basement, the servant quickly hid the lantern behind his back and pressed his lips tightly together.

But even he must have known that this wasn’t something that could be hidden so easily.

So she didn’t bother to ask him to show his hand again.

A simple tilt of her chin toward the stairs was enough.

“Don’t worry. There won’t be any consequences – at least not yet.”

“N-no, there’s no basement here…”

“I’m not that stupid.”

When she cut him off firmly, the servant straightened up at once – realizing there was no way out.

That was enough to take control.

Isabelle turned and headed for the stairs.

“W-wait! I have to inform someone!”

“You don’t really think I came here just to drink tea, do you?

You seem quite capable.”

Her warning left no room for refusal.

Once again, she was resolute – and the servant began to seriously consider which side he should take.

After a moment’s consideration, he stretched out his arm and pointed to where Agnès was standing.

The servant had made his choice – and it was Isabelle.

She had expected it.

With a slight nod, Isabelle stepped in the direction he indicated.

It seemed that what Mûrier had said about the repairs being finished was a lie.

Each step echoed with a jarring, unpleasant sound.

Wearing a shorter skirt than usual had been a wise choice.

Not a single part of the corridor looked intact.

‘Even Baron Saint-Mang wouldn’t treat his mistress like this…’

Once again struck by the state of Hérétiques, Isabelle made her way down the narrow corridor and stopped at the only door.

“Open it.”

“You should introduce yourself first.”

“I don’t like to repeat myself. Open it.”

She was well aware of the cold her presence could bring.

Which made freezing someone in place an easy task.

Narrowing her already sharp eyes as she spoke, she left the servant no choice but to open the door without another word.

He seemed slightly nervous.

His movements were slow and hesitant – but she let them be.

Agnès would also need a moment. She had to be given time to either hide or prepare.

When the door was fully open, Isabelle stepped inside at a deliberate pace.

“She asked you to wait a moment…!”

“That’s why the door opened so late, isn’t it?”

Agnès stood there, her robe and skirt completely undone.

Even her bodice hung loosely around her chest.

It was impossible to tell if she was dressing or undressing.

Agnès stood frozen, stunned.

Isabelle met the light brown eyes fixed on her – there was no reason to look away.

It was Agnès who broke eye contact first.

“Could you give me a moment? I can’t possibly receive you like this…”

“It’s okay. It looks like you don’t have anyone to help you – you’re welcome to borrow my hands.”

She hadn’t said it expecting an answer.

Without hesitation, Isabelle stepped behind Agnès.

Although Agnès quickly turned away in surprise, it was easy enough to turn her back.

Isabelle took hold of Agnès and began to undo her half-loosened corset, one knot at a time.

It had been tied far too tightly, as if she were alone and had no one to help her.

When the third knot was undone, the servant slipped quietly out of the room, and it was Isabelle who spoke first.

“Wearing it so tight isn’t good for the baby.”

“You’ve already bled once – you must be more careful.

Her Majesty the Queen hasn’t worn a corset since the day she was conceived.”

Agnès made no reply.

Still, Isabelle didn’t want to push her.

One look at the tension in her shoulders made it clear what would come next – either a confession or an attempt to escape.

“Th-thank you for your concern.”

“I want you to know that I once served in Moeren myself.”

She personally helped Agnès into her skirt and robe.

And when she looked at her chemise, she noticed that the pleats were falling down.

The cut seemed to be too tight – a pregnant woman, even slightly showing, wouldn’t be able to wear such a chemise and have the pleats fall straight down.

She even ran her hand over Agnès’s belly, pretending to straighten her clothes.

As expected, there was no curve at all – but then there were women whose bellies stayed flat well into the fourth month, so it wasn’t an immediate cause for alarm.

But Isabelle knew that Agnès had never been pregnant.

And that changed things-very, very much.

“Isn’t it too tight?”

“It’s fine. As long as it’s not a corset…”

“Yes, not good for expectant mothers – even in the early stages. Be careful from now on.”

She must have seemed strange to Agnès.

As if trying to prove something, Agnès fumbled around for a while before finally settling down on the sofa.

Sitting across from her, Isabelle watched Agnès’ every move with silent intent.

“You must be wondering why I came. Aren’t you, Lotur?”

“N-not at all. You are always welcome here…”

“That was rude of me. I apologize for it.”

It was a stark contrast to the way she used to be, when she would eagerly follow Isabelle around during mass preparations, offering unsolicited advice.

Now she looked more like the girl Isabelle had first met: insecure, uncomfortable.

Agnès fidgeted with her teacup, making it clink gently, and kept picking up and putting down the chocolates and éclairs on the plate in front of her.

“You have quite an appetite.”

Isabelle said with a small smile.

“Thank you for your hospitality, even on such short notice.”

“Don’t think anything of it, really…”

“Go on, eat.”

Isabelle deliberately picked up the chocolate that Agnès had touched, then put it down and popped it into her mouth.

It was much more bitter than anything she’d had in Moeren.

The coffee was also incredibly strong – so dark that it almost reflected her own face.

Agnès brought it to her lips.

Despite how bitter it must have been, her expression didn’t change at all.

With her hand still near her mouth, Isabelle silently observed the space between her brows and every subtle change in her face.

“You seem to have a taste for the bitter.”

“Monsieur Guizère – no, Guizère himself always sends chocolates and coffee that are particularly bitter.”

Agnès said, dabbing at her lips with a napkin.

“I only eat them because I have no choice, but… I’ve grown to like the taste.”

Then she took three or four pieces of chocolate and let them roll over her tongue.

Even the éclair was covered with a layer of dark chocolate.

“There was a woman I met once at the drawing room.”

“Elise – she became Count Sabtouras’ wife not long after he lost his first.”

She took a bite of the éclair.

It, too, was deeply bitter.

And with that, the real conversation began.

“She came from a modest family with no powerful connections – her only assets were her shiny hair and beautiful face.”

“Ah…”

“The late Countess of Sabtouras – that is, the mother of the current Count – wasn’t particularly fond of Elise, I’ve heard. So Elise needed a child. A son to carry her blood.

Until then, Agnès’ expression hadn’t changed.

No widening of the eyes, no raised eyebrows – nothing.

Isabelle didn’t care. She continued without pausing.

“There was nothing wrong with her ability to bear children. She was twenty-one at the time, and not of weak constitution. And yet…”

“And yet?”

“Each child she bore was underdeveloped.”

“One was lost in the womb, and three were born several months prematurely.

I even heard that one was barely six months old.”

Agnès gasped softly and put a hand to her lips.

So far it was only a tragic story.

But Isabelle had more to tell.

“The late Countess brought in every renowned doctor she could find, but still Elise never conceived again.”

“She must have been devastated.”

“The last doctor she consulted was Hugues Nouvelier. Yes – the same Lord Nouvelier who examined you.”

This time Agnès didn’t swallow her breath – she let it out.

Along with a cough and the coffee she’d been holding in her mouth.

Both her pale blue skirt and robe were soaked.

Isabelle rose from her seat with an expression of surprise that was far too composed to be genuine.

“Are you all right? Did something go wrong?”

“N-no, I just…”

“Did Lord Nouvelier say something to you? Otherwise, I can’t see why this would shock you so much.”

As she spoke, Isabelle took out a handkerchief and gently dabbed at the coffee that was soaking into Agnès’s dress.

Even then, Agnès’s breathing remained shallow and rapid.

Isabelle kept her hand moving, calm and steady, even at a distance so close that she could feel the other woman’s breath.

“According to Lord Nouvelier’s diagnosis, the reason Elise kept giving birth to premature babies was because of her diet.”

“What kind of diet would cause…”

“I can’t tell if you’re pretending not to know or if you really don’t. You’re so passive-you’d make a convincing actress either way.”

Isabelle gave the coffee-stained handkerchief a few sharp taps, as if it were stained with something dirty.

Despite the sharp sound, Agnès didn’t flinch.

In fact, she froze.

“Madame Sabtouras was always indulging in chocolate, coffee and the like.”

Just what she’d hoped for.

Isabelle continued, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly.

“She would wake up and eat several bowls of sablés dipped in chocolate and drink khamayak beans – so bitter that even the people of Partaye grimaced – up to ten times a day.”

“…”

“True, the Countess’s tastes were excessive to begin with, but Lord Nouvelier believed that coffee and chocolate had a role to play. That’s why he always warned expectant mothers to avoid them if possible.”

Before she knew it, Isabelle found herself facing Agnès.

Though, to be exact, she wasn’t really facing her – Agnès had avoided her gaze the whole time.

“And yet, despite being examined by Lord Nouvelier…”

“Y-yes?”

“You ate all these bitter things just fine – and went on and on about how much you enjoyed them.”

A pale, slender hand reached out and cupped Agnès’s rounded chin.

Isabelle gently pulled her face toward her, revealing an expression of fear.

It was pitiful, yes – but there was someone far more deserving of sympathy.

Loui.

And so Isabelle didn’t hesitate.

“You still have your monthly bleeding, don’t you?”