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Chapter 4
Isabel, who had fallen asleep as if she had fainted, only got out of bed when a maid came to knock on the door to deliver the day’s schedule.
“His Highness has granted you an audience before the morning meeting. You must get ready now.”
“…Understood.”
“There’s no time, so I’ll bring the wash water right away.”
As soon as the maid finished speaking, other attendants waiting outside entered carrying hot water and a basin.
This was the kind of treatment suited not for a nun, but for a noble lady — a courtesy extended because she was the prince’s preacher.
However, the sudden summons clearly carried an air of pressure.
Whatever his intent was, there was no point in overthinking it; Isabel wouldn’t find the answer on her own. She washed her face with the warm water.
When she lifted her head, a maid handed her a towel.
“I’ll brush your hair for you.”
Next to her were a fine comb and scented oil — the kind used only by the highborn.
Isabel recognized the maid’s gaze. It was the same look people had given her back when she was a noble lady — a look of urgency, eager to dress her up as prettily as possible.
If she didn’t stop her, the maid might start braiding or styling her hair. Isabel politely declined.
“I’m a nun. Such things aren’t necessary. I wear a veil anyway.”
“But you’re here not as a cloistered nun, but as a preacher, are you not? For His Highness’s dignity, please allow me to assist you.”
Having nothing to say in reply, Isabel reluctantly allowed her to continue.
The comb ran smoothly through her hair, leaving behind a pleasant fragrance.
After a moment of silence, the maid spoke with a faint smile.
“I don’t know if I should say this to a sister… but it feels a bit of a shame.”
“A shame?”
“To possess beauty that could be a weapon in itself — and yet be unable to use it because you’re a nun. Perhaps that too is the will of God?”
Isabel’s heart ached at the remark. She, who had once handled real weapons, felt the sting but hid it well.
Once her hair was done, she put on a clean habit, picked up her scriptures, and followed the maid.
After a fairly long walk through the corridors, they arrived at the reception room — not the grand, imposing audience chamber, but a smaller one. It meant he intended to speak with her properly.
“What exactly does he want to talk about?”
Although Isabel had been sent as a preacher, she had no plan.
Until just the day before, she had been prepared to die — and she had never actually preached before. The most she had done was read scripture aloud to others.
It was only natural; nuns were rarely given the qualification or opportunity to preach.
And now, her very first sermon would be before a prince. The only thing Isabel could rely on was the scriptures in her hands.
“Your Highness, may Sister Isabel enter?”
“Let her in.”
Clutching the scriptures tightly, Isabel entered the reception room. A long table stood in the center, and at its far end sat Lionel.
“Everyone except the nun, leave.”
The attendants present quietly obeyed, leaving the room.
In the silence that followed, Lionel picked up a quill and gestured to the seat across from him.
As Isabel sat, he continued writing something on the papers before him, then asked in a businesslike tone,
“Have you been uncomfortable in any way?”
“No, Your Highness. Thank you for your concern.”
When she answered sincerely, Lionel set the quill in the inkpot and looked up.
“I see. Then besides last night’s inconvenience, I’m sure there are many others. Confess them freely.”
From the very first question, Isabel was at a loss for words.
There was much she wanted to ask, but she didn’t know where to begin — or how much she could even say.
After a pause, she felt the weight of the scripture in her hands and cautiously spoke.
“Your Highness, do you truly wish to hear my sermon?”
“I do.”
“Then… may I begin now?”
“You have permission.”
Taking a quiet breath, Isabel opened the book calmly.
The passage that came to mind was about Saint Martires, the martyr.
“Once, in the land of Iremez, when drought plagued the people and their cries reached the heavens, Saint Martires…”
“Stop.”
When Isabel lifted her head, Lionel was staring at her with a mixture of boredom and irritation.
“Do you really think I’ve set aside my precious time to listen to scripture recitations?”
“But, Your Highness…”
“Stop pretending to be an ordinary nun. Preach to me — with your entire life on the line.”
For the first time, heat flickered in Lionel’s otherwise indifferent expression.
A chill of fear ran through Isabel.
“He’s serious.”
He wasn’t just toying with her for amusement — she felt that instinctively, and confusion took hold.
She couldn’t grasp what he wanted from her.
“Your Highness, I’m just an ordinary nun…”
“Were you born a nun?”
“No, Your Highness.”
“Then you had a life before taking your vows — and a life after. If you tell me what you learned under God’s guidance, wouldn’t that be a sermon in itself?”
No one had ever asked about Isabel’s past before. Among nuns, it was an unspoken rule not to question one another’s origins or stories.
But Lionel ignored such boundaries as if they meant nothing — and he seemed strangely determined.
Flustered, Isabel averted her eyes. Lionel tilted his head slightly, watching her.
“When did you become a nun?”
“…Three years ago.”
“Before that, you were a noblewoman?”
“Yes.”
“Which house?”
“…”
Lionel already seemed to have a good grasp of her background.
Feeling an inexplicable sense of danger, Isabel hesitated. Lionel shook his head.
“You seem intelligent, but not very wise. If you keep silent to protect your family’s name, I’ll simply have someone investigate.”
The veiled threat left her no choice.
“The House of Baron Fienne.”
“Fienne… I’ve never heard of it.”
Of course not — the Imperial Prince of Aleban wouldn’t know of a lowly barony from the Kingdom of Calia.
“Good. Then, how was it — becoming a nun? Better than being a noble?”
His question was spontaneous, almost rude.
It was deliberate — a provocation. She knew that answering carelessly would only play into his hands. Isabel steadied herself and replied calmly.
“There are many others of noble birth who walk the path of devotion. It’s not a matter of better or worse.”
“Many others? I see only one before me — a nun who risked her life to pay a tax.”
“If you mean financially, then yes, it was difficult. But that is the way of one who serves God.”
“You seem proud of that.”
“I am.”
She still couldn’t tell what Lionel wanted from her, but she believed that if she held firm to her role as a nun, she could endure this.
However, Lionel didn’t allow even that small reprieve.
“Then tell me — did you choose this path of your own will?”
The sharp question struck her heart like a blade.
As Isabel froze, unable to breathe, Lionel continued.
“Or were you forced onto this path by someone else?”
Isabel had been trained as a nun and had long accepted the title ‘servant of God’ as natural — but the feelings she had buried deep within stirred at his words.
Her hands trembled as she fought to stay composed. Lionel’s gaze pierced her as if he could see straight through her soul.
“If it was your chosen path, I want to hear what enlightenment you found.
But if not — then tell me, who do you resent? God? Or mankind?”
The question was cruel — yet strangely gentle.
Because even in her confusion, Lionel was guiding the direction of the conversation for her.
This was Isabel’s chance.
If she rebuked the prince’s arrogance for questioning God, and instead preached of forgiveness and mercy, she could prove her faith.
But she couldn’t open her mouth. Silence filled the air.
Lionel spoke again, almost amused.
“I hope it’s both.”
The words cornered Isabel completely. But at the very edge of that precipice, her reason returned. Her nature was to grow calmer the worse things became.
“He’s not sane.”
This prince was somewhat mad. Once she reached that conclusion, the sting of his words dulled a little.
Steeling herself, Isabel answered coldly and precisely.
“It has been three years since I freed myself from the things Your Highness speaks of. Forgive my boldness, but it was none other than you who shattered my peaceful life.”
“That’s true. And?”
“Even so, I do not resent you, Your Highness. So please, do not insult me. I beg you.”
Lionel scoffed, his lips curling faintly.
“If I truly meant to insult you, do you think we’d still be sitting at a table talking like this?”
One more word from him, and the terrible thoughts she’d had the night before might become reality.
When Isabel fell silent again, Lionel regarded her quietly, then tapped the table.
“That’s enough for today. It was somewhat entertaining, but you’re still unprepared.”
The conversation ended abruptly. Perhaps he was sparing her since it was their first meeting.
As Isabel finally relaxed a little, letting out a quiet sigh, Lionel called the waiting maid back in.
“We’re done here. Escort the nun to the guest room in the eastern tower.”
“Yes, Your Highness. Shall I return to my other duties afterward?”
“I’ll give you new orders tomorrow.”
Only then did Isabel realize — her worth within this palace had just been quietly diminished.
