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Chapter 5
The maid Yulia spoke to Isabelle soothingly.
“Don’t worry too much, Sister. If it’s the eastern tower rather than the western one, it’s still okay.”
“Still?” Isabelle asked.
“Yes. Take it to mean His Highness still has expectations of you.”
Today he had lowered his opinion in a disappointing way, but it didn’t seem like he thought she deserved immediate punishment.
Isabelle let out a small sigh—unsure whether she should feel relieved or not—and Yulia encouraged her.
“So do your best tomorrow.”
“Do my best… at what?”
“Isn’t that something only you should know, Sister?”
It was a fair point, but whenever Isabelle thought of Lionel, her head throbbed.
She crossed the castle and climbed the stairs for a long while; the place she arrived at now was much more shabby than before.
Still, it was better than being thrown into a cell, so Isabelle was satisfied.
“I’ll bring your things and blanket. I’m glad I can look after you until tomorrow.”
“…Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. I’ll come at noon. Rest.”
After Yulia left, Isabelle looked around the room and then plopped down by the bed. Now she thought she understood something.
Yesterday Lionel had admitted to losing twice. That’s why she had been given a good room.
But today he had shaken his faith in her as both preacher and nun. That was why she had been sent to this old, cold place.
It could be seen as transparent policy—yet to treat someone so differently after just one day felt like nothing but intimidation to manipulate people.
“So this is how he handles things…”
Isabelle muttered and stared up at the ceiling. The conversation with Lionel replayed in her head.
She had been ashamed she couldn’t mount a proper rebuttal.
But regretting it after the fact couldn’t change anything.
The more Isabelle tried to gauge Lionel, the more he seemed to have sized her up and seen straight through her. His insight was simply a little sharper.
“I’ll have to do it again tomorrow…?”
It was an act done with the readiness to die.
Rather than be crushed or resigned, Isabelle felt a desire to strike back and repay him.
She had never imagined she would be toyed with like this, but having gone through it once, she had a rough idea of the atmosphere.
At least it wasn’t a one-sided beating; she could probably find a way out.
“Hmm.”
Isabelle closed her eyes and pictured his black hair.
Lionel was princely—authoritative and extreme. He had no qualms about finding a person’s weak spot and squeezing it.
Yet he gave multiple chances to those who interested him. The fact he hadn’t crushed Isabelle with his power was proof of that.
Isabelle considered how to steer that interest.
‘The sermon is only part of it.’
Although Lionel had explicitly requested a sermon, it didn’t have to be limited to that form.
She set the scripture book she had been holding down by the bed. It seemed unlikely she would actually be reading from it.
The next morning Isabelle was summoned to the audience chamber again.
As yesterday, Lionel dismissed the others and then set down his quill.
“Were you uncomfortable in any way?”
“No, Your Highness.”
Although she’d shivered from the cold, Isabelle answered composedly; she didn’t want to show it.
Lionel continued in a dry tone.
“You look better today. Are you prepared to give the sermon now?”
“Your Highness, there is something I would like to ask in preparation.”
Isabelle spoke up at once.
She had spent all day yesterday thinking about how to run the sermon, and her conclusion narrowed to one plan.
To take the initiative from the start.
“If Your Highness wishes to make a confession, I will hear it.”
“What did you say?”
Hearing her audacious offer to pardon the prince’s sins, Lionel’s face registered surprise for the first time.
“Does the Minest faith grant nuns the authority to administer confession?”
“No. But is that important right now?”
“Hah.”
It would have been an overreach worthy of severe discipline from the church for someone who was not a priest to perform a confession, but Isabelle didn’t care. She had judged that Lionel was not the kind to worry about such matters.
“Do as you please.”
As she expected, Lionel accepted her proposal.
It could be interpreted as the magnanimity of the strong, but more than that it seemed her suggestion had piqued his curiosity.
Isabelle pulled her veil down over her face. Since this room was now a confessional, she would not look at her penitent’s face.
Having seized the initiative, it was time to begin.
“Have you made a confession recently?”
“It’s been more than five years, I think.”
“If you have any sins you’ve kept inside, please tell me.”
“Sins… Recently I threatened a nun and detained her.”
It was a brazen answer.
Isabelle was nearly speechless at his brazenness and intimidation, but she asked calmly:
“Why did you do that?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out myself. I may never find the reason.”
Isabelle did not question him further—she understood clearly that the point was to remind her she was being tested even now.
In the suffocating tension, she lifted her gaze toward Lionel. His eyes were not easy to see behind the veil, but she felt certain he was looking straight at her.
Through the thin barrier, their gazes met.
Lionel broke the heavy silence.
“Do you forgive sins without reason?”
Isabelle hadn’t expected him to use the word forgive, and startled, she kept her composure.
“I hope you will seek a reason.”
“You ask if I forgive.”
“…There is no sin that cannot be forgiven.”
As a nun, there was no other way for Isabelle to answer.
This was not how she’d wanted things to go.
She felt toyed with by Lionel. Adjusting her veil, she moved to the next point.
“Tell me another sin.”
“Killing someone who must be killed isn’t a sin, is it?”
“That requires careful consideration.”
“If we started to examine each thing like that, we could spend all day.”
“You may take several days.”
Isabelle meant to hear the prince’s confession seriously.
But Lionel was not patient.
“Forget past sins. What about sins you will commit in the future?”
Suddenly the atmosphere shifted.
If before he’d humored the insolent nun, now his cruel true nature surfaced.
As though pledging to sin to the fullest extent.
Facing such clear malice, Isabelle unconsciously clenched her hands. Past memories crawled from her fingertips up through her arms and encased her body.
In pain, she asked:
“What sins will you commit?”
“Anything.”
“…Will you kill the nun you’re holding?”
Even though she knew the question would plummet her chances of survival the moment she asked, Isabelle couldn’t help but ask.
Lionel answered in a voice like a cold blade.
“Yes. I’ll kill her. Kill the nun, kill the duke, kill my sister. Kill them all. Everyone.”
Hearing him repeat his chilling resolve, he felt completely different from the man who minutes earlier had asked about forgiveness.
Something was driving Lionel forward. Isabelle couldn’t tell what it was.
When she felt the urge to lift her veil and look at his face, Lionel spoke.
“Isabelle.”
“…Yes, Your Highness.”
“You win today. Go back.”
Victory or defeat didn’t really matter. Isabelle wanted to continue the confession now.
But it wasn’t the moment to argue. She had a premonition that if she tried to hold him, he would crush her without mercy, so she took a step back.
The maid Yulia entered at the call, and Lionel ordered that Isabelle be moved again to a different lodging.
Once outside the audience chamber and having lifted her veil, Yulia said:
“You did it. Congratulations, Sister.”
“…Is this something to be congratulated for?”
“Of course. If His Highness has acknowledged you, congratulations should follow. This doesn’t happen often.”
Yulia chattered cheerfully as she guided Isabelle back to the guest room where she had stayed the first day.
“Would you like anything for lunch? His Highness will allow it, so I’ll ask him to have it brought.”
“I’m fine. Bread is enough for me.”
“How modest.”
Smiling brightly, Yulia closed the door and left.
“It’s exhausting…”
Because her nerves had been taut, as soon as she was alone the tension drained out and her whole body sagged.
Still, Isabelle did not lie down on the bed; she sat in a chair and fiddled with her veil.
Lionel’s voice—filled with murderous intent that could be felt even through the veil—came back to her.
He had said plainly he would kill her. He was not joking. He had once ordered a forced suicide and had spared someone only on a whim.
Yet Isabelle felt, not fear or rage, but a strange urge to comfort him.
“I must be out of my mind…”
Isabelle had always been aware that her own sanity was not quite sound.
But today she reflected on herself even more seriously than usual.
