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Isabelle, feeling that his words had been somewhat indirect, just stared at him for a moment. Interpretation was necessary.

Frederick, understanding her situation, refrained from pressing her.

“Mobien is a monastery within the domain of Arananteuil, correct? But how could His Majesty know something that even you do not know…

“There seems to be an informant. Whether it’s Oretique or Arananteuil.”

At that moment, her tightly closed lips parted slightly with a soft pop. It was a small reaction, but it marked a turning point in the atmosphere between them.

Isabelle moved a little closer to where he was standing, and Frederick leaned further forward, bringing his lips to her ear.

“That being said, I would like to ask if there is anyone who has caught your attention.”

“Everyone who works in Oretique serves as His Majesty’s eyes and ears. Occasionally, they also become his voice.”

When it came to those who often acted as his voice, one particular person always came to mind.

“Marc de Murier.”

“Monsieur Murier, you mean? Wasn’t he the one who supervised the education of His Majesty and Monsieur? How is it that he is here?”

Frederick’s tone became noticeably twisted at the end.

Isabelle considered speaking openly, believing he wasn’t someone who would fake his tone. But he was, after all, a confidant of the king.

He was a dangerous person to trust completely, especially since even Isabelle could not fully comprehend the intentions of his wife, Eleonore.

“It’s not a situation where we need to dig into someone’s background. I can move my head, though.”

“Then let me change the question.”

After making sure no one was passing by, Frederick leaned even closer to her. Isabelle’s unyielding gaze indicated her agreement.

“Is Sister Catherine of Mobien here?”

At that moment, Isabelle concentrated on swallowing her saliva as slowly as possible. There were plenty of nuns with the baptismal name Catherine, but the situation changed completely when “Mobien” was added.

Isabelle was well aware of this fact, and Frederick seemed no different. She decided to take the initiative.

“Father Nicolas came, but the nuns and brothers under him were introduced collectively. There was no opportunity to address them individually…”

“But if that nun had not come to Oretique, His Majesty would have no reason to be here.”

The man’s look contained a mixture of pressure and expectation. It was as if he had already realized that Isabelle knew more than she was letting on. Otherwise he wouldn’t be so blunt. Isabelle, who had been staring at him with slightly widened eyes, put her hands on her stomach instead of answering.

Isabelle, staring at him with slightly raised eyes, put her hands to her stomach instead of answering.

“When your thoughts are clear, please return to Oretique – not as the deputy of Moerne, but as the head of Eurbonne, accompanied by your wife.”

“You are very prudent.”

“Your wife, too, must come only as Madame Eurboone, not as Madame Royale. I hope by then we can share what we desire.”

Frederick, who had been silently looking down at her, finally responded with a proper smile only after Isabelle extended her hand. He took her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it, ending their conversation.

As Frederick turned away, her next destination became clear. Isabelle entered her private chamber.

Walking the short distance to the room, she opened the door to find a scene no different from the morning.

If anything had changed, it was the chemise neatly laid out on the bed.

However, her eyes were drawn not to the bed, but to the area next to it. Lifting her skirt, Isabelle approached the bedside table. With a sudden rattle, the first drawer opened. Inside was a dagger wrapped in a handkerchief.

It was the silver dagger that had unhesitatingly pierced Arnaud’s palm on their wedding night.

“……”

Hoping it would not have to serve its purpose, Isabelle tucked it into the stomacher. Even through the handkerchief she could feel the sharp blade. She considered putting on a cloak, but decided there was no need to give the impression that she was hiding anything. With that, Isabelle left the room.

“Madame.”

But she could not leave the corridor. It was as if Marie had been guarding the door all along, waiting to block her path.

“Whatever your intentions, do not go there.”

She could have ignored her and walked past.

She could have ignored her and walked past.

With her already tall stature and the added height of her heeled mules, she could have easily brushed aside an average-sized woman.

But her opponent was Marie Idor.

Marie, who had served the queen herself despite coming from a humble family that deserved twice as much consideration, now blocked Isabelle without so much as averting her gaze.

“Go on.”

And so she asked the next question. Pressed for time, but convinced that Marie’s words were worth the wait.

“…Even if you leave, nothing will change. You don’t have to take it all in.”

As if she had expected it, Isabelle’s hand moved naturally to her temple. It was her mistake to hope for honesty this time. With a sigh as her only response, Isabelle walked past Marie.

“Ma-Madame.”

“Do you know that the person who bothers me the most right now is you? Step aside.”

But Marie blocked her way again.

Marie’s gesture of spreading her arms was more assertive than before, but Isabelle saw no reason to back down willingly. Waving her hand in annoyance, she spoke, causing Marie to turn her head hastily.

“I know you’re on your way to the confessional. I also know that you’re looking for someone. But, Madame, this is something that’s going to happen anyway. It’s inevitable.”

The situation changed in an instant. Surprised for a moment, Isabelle grabbed Marie and pulled her closer. Even then, Marie kept her eyes on her.

“Is there a woman in the confessional?”

She didn’t even ask what family the woman belonged to or what her baptismal name was, but Marie, though hesitant, didn’t seem surprised.

As her head bobbed up and down, her destination became clearer.

“Madame, Madame!”

Isabelle ran without hesitation. Naturally quick on her feet, she moved at a pace too fast for Marie, whose stamina was only average, to catch up.

Marie probably already knew that the matter was out of her hands.

The confessional behind the cathedral was closer through the cloister than by crossing the prayer room.

“Isabelle!”

Unless someone faster than her blocked her way, that is.

Isabelle met Arnaud at the bottom of the stairs.

“Let go. Let go and talk.”

“You’re going to the confessional, aren’t you?”

It was not surprising. Henri had revealed the location not only to her, but to others as well. Seeing that one foot was already on the stairs, it was clear that their destinations were the same.

“Arnaud, the King wants you. If anything happens there, it should happen to me instead.”

“Are you saying that you would die in my place?”

“If you go, there will be blood, but not if I go. Please, think about the situation!”

She even shook his arm, but his expression didn’t change at all. His tight lips did not open, nor did his gaze soften as if moved by emotion. There was no kindness in the hands that met hers.

He would pull away from Isabelle and run.

“I will return safely.”

Then she had no choice but to run first.

With words that often turn out to be a final goodbye, Isabelle turned and walked down the stairs. Skipping two steps at a time, she quickly reached the door. The force with which she pushed it made her shoulder ache, but she did not care. She had to save the countess, no matter what.

Ignoring all of Marie’s advice, Isabelle ran through the cloister. Thanks to the nobles, who didn’t delay their departure, she avoided becoming a spectacle. But even if they had taunted her, she would have kept running.

“Return safely, indeed!”

Of course, that required a compliant husband.

Arnaud took the opportunity to speak again, even taking away his wife’s chance to answer.

“I don’t trust you, Isabelle.”

It seemed to be the best decision for Arnaud, and Isabelle couldn’t shake the hand that held hers. Even the words that he didn’t trust her felt that way.

“When have you ever cared about my well-being?”

The difference between “don’t” and “can’t” would become clear to her much later, so her resentment spilled out naturally.

Even though she couldn’t reject the hand holding hers…

Arnaud did not respond to the sharp words. He did not get angry, nor did he evade the accusation by claiming ignorance. Only the face he made when he said he couldn’t remember something remained vivid in her memory.

If he hadn’t hesitated, it would have been a lie, but Isabelle, resolutely avoiding him, quickened her pace. The confessional was close.

The old, worn door creaked ominously, as it should. Isabelle pushed half of it open, while the other half was opened by someone already inside.

“Lemo… Catherine!”

Unexpectedly, the confessional contained only the Countess. Grasping her hands urgently, Isabelle searched her body for any injuries, causing the Countess to tilt her head in slight confusion.

“My Lady, why are you in such a hurry?”

“Are you unharmed? Has anyone been here before? Or have you been brought here against your will?”

“Dragged here?”

Lemoiselle asked in surprise. Following suit, she met the Countess’s eyes with a similarly astonished expression. It seemed she really had no idea.

“The old butler said that Milady wanted to see me in the confessional…”

“Was it Murier who said that?”

Isabelle’s pupils dilated noticeably at the unexpected name. At the same time, the Countess’ eyebrows arched as high as mountains.

Only then did Isabelle remember the maid’s words.

“Consistently stupid, aren’t you, Isabelle? It seems that even this nanny has become stupid.”

It was only after Henri appeared through the open door.