Isabelle certainly needed allies, but she had never intended to involve a child. She had planned to help the child avoid the situation, even if it meant telling a lie. But before she could stop her, the child stepped forward.

“I-I was only following Monsieur’s orders. I absolutely did not, h-hic, move anything or anything like that.”

Seeing the child gasp for air broke her heart.

Should she scold the child to get his out of the situation?

Should she make him cry and tell him not to lie?

Just as she was about to step forward and try something – anything – Arnaud’s arm came up like a spear to block her.

He stood between her and the child and said in a voice only Isabelle could hear:

“Leave the child alone.”

The reaction was the opposite of what she had expected. She thought he would scold the child and demand to know what kind of conspiracy they were involved in.

But Arnaud merely observed the scene before him, remaining calm – a surprising turn of events. Surely Camille must have offered him absinthe, probably even rolled a cigarette for him by hand.

Perhaps the passage of time had a hand in it, but Isabelle found herself unable to muster an appropriate response to the unexpectedly calm Arnaud.

“…Yes.”

It didn’t feel quite appropriate, but Isabelle answered anyway. It was more important to address the situation at hand than to end the conversation.

“A child who hasn’t even dried the blood on his head! Were you planning on being a rat from the start?”

“L-Lie, it’s not a lie! Really, I never delivered it…”

“He should be thrown in the cellar and taught a lesson! Or maybe we should take in an orphan who has nowhere else to go!”

Mario was predictably outraged. He shook the child, barely half his size, mercilessly, his eyes bloodshot with rage.

Camille was no better, passively watching the scene with her palm still covering her face, a gesture that spoke volumes.

Arnaud watched the spectacle with an expression of utter contempt. The absence of any light in his eyes was proof enough of his disgust.

Finally, the child burst into tears.

“Waaaah!”

“You ungrateful brat, do you know who I am?”

The child’s small cheeks were drenched with tears, his crying so pitiful it was unbearable to watch. Sweat poured down his body as he sobbed.

Unable to bear the guilt, Isabelle adjusted her skirt, and at the same time, Arnaud moved his feet.

“A brat like you isn’t even fit to feed horses – ugh!”

Poor Mario! He screamed once again.

Clear footprints marked the dark green surface of the floor. Isabelle rushed to the child who had fallen from the impact.

“Mo-mom, hic, mo-mom…!”

“I’m sorry, my love. I’m so sorry. Cry as much as you need to.”

The child was so small that even Isabelle’s frail arms seemed more than enough to hold her. She hugged the child tightly, cradled his tiny head, and stroked it without pause.

The child sobbed uncontrollably, as if he might lose his breath.

Arnaud, silently watching the scene, took the opportunity to kick Mario once more as he tried to get up. Mario’s body crumpled to the side, looking utterly pitiful.

“You useless piece of…”

“You ungrateful wretch, do you even know who you’re standing before?”

He seemed deeply embittered, as if his pride had been thoroughly crushed by those he looked down upon and humiliated in front of.

Unable to control his temper, Mario lunged at Arnaud, only to be grabbed by the hair. He looked even more pathetic than before, much like Camille had when she confronted Isabelle.

“Do you think sparing your life means I’ll live mine in peace?”

“Is this what you call dignity? How shameful!”

“Save your breath for something worthwhile. I’m more concerned about your dignity, considering you couldn’t even stand up to a drug addict.”

Mario always kept his hair slicked back. Its shoulder length made it easy to grab.

Arnaud pulled freely on Mario’s hair as he spoke. Of course, Mario made some attempts to resist, but his strength was nowhere near enough to overcome Arnaud’s grip.

The only alternative was Camille. If Camille ignored Mario’s pleading look, the attempt would fail.

“…….”

Camille averted her eyes. It was a failure.

Arnaud seemed to fully understand the unspoken exchange, but he showed neither amusement nor contempt. He simply tossed Mario away with decisive force.

“Ugh!”

“Get out of here and lock yourself in the basement. With that attitude, you’ll lose your head in front of the Emperor himself.”

Even as Mario propped himself up on the floor, he glared at Arnaud. But glaring was all he could do.

Arnaud, though slender, was robust. At the same time, he was tall and still maintained his commanding presence, making his downward gaze anything but ordinary.

Gritting his teeth, Mario left the room, not forgetting to take Camille with him.

“What a tearful kind of love.”

“Are you all right?”

Finally, Arnaud clicked his tongue once and leaned toward Isabelle and the child. The young servant, his eyes swollen, seemed more focused on catching his breath than answering.

The couple understood. So Isabelle and Arnaud waited in silence for the child to finally clasp his tiny, leaf-like hands together and respond.

“I’m sorry, so sorry.”

“What are you sorry for, child?”

Isabelle gently wiped away the moisture as she asked. Her tone was not one of reproach.

For the child’s first words to be an apology, spoken from lips as tender as newly ripened cherries, was almost absurd. The child should have sulked and expressed his grievances.

“Because of me, Madame, and also because of Monsieur. You both seem troubled, hic, and I’m very, very sorry.”

“If we were really troubled, do you think Madame would be holding you so tightly?”

At Arnaud’s words, the child began to murmur again.

He’s worried about Isabelle and Arnaud, despite his own uncertain situation. Instead of being admirable, it was heartbreaking and hard to bear.

Isabelle gently stroked the child’s soft, downy hair. This gesture was her response. Adding a smile to the moment, the child finally stopped hiccuping.

For today, the child would have to be separated from the other servants.

Arnaud seemed to agree, for he nodded the moment their eyes met.

“If you are truly sorry, then do this.”

“W-What?”

“I want you to take over my food service today. Mademoiselle Idor will clean the private quarters, and the butler – well, I find him rather unattractive.”

At these words, the child’s face lit up, as if relieved. It seemed as if she had been inwardly frightened by the confrontations of the other servants.

Isabelle would have liked to sit the child next to her and share a meal, but showing such blatant favoritism would only cause trouble. Without the slightest hesitation, the young servant replied.

“It’s an honor, an honor! My name is Loui!”

“You are brave.”

Arnaud said with a smile and patted Loui on the head. At the touch, Loui closed his squinted eyes and smiled.

A moment later, the three of them entered the dining room together. Isabelle, shrugging off Marie’s concern that her clothes might get dirty, only fixed her disheveled hair a few times to tidy up her appearance.

Isabelle, shrugging off Marie’s concern about her clothes getting dirty, only fixed her disheveled hair a few times to tidy up her appearance. When she sat across from Arnaud, she let her hair down completely.

Whether a noblewoman or a simple village woman, once married, one was expected to tie up one’s hair. However, Isabelle thought it might be more daring to show her hair in such a disheveled state.

“Isabelle, right now…?”

“Ah.”

Immediately, a storm seemed to brew in Arnaud’s eyes. It was hard to tell if he was angry or confused.

It was considered inappropriate to show her unkempt hair in front of the servants, so Isabelle offered an apology rather than an explanation.

“My hair is a mess, isn’t it? Please forgive me. I thought it would be better…”

“I’m not, not angry.”

Arnaud replied quickly, his face flushing.

Isabelle, blinking in confusion, occasionally closed her eyes, only to begin straightening the stray strands that entered her vision. Since her hair was curly, she had to be extra careful.

As a result, Isabelle had no time to watch Arnaud. She had no idea what he was thinking when he looked at her.

She was too busy taming her hair until the first course was brought to the table.

A moment later, the servants approached with silver trays. Two servants, each holding a tray, brought a total of four dishes.

If they were of noble rank, they would have needed six or more servants just for the hors d’oeuvres, but they could not afford that luxury, not even in the Oterre kitchen.

Arnaud, perhaps more accustomed to this simplicity than Isabelle, seemed to have adapted to it. The first course of the modest dinner was explained by the servant who placed the tray in front of him.

“This is a Niçoise salad, along with the pre-dinner drink, Trefine wine.”

Serving a salad as an appetizer was an unusual sight. Actually, it wasn’t completely unheard of.

In Imanoria, a salad was often served as an appetizer.

But that was Imanoria, and appetizers in Châteaubienne were not like that. Shouldn’t there be baguette with pâté or something like that?

Since this was a dinner, it was likely that their approach to food would be different. Isabelle stopped the servant from opening the tray in front of her.

“That’s enough. No need to go on and on.”

“Excuse me?”

The servant was startled. It seemed to be for no bad reason, but his voice, raw with surprise, made Isabelle narrow her eyes and open the tray herself. The tray contained cheap cheese and pâté, cut into bite-sized pieces.

The pre-dinner drink was not the same wine as Arnaud’s; it was a white wine of unknown origin.

“….”

“The confusion deepened. Even considering the differences in taste, they should have at least combined the appetizers to stay within the budget. She was curious why they had been so careful to separate the dishes.

But Isabelle couldn’t ask the reason, or even raise an eyebrow.

“Go ahead, Arnaud.”

“You too.”

The moment Arnaud turned over his portion of vegetables, an unpleasant yet familiar smell hit her nose.

It was a smell strong enough to mask even the aroma of the olives. Isabelle was sure she recognized the smell. It was kwangru.