※ This chapter contains scenes that may be triggering, so please be advised while reading.

She was Louise Éline de Jalbert, Henri’s wife and Queen of Châteaubienne.

Her flamboyantly styled auburn hair, her irises a shade darker, and her petite frame clad in a ruffled dress that could hardly pass for mourning attire-all these details made it clear that she was Louise.

The reason she didn’t bow her head, even in the presence of the queen, was because of the overwhelming memories she had stirred up.

Her awkward Clétenberg accent was still the same. And yet this was the same woman who used to scold Isabelle, despite her almost perfect command of the language of Châteaubienne.

“Why do you look so frightened? It’s as if I’ve done something wrong, Isabelle.”

With a playful smile curling one side of her lips, she stepped closer to the stiffened Isabelle and began to touch her all over.

It was undignified behavior, but Louise had never bothered to hide that side of herself.

It was all part of her strategy – masking her behind-the-scenes scheming with what appeared to be mere stubborn eccentricity was one of her specialties.

Of course, part of it was simply her naturally flamboyant nature.

As Louise intended, not a single noble leaned in to whisper or gossip.

Partly because she was the queen, but mostly because they saw Isabelle as someone she could treat as she pleased.

Isabelle endured it for a minute or so before finally stepping back with a forced smile.

She had intended to brush it off with a formal greeting and move on, but Arnaud stepped in front of her, making that impossible.

“It is inappropriate to touch a lady like that, Your Highness.”

His words were polite only at the very end. Louise, born of royal blood, surely understood the weight of such a statement.

Louise looked slowly at Arnaud with eyes full of contempt before she finally spoke.

“You’ve grown quite a bit.”

She might have been mad, but she knew when to behave with decorum.

Glancing sideways at the nobles lined up behind her, she glanced back and forth between the couple and gave them a slight nod, as if to grant them her favor.

Isabelle only bowed her knees in greeting. It was the least courtesy she could show Louise.

It was time to turn her attention to another guest.

“Your manners are getting more interesting, little brother.”

But she didn’t get the chance. Henri had come to stand beside Louise, still lingering in front of the two of them.

‘Of course. Henri would never leave her side.’

“Your Majesty.”

Isabelle said, bowing her head – but Arnaud did not.

He stood with clenched fists, glaring at his brother.

She considered brushing the back of his hand to give him a subtle signal, but the moment she saw Henri, a certain thought surfaced that made it impossible.

‘The man who killed the late King ascended to the throne with ease.’

What worried her more was what might be going through Arnaud’s mind now that everything had turned to ashes.

Henri, watching his younger brother with amusement, reached out and helped Isabelle to her feet himself.

She gritted her teeth, but she had no choice. If she pushed him away, there was no telling what might happen.

Her breath caught and bubbled in her throat. Isabelle forced it down and turned to face Henri.

Soon he was planting a kiss on the back of her hand.

Unlike the one she had received from Laurent, this one was wet and uncomfortable.

Clutching her forehead with all her might, Isabelle stared daggers at the top of his head.

She wanted to make it clear – at least this much: that she had never, absolutely never, loved this scoundrel.

“It’s been a long time, Madame de Châtour. I was worried about you.”

“I am Latvien, Your Majesty.”

“Ah, was that so?”

Even as their eyes met, she maintained the same expression, and Henri responded with a subtle, inscrutable smile as he brought up the past three years.

A shiver ran down her spine.

Louise also gave her a sharp look.

Isabelle didn’t have the strength to even look at Arnaud.

She pulled her hand away firmly and recited a formal greeting.

“Thanks to Your Majesty’s concern, my days have been peaceful.”

“Truly?”

His tilted head leaned closer.

Henri deliberately refrained from straightening up completely, keeping his eyes level with Isabelle’s as he met her gaze.

She tried her best not to look away, but it was no easy task.

“Maybe I was just… bored.”

Henri’s expression was slightly flushed.

With their faces so close, he must have noticed how desperately she tried to hold his gaze.

Although her entire body was wrapped in black cloth, Henri still managed to undress her.

He looked at her the way one might look at a servant – disposable, whether kept alive or killed.

Just like before he kissed her, he stared, holding the moment so long that a single second felt like a year.

Ah… how powerless am I, really?

“You show such courtesy to any woman, how much more of a fine gentleman you must be to Her Majesty the Queen. I always hope for new blessings for the kingdom.”

For words spoken through trembling lips, the sentence was remarkably well formed.

Perhaps because she had used all her strength to be polite, there was no further pressure, even though she was the first to step back.

That lingering look – Henri must have made a habit of it, too.

“Well, see you soon.”

Ending every conversation with a whisper was another of his habits.

And when Louise glared at them at just the right moment – furious at the sight of her husband and his former mistress so close together – the performance came to an end.

Instead of looking at Louise, who had forcibly pushed past her, she turned to the countless onlookers gathered in front of the carriage.

“She’s more popular than I thought…”

“Well, no matter how beautiful she is, she’s still a lunatic…”

“She doesn’t seem that crazy…”

“Her Majesty the Queen’s expression is…”

But the onlookers weren’t looking at Isabelle.

They were staring at the mad prince standing silently behind her.

Everyone was looking at Arnaud – but she alone couldn’t bring herself to turn around.

The look he must be wearing… she was too afraid to even imagine it.

Like someone looking at a heretic who had torn the scriptures to shreds – or perhaps something worse.

‘This was Henri’s goal. This was exactly what he wanted…’

Henri knew that if he pretended he still couldn’t let her go, Louise would be the one to drive the wedge.

The Queen’s anger would be proof of their bond.

She was still Madame de Châtour, the King’s mistress.

Isabelle turned away.

If she was going to cry, it would have to be during mass.

A hand came to support her, but she didn’t have a chance to see who it was.

Assuming it was Marie, she didn’t push it away and just kept walking – and soon a procession was forming behind her.

***

Sébastien had turned pale at the sudden visit of the royal couple, but his panic was short-lived – the mass went on as planned.

There were no overturned candlesticks, no creaking altar.

It was a normal mass in every way.

But what made it unbearable was the presence of Henri and Louise, seated in the front row.

“Amen.”

No, perhaps it was the man next to her who finished his prayer in unison.

It wasn’t a maid or servant who had helped Isabelle into the cathedral – it was Arnaud.

Afraid that her tears would be seen, she hadn’t looked around before covering herself with the veil – and that was her mistake.

Startled, Isabelle looked at him with dilated pupils, but during the entire mass, she and Arnaud never once made eye contact.

Judging by the way he kept their joined hands to one side, shielding his face, it seemed intentional.

As Sébastien stepped down from the altar, the nobles began to rise one by one and leave the cathedral.

Under normal circumstances, there might have been a lockdown, but Isabelle knew well that Herétique was no place for anything normal.

She didn’t feel very good about it – and as she hesitated to get up, someone reached out to her.

“Please stand up.”

“You haven’t left yet?”

It was Arnaud.

Isabelle, who’d assumed he was long gone, looked at his hand and face in confusion.

Her husband stood firm, giving her wrist a few gentle tugs.

She stood up, caught off guard, only to notice the nobles gathered at the door, watching them.

“Ah, Arnaud, wait a minute…”

She hastily tried to pull her hand back, but Arnaud didn’t let go.

He didn’t even look the way she kept looking.

To him, she was the only one in his line of sight.

And yet, even with Arnaud standing right in front of her, she worried about how it would look if she seemed too close to her husband.

Even at that moment, she couldn’t believe it.

At that moment, Henri’s voice came from near the altar.

“Let her go, little brother. Your wife looks absolutely scared.”

There were more people in the prayer room than she had expected. Arnaud and Henri-even Louise was there. Frédéric stood beside them.

“Well, I’d be scared too. If he killed his own father, what’s to stop him from killing his wife?”

At those words, Isabelle’s eyes suddenly sharpened.

That name – Henri Philippe de Jalbert – had just slipped past her in Lemoiselle’s voice.

With even her forehead furrowed, she now wore a look no different from the one Arnaud always had.

Whether he found it amusing or unexpected, Henri raised his eyebrows a few times.

“That is the face of one who is clearly shocked, Madame. It can’t be the first time you’ve heard this, but does it still horrify you when you think about it?”

“Your Majesty.”

“As pitiful as it is… I don’t think I can take you back to Chamfera, Isabelle.”

Chamfera.

At the mention of that horrible place, all three of them grimaced at the same time.

The one with the most hostile expression was undoubtedly Louise.

Even if she knew that it was all an act, turning a blind eye to an affair was another matter entirely.

At least for today, she couldn’t force a change in her expression.

Isabelle, still frowning, shifted her gaze.

“Duke of Eurbonne.”

“Madame.”

Frédéric remained as polite as ever.

In truth, neither Henri nor Louise had changed from what they had been in Moerne.

“Heretics are unwelcome in many ways. Still, we cannot afford to be rude. I’d like you to look over the next part of the schedule, Your Grace.”

“If you entrust it to me, I will be honored.”

No one had any intention of enjoying a banquet in Heretique.

Frédéric seemed well aware of this, for he bowed his head slightly.

Isabelle also had no desire to face the outsiders for long, so it worked out well.

“It’s a pity, but it wouldn’t be proper to eat and make merry in the place where my sister died.”

Henri said as he approached the path in front of the altar.

That in itself was doubly improper – but no one stopped him.

At a single clearing of the king’s throat, even the nobles who had already half crossed the threshold returned to the cathedral.

“Let’s go to Arananteuil. If we stay here any longer, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Henri spoke in a voice low enough for everyone to hear, but not loud enough to echo.

With his last words, he slowly placed his hand on the back of Isabelle’s neck.

Then he gave a slight nod to the crowd.

The nobles, glancing back and forth between Isabelle’s flushed face and Henri’s unchanged expression, bowed their knees and began to file out.

One of them clucked his tongue – I knew it would come to this.

There was plenty of room for misunderstanding in that flushed face… Still unable to calm her anger, Isabelle could only breathe heavily.

And just then, a chill touched her cheek – so cold it stood in stark contrast to her heat.

Henri’s whisper was clearer than before, and just as unpleasant.

“I would like you to come to the confessional, Madame. That wasn’t a request.”