He left at dawn.

Isabelle had been awake since he had gently caressed her face, as if reluctant to part.

But she continued to pretend to be asleep, afraid that if she opened her eyes, she might not be able to let him go.

After the door closed behind him, Isabelle pushed herself up with both hands.

A dull ache spread through her waist and hips.

Perhaps it was the lingering chill in the room, with nothing to shield her from it.

“I’m coming in, madam.”

With a soft rustle, Marie entered, placing a dark green cloak and a fresh chemise beside her.

A teacup with a slice of orange and a few pieces of madeleine accompanied her.

The moment Marie turned her back, Isabelle threw off the blanket and rose.

Every movement was a strain, but more than anything, she didn’t want anyone to touch her right now.

Last night still clung to her – far too vividly.

She was afraid she would blush even with Marie’s help, so despite her moans and aches, Isabelle dressed herself without help.

As soon as she had her clothes on, the warmth returned a little.

By then Marie had moved in behind her and was tidying up the bedclothes.

Damp sheets in places, underwear strewn across the floor, and strands of gold and silver hair scattered like evidence of the night before – it was all the aftermath of their union.

But Marie showed no sign of embarrassment. She calmly unfolded and folded the linen.

Isabelle, for no real reason, tightened her grip on her robe.

“This is…”

Next, her eyes fell on the cigarette. It was the same Anmadre leaf Arnaud had offered her – the one she had tossed aside the moment their eyes had met.

She picked it up carefully. No matter how many times she smelled it, she still couldn’t get used to the scent.

“Put it in your bag and hide it behind the drawer, madam. I brought another one today – just in case you need it.”

While Isabelle silently ran her fingers over it, not knowing what to say, Marie – always perceptive – opened the mouth of the same bag from yesterday.

Who knew when she’d taken it out and prepared it? Her hands really worked quickly.

Isabelle nodded and took the bag. When Marie put it behind the drawer as instructed, she placed a tray of light food in front of Isabelle and gently coaxed her, although it didn’t sound like coaxing.

“I have no appetite, Marie.”

“You used up all your energy during the night-you should eat something. Go on now.”

Her cheeks flushed again.

Before she could scold Marie, her hand flew to her face. It was burning hot. She had never blushed so much.

‘Arnaud…’

‘Was he like this?’

He had completely taken over her thoughts in an instant.

Noticing Isabelle’s restlessness, Marie tactfully lowered her gaze, but Isabelle’s racing heart wasn’t so easy to calm.

With her head down, Isabelle nibbled slowly at a madeleine.

She felt she couldn’t handle the tea.

If she drank it, the warmth would spread in her mouth – and that warmth would remind her too much of last night.

“Eek!”

“Madame!”

A scream escaped her lips before she could stop it. Her body jerked, spilling tea all over the tray.

Marie scrambled to wipe up the spill while checking Isabelle’s face, which was clearly shaken.

“Madam, are you all right?”

But there was no answer. Isabelle froze, her hand covering her mouth.

Even if their wedding night had only been for appearances, she and Arnaud were husband and wife, and last night had been a marital duty – an ordinary part of being married.

And yet she couldn’t explain what she was feeling.

Her eyes darted around in confusion, and just then a sharp, clear voice rang out from a distance.

“Marie, what kind of mess are you making now?”

Leaning casually against the wall next to the door was Camille, draped in a crimson hood.

“Talking of what Madame will eat, tsk.'”

The mere sight of a baroness being so casual with Madame was enough to make it difficult to suppress a sneer.

“It’s the teacup I spilled – the one you call Madame, mind you.”

“I wouldn’t dare call Lady Isabelle clumsy, would I?”

“Address her as Madame. If you cared so much for etiquette, you should have stayed in Hérétiques, shouldn’t you, Saint-Mang?”

As the invisible line was drawn right in front of her, Camille raised her eyebrows sharply and glared back.

“You say things you don’t mean.”

“My sincerity is far too precious to waste on you.”

“Hmm, what exactly did I do?”

Even as she spoke, the corners of Camille’s mouth never dropped, making it impossible to read her true intentions.

However, it was clear that Camille had been subdued by Isabelle. Camille’s eyes twitched, leaving no room for denial.

“It would be better if you trusted me.”

“That’s for me to decide.”

“Oh, you will decide, Madame?”

But backing down wasn’t in Camille de Saint-Mang’s nature. Pushing Marie aside, Camille positioned herself next to Isabelle, resting a hand on the cloak draped over her.

“You’re doing this so boldly, aren’t you?”

“Show some restraint.”

“You can hardly leave the room without my interference. Shall I help you out of your robe again?”

She seemed to assume that Isabelle was getting ready to go for a walk. At this remark, Isabelle exhaled in relief, as if comforted. She seemed not to have heard the previous conversation at all.

Deciding there was no need to hide, Isabelle brushed Camille’s hand away.

“I wasn’t even planning on moving my feet. My body’s a little stiff today, you know.”

“If you’re only wearing a chemise underneath…”

“A surprised look, Madame Saint-Mang.”

It was easy to tell from her face whether Camille was shocked by the act of her hand being swatted away, or by the fact that Isabelle was wearing nothing but a cloak over her chemise.

The realization that Arnaud – a man she had claimed exclusively for three years – had embraced his legitimate wife, whom she considered a thorn in her side, made the situation ripe for any kind of recklessness.

“In the end, you did it. You actually…”

“What did you say?”

As expected, Camille’s face fell. But it was far from what Isabelle had expected.

She had known Camille before her outbursts became habitual.

First, her eyelids would shoot up as if they were going to jump off her face. Then her nostrils would flare and her chin would rise – though the order of these actions didn’t matter much.

What mattered was that once her face turned red, chaos would inevitably follow.

But now there were no such signs. Her chin did rise, but it never tilted back so far as to be alarming.

“Ha-ha-ha!”

Camille burst out laughing.

She tilted her chin up – almost throwing her head back – and clapped with all her might. Finally, she collapsed onto the carpet, slapping it as she laughed.

Isabelle, seeing Camille rolling around like she’d lost her mind, took a few steps back, as if even touching her would be repulsive.

She, too, couldn’t help but laugh whenever she was around Camille – though, to be precise, it was always a hollow laugh. Never before had she burst out laughing like this.

Marie, who had been watching Isabelle closely the entire time, quietly stepped forward to stop Camille, who was still pounding the floor.

Camille’s hand flailed weakly in response.

“Hey, you. Get out, now.”

“But ma’am…”

“I said get out while I’m laughing, didn’t I?”

Still, nobility was nobility, and Marie had no reason to refuse the order. Even if she had a reason, she would have to pretend that she didn’t.

Seeing Marie looking at her with a troubled expression, Isabelle nodded and motioned for her to leave. Marie smiled and left the room. Normally her footsteps would have been audible, but the bundle of bright red fabric muffled the sound.

“Oh, how hilarious. Absolutely hysterical!”

Let’s see how far she takes this.

It didn’t take long for Camille to stagger to her feet. Her hair was partially exposed under the hood.

For a moment, Isabelle thought about grabbing her and throwing her to the ground. Instead, she suppressed the urge by glaring at Camille, who was slowly letting her laughter fade.

“I’m not particularly sorry, but… well, I apologize anyway, Madame. I just couldn’t hold it in.”

“Hold on to what? Your situation?”

“No, you two – it’s just too much!”

Isabelle clearly saw Camille’s pupils dilate in response to her words. She also noticed her gasp, accompanied by a hand to her mouth – a face that screamed that she had said something she shouldn’t have.

A flustered Madame de Saint-Mang was a rare sight, but Isabelle had no intention of savoring the moment. She stepped forward and grabbed Camille’s slender arm.

“Ah, ah!”

“The ‘two’ you mentioned must undoubtedly refer to me and Arnaud. After all, you wouldn’t use an honorific when referring to Marie, would you?”

Instead of laughing, Camille let out a cry. Her face began to twist, just as Isabelle had expected.

Camille twisted her arm in every direction to free herself from Isabelle’s grasp, but having carried a long rifle on her shoulder since the age of five, Isabelle was unperturbed by the effort.

“Come to think of it, you didn’t even flinch when my husband kissed Agnès.”

“Let go of me first, ah, let go!”

“If you loved Arnaud, you wouldn’t have reacted like that. You could have at least pretended your hands were shaking, Camille.”

Camille’s flailing hands suddenly froze.

Everyone freezes when their deepest wound is struck.

Isabelle, who had been watching her with narrowed eyes, took the opportunity to pin down the arm that had begun to twist free.

“Ah-damn it, ah!”

“If you move any further, it’ll break. What will you do then?”

Her struggle looked pitiful – but because it was Camille, Isabelle felt no guilt at all.

She looked down at her with emotionless eyes, and just as Camille reacted most violently, Isabelle let go.

“Oh-ah, aagh!”

With that, Camille immediately lost her balance.

She had struck too hard and toppled over of her own accord.

She rolled across the floor even more violently than before – and of course she wasn’t the type to lie down quietly.

“You wretch, with no one to back you up!”

Soon Camille was lunging at her.

Unfortunately for her, Camille was on the petite side, while Isabelle – nicknamed “The Tower” for a reason – was in an entirely different weight class.

The arrogant mistress found herself on her knees before the rightful wife.

With one hand, Isabelle pinned her shoulder; with one knee, she pressed down hard.

The more pressure she applied, the more Camille’s scream ripped through the room like torn fabric.

“Ah-Aah!”

Even her disheveled bangs were a sight to behold.

So much for being so polished – how easily it all unraveled.

With a hollow laugh, Isabelle asked Camille more directly than ever.

“So you have someone to back you up?”