It was hard for Isabelle to believe.

Hadn’t Agnes been intimate with Arnaud? Agnes hadn’t gotten pregnant?

She stared blankly at Laurent. It was happy news, but it didn’t feel happy at all.

“She didn’t sleep with Arnaud?”

Her repeated, emphatic question revealed another reason why her composure had faltered.

Laurent’s expression turned slightly bitter as his gaze fell downward.

As soon as Laurent answered, Isabelle let out a shaky breath.

Her exhalation was soft… broken… before she sank to her knees.

The questions continued.

“How do you know this?”

“That day… she was intoxicated again.”

“With poisonous herbs?”

Laurent nodded again, but no further explanation followed. He seemed to assume that Isabelle was already aware of the existence of the glowing dew.

She pushed aside the blanket covering her legs and moved even closer to Laurent.

This was more assertive than just stretching out her torso to grab his arm earlier.

“And how exactly do you know this? You’re just a gardener…”

“Exactly, because I’m just a gardener. They don’t bother to be careful around me.”

It made sense.

Laurent, without support or wealth, was just a gardener. Even if he had become close to her, the fact that he wasn’t from Imanoria meant that they hadn’t been careful with him from the beginning.

Isabelle lowered her eyes. Silence was its own answer.

Understanding Isabelle’s ways, Laurent didn’t pressure her. Instead, he turned more to her and spoke.

“They only lie when they talk to you, Lady Isabelle. Monsieur is intoxicated with the herbs, and no one else would believe a word they say anyway. The only person they need to deceive is you.”

“In the midst of all this chaos, it makes sense that I’m the only one in my right mind.”

The laughter came at an inopportune time – though it was a hollow laugh, to be exact.

She hadn’t lost her mind, which allowed her to keep moving, but her composure made the pain seem even more foreign.

Should she have given in to it, too?

The scars that had built up over time had scabbed over and weighed Isabelle down more than anything else.

As mentioned before, even in moments of urgency, Isabelle couldn’t let go of her thoughts.

Laurent, who knew of her habit as well as Arnaud – who rarely had moments of clarity himself – certainly wouldn’t be oblivious to it.

And so Laurent reached out and took her hand.

The touch of his skin was rough, but the owner of that hand acted with incomparable gentleness.

“I am not like that, Lady Isabelle.”

The tone of his words matched his actions. For some reason, tears threatened to spill and Isabelle bowed her head again.

She was certain that if she met his gaze, she would truly break down.

Normally, Laurent was the type to wait endlessly for Isabelle. Even if she spent half a day with her head buried in silence, he would remain by her side.

“I would never, ever do that.”

But this time was different.

Laurent released his clasped hands and then gently cupped Isabelle’s face with his other hand.

He used gentle pressure to make her meet his gaze. Her tear-filled eyes widened instinctively.

Isabelle, who rarely lifted her eyelids fully, now wore an expression that was strikingly raw and unguarded.

before made you uncomfortable. I expected as much when I said it.”

“I can bear any coldness from you. Avoid me as much as you like, hurt me as much as you like. But, Lady Isabelle…”

It seemed he had more to say, but Laurent didn’t seem ready to say it yet.

He closed his eyes, and in the brief pause, Isabelle swallowed hard.

Even though her throat was parched and there was no saliva left to swallow, she made the effort.

Soon, Laurent’s eyes opened – slowly, like the budding of new leaves.

And then he spoke these words:

“Promise me that when you’re desperate, you’ll come to me, not as your husband, but as Laurent Duc.”

***

The days were getting colder by the moment. Isabelle, who usually wore nothing over her robe unless she ventured far or walked at night, had draped a shawl over herself today.

While Marie’s persistent warnings that she would shiver terribly on the way back played a part, the unusual draft in the private quarters was also a reason for her extra layer.

“Will you be dining there?”

“Just bring out some tea and madeleines for lunch. That’s more than enough, so don’t bother preparing anything separately.”

Marie bowed silently and walked beside her.

Isabelle appreciated the quiet gesture of support as Marie gently held her arm. Still, she couldn’t help but feel uneasy – what if someone saw them? Isabelle kept looking over her shoulder.

“Why are you acting like this?”

“What if someone sees us, Marie?”

Lowering her voice deliberately, Isabelle spoke. In response, Marie chuckled softly and wrapped her arm around Isabelle’s back.

Instead of being cautious, her bold action made Isabelle raise her eyebrows.

“Do you want to end up in the basement too?”

“I know where those people are better than anyone. They’re probably busy in their quarters.”

“What are they busy with?”

Marie lifted her eyes briefly. Her expression suggested that she was calculating or remembering something, which caused Isabelle to tilt her head closer to her maid.

“And what exactly are they thinking about right now?”

“They’re always up to some nonsense, and there’s no end to it.”

There was a moment of silence. Despite the absurdity of the comment, the two continued to stare ahead with indifference before bursting into laughter as if it had been planned.

Their laughter continued for quite some time.

Even though it was the first time they had seen this side of each other, which might have felt awkward, Isabelle and Marie were too busy laughing uncontrollably to care.

“Ah, hahaha! Nonsense, yes, nonsense indeed!”

“How much, haha, absurdity they’ve stirred up!”

But it wasn’t pure joy. Isabelle was mocking the absurd stories and moments she had endured so far.

Why me?

In a place teeming with villains who deserved to be torn apart, why was she the target?

Though never particularly religious, Isabelle found herself wanting to direct her laughter even at the inconsistent face of the Creator.

“Ah, ha… ha, ha…”

The sudden laughter had come out of nowhere, but like the setting sun, it gradually faded.

Night would soon come, and shadows would naturally fall on Isabelle’s face.

Seeing her like that, Marie silently approached from behind and adjusted the shawl around her shoulders.

Even receiving such a considerate gesture made Isabelle feel unhappy. Her emotions fluctuated wildly throughout the day.

She felt as if she could somewhat understand Louise’s feelings – though in Louise’s case, it was due to repeated miscarriages and her inherent disposition.

Still, when emotions were so chaotic, it seemed impossible not to feel overwhelmed.

“Marie, you…”

“Please, go ahead.”

“How do you know they’re up to more than one or two things?”

Marie’s shoulders trembled briefly. For a maid whose default expression was seriousness, this was a significant gesture.

Isabelle began to adjust her shawl, as if to signal that she’d give Marie all the time she needed.

It wasn’t long before Marie’s lips finally parted.

“You must already know.”

“I do, but I still want to hear it from you.”

“As you know, I was once a member of their group. At first I was completely on their side.”

It was actually something Isabelle already knew. It was Marie who had pointed out the Eastern goods in Isabelle’s carriage.

While things had started with Mario, it was Marie who had put the final nail in the coffin.

before, Isabelle already knew why Marie had switched sides, but she still wanted Marie to explicitly admit that she had once been allied with Camille.

As if aware of Isabelle’s unspoken desire, Marie, walking slightly ahead, spoke up.

“That’s why I know so much about her. One day I’ll tell you everything… but for now, even if you ask, I have nothing to tell you. There’s a time for everything.”

“You also knew that Agnes never did anything like that.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

This time she did not respond with silence. It was a marked improvement, but Isabelle didn’t find it admirable.

Although Marie had indeed come to her side, Isabelle wasn’t inclined to overlook the fact that she had once betrayed her. She had no desire to tell Marie that everything was fine – for now.

She wanted Marie to wrestle with guilt for a long time. Isabelle believed that guilt was the strongest form of restraint.

“We have arrived, Lady Isabelle.”

“Wait outside, but don’t go too far – stay within earshot.

“I’ll be near the door. Call for me anytime.”

Agnes’ residence wasn’t particularly large, as it was meant to accommodate visiting guests. It also had an improvised feel.

While the Oretique Monastery was undoubtedly wealthy, its southern location meant that visitors were limited to influential families from the south.

Therefore, the accommodations for the guests weren’t elaborate.

Isabelle opened the large but somewhat shabby door herself and entered. Crossing the small lobby, where the staircase was immediately visible, she suddenly heard the sound of hurried footsteps nearby.

“Who dares open the door so carelessly… Madame?”

“Ah, it seems everyone has something to do.”

The servant, dressed in a deep green vest like any other servant of Antmaren, switched the lantern to his other hand as he approached her. Isabelle narrowed her eyes and stared intently at the lantern.

The flame was clearly alight, and the oil was far from exhausted.

The servant seemed unable to understand why Isabelle’s gaze was fixed solely on the lantern.

His lips remained uncomfortably parted.

Isabelle spoke in a calm tone.

“You lit the lantern, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but…”

“You were in the basement, weren’t you?”

As if unaware that it was broad daylight, as if unaware that the only place that needed a lantern was underground…