud was royalty.

The charge of impiety was only possible because he was still the son of the late King and Queen Dowager.

The priest, apparently aware of this fact, reluctantly extended his hand.

“I am Nicolas, High Priest of Möbien. I’ve behaved rudely.”

“As long as you understand. I converted to the old faith a long time ago, so there’s no need to worry.”

Isabelle, ending the matter in a sharp tone, glanced sideways as if to say they could go.

“Then if you’ll excuse me.”

The priest followed Murier up the stairs, the subdeacon and the nuns behind him.

Both subdeacons were young, but of the three nuns only one had a youthful face.

Isabelle stared at their dark, retreating figures for a long moment before turning her head at the sound of a voice beside her.

“M-Monsieur.”

It was Agnès, who had slipped in next to Arnaud.

Her flushed face was unmistakably that of a young girl. Isabelle had gone through that phase herself once, and now that she looked closely, the girl even resembled her younger self a little.

Even then, Arnaud showed no reaction.

Arnaud still showed no reaction.

Perhaps thinking she needed to be bolder, Agnès took his hand and said.

“When your schedule is over, come to the annex. I’ve done my best to decorate it, although my taste may be lacking.”

“……”

“The new cook you assigned is also quite skilled. Since we have a child on the way, wouldn’t it be nice to spend some time together?”

He lowered his gaze. Was he thinking about how to answer?

Whatever it was, it probably wouldn’t be pleasant to hear.

But just as she started to turn away, what she heard was unexpected.

“Let go of my hand, Mademoiselle.”

At the same time, Arnaud pulled his hand back.

There was a sharp scraping sound and Agnès immediately blushed and hid her arm behind her back.

Her blush was very different from the previous one.

Arnaud then loosened his cravat and wiped his hand with it before shaking it off.

The tension between the three of them was palpable – even Isabelle’s pupils had dilated.

“I’m sorry. I acted without permission…”

Agnès was the first to speak, but Arnaud didn’t scold the maid or raise his voice.

“Mademoiselle, I don’t know if your family is from the North or the South…”

“Y-Yes?”

“But I never gave you anything.”

Arnaud finished with a smile. However, the distance of about two steps and the honourific “Mademoiselle” remained unchanged.

Unlike Agnès, who just followed the smile without knowing what it meant, Isabelle’s brow furrowed and her eyes darted back and forth between the two of them.

It was hard to believe that he knew nothing, considering how calm his expression was.

There was no way he didn’t know he had become a Roture.

“What do you mean…?”

“I mean that I never slept with Mademoiselle. I have no memory of it.” Immediately a spasm went through Agnès’s shoulders. It was brief, but Isabelle saw it and watched. It seemed that Arnaud, who had come to her side, had noticed as well. His thick arm was around her waist.

“It would be better if we left now.”

“But I want to help!”

“Do I have to say it twice?”

Agnès, her lips twitching, hastily bowed her knee and then ran to the servant who had been waiting for her.

“Shall we go in now?”

As she stood there, blankly watching Agnès cling to the servant as she turned to leave, Arnaud spoke to her.

Isabelle, who had been grinding her teeth in the same way, snapped her head back as if to reject the idea.

Her expression was a mixture of disappointment and relief.

She crossed the threshold with heavy steps and there, in front of the altar, she saw Murier and the priest, both busy moving their lips.

The priest fluttered the sleeves of his black cassock as he pointed to various places on the altar, and Murier followed his gaze, saying something.

There seemed to be no place for her to interrupt. Which was a good thing, because she didn’t want to get into a conversation with Nicolas.

Isabelle, who had been gently caressing the newly placed wooden chair, soon raised her head.

The ceiling was covered with religious paintings. The artwork was in such good condition that it was hard to believe that it dated from the reign of King Jean V, several hundred years ago.

The archangel’s features were so vivid that they could be seen even from this distance…

‘To think that someone was killed in a place like this.’

Did the faithful make eye contact with this angel as they bled?

The more she looked, the more strange she felt.

Not wanting to stare any longer, she lowered her eyes, only to find Arnaud standing beside her.

“It is beautiful, but this is a place where people are killed.”

He expressed the same thought as Isabelle. She was startled for a moment, then closed her eyes, refusing to look at Arnaud.

“The voice still echoes. Be careful what you say and do.”

“I don’t think you should say that with your head down.”

“Thanks to someone, it’s become quite difficult to run into each other now.”

Whether or not he had heard her request not to shake him, Arnaud shook her again. So Isabelle decided to just close her eyes.

“I’m pretty sure I asked you. Please don’t confuse me.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“What about neglecting your mistress in front of me and calling out the priest’s rudeness?”

“The former – I really don’t remember. As for the latter, it was because I couldn’t stand the rudeness.”

“Thanks to someone, it’s become quite difficult to run into each other now.”

Whether or not he had heard her request not to shake him, Arnaud shook her again. So Isabelle decided to just close her eyes.

“I’m pretty sure I asked you. Please don’t confuse me.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“What about neglecting your mistress in front of me and calling out the priest’s rudeness?”

“The former – I really don’t remember. As for the latter, it was because I couldn’t stand the rudeness.”

Isabelle let out a dry laugh. Whether it was obvious or intended to tarnish her husband’s image didn’t matter. In retrospect, saying he couldn’t remember seemed like a weak excuse.

“Did you just laugh?”

“It was funny.”

When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was Arnaud, his eyebrows furrowed.

At some point he had turned to face her. His tall frame was undeniably imposing, but Isabelle paid no attention.

“I’ve even seen Lord Nouvelier’s medical report. And I also saw you undress Agnès.”

“I really don’t remember…!”

“When I think about it, there’s really no justification for it. But the wound I carry is too deep to just cover up.”

The moment the word wound was mentioned, Arnaud’s lips immediately turned downward. But only for a moment.

“So you’ve finally forced me to say it.”

“Say what?”

“I decided to come with you because I couldn’t trust you. I was afraid you might still be doing Henri’s dirty tricks again.”

He crossed his arms just below his chest as he spoke, his lips tilted like an unbalanced scale.

Does he realise how hideous he looks? It was impossible as long as his brother Henri was alive.

“I’ll stick to you so much that you’ll go mad. I’ll make you think of me even when you sleep.”

“Easy for you to say. Right after mass you’ll run straight to Saint-Mang.”

“Isabelle!”

It was a shout that broke out, unable to contain the fury.

At Arnaud’s voice, which rose to the ceiling, even the quiet murmurs of Nicolas and Murier came to an abrupt halt.

It was only when all eyes were on them that he began to look around.

“Damn it!”

Arnaud yelled, running his fingers through his golden curls in irritation, and soon shot up from his seat and stormed out.

As it was the butler’s duty to follow, their conversation naturally came to an end.

And so the task of entertaining fell to Isabelle.

The argument had clearly shaken her, but she had no choice but to pretend otherwise.

With a calm smile, Isabelle approached Nicolas.

“We made a scene in front of the holy image. I have no excuse.”

“Oh, it’s all right.”

The priest seemed calmer than before. He hadn’t let his guard down completely, but at least he wasn’t hostile anymore – that was a relief. With a strained smile he said.

“It’s not a purely sacred place, after all.”

There was an edge to his words and Isabelle picked it up immediately.

This was, after all, the site of a massacre – and among the victims had been Princess Marie-Thérèse, the eldest daughter of the late King.

And to think that Arnaud had also been imprisoned here…

There was nothing more she could say.

Arnaud had killed the late King, and the witness at the trial was his own nanny.

Whatever arguments were made, there was nothing Isabelle could say in response.

All she could do was cover it up with a smile.

Without moving her eyes, she just lifted the corners of her mouth in a smile, then looked at the three nuns who had come up behind the priest.

“The attendants have given up their quarters. We’ll take the sisters there. As for the brothers, arrangements have been made for them in the east wing.”

“I am truly grateful for your consideration. If it’s not too much trouble, may I ask a small favour?”

“What might that be…?”

The priest unclasped his hands and called for one of the nuns to come forward. She was the oldest, her face lined with deep wrinkles. Something about her seemed familiar… and yet not quite.

“This is Sister Catherine. She has come in place of the Mother Superior.”

Isabelle bowed her head as she looked at the nun’s deeply wrinkled face. By rank, she had no reason to bow – but many exceptions were made for the clergy and those in religious life.

“I am Isabelle Charlenne de Jalbert. Please make yourself comfortable.”

What followed after she raised her head, however, was a little different.

The nun wouldn’t let go of her hand.

Startled, Isabelle looked back and forth between the nun and her joined hands, then pulled her arm away firmly.

Perhaps the nun hadn’t realised what she was doing, for she quickly bowed her head.

“I am Catherine. Forgive an old woman for overstepping.”

“It’s all right. Please, get to the point.”

“I want to check this month’s ledger. I need to see how much budget we have available.”

“Then please come upstairs with me. Murier will be down shortly – he can show the others around.”

And with that, Catherine began to follow her.

And so Catherine followed.

She looked old, but she didn’t seem to have any difficulty moving, which made Isabelle breathe a sigh of relief. It meant she didn’t have to make conversation under the guise of offering support.

Part of it was embarrassment. Isabelle didn’t want to reveal that she was being treated coldly, and even if the other person was a nun, it was no less humiliating to be found out.

She should have asked Marie to bring the ledger instead.

As a pang of regret passed through her, they arrived at the front gate.

What could she do? There wasn’t a soul in Châteaubienne who didn’t know how far her status had fallen.

Just as she was about to signal Marie to open the door, the nun’s gaze landed on Isabelle.

“……”

She seemed uncomfortable with Marie. Sensing this, the maid quietly stepped away from the door.

“Look after the other sisters.”

“Yes, Lady Isabelle.”

Only after Marie had gone downstairs were the two able to enter the private quarters.

Opening the door herself, Isabelle motioned for the nun to wait, then began rummaging through the drawers.

The nun just stood there with her hands folded, waiting.

But the book was nowhere to be seen – it wasn’t easy to find wherever it had been placed.

“Please wait a moment. There aren’t many places it could be kept…”

Isabelle spoke as she searched the drawers more quickly.

How long had she searched?

It wasn’t until she opened the third drawer that she finally saw the edge of a thick book.

Just as she reached for it in relief, the door closed behind her – and the nun spoke.

“I’ve been wanting to see you, Princess Elisabeth.”