Chapter 2
Religious orders were generally exempt from taxes.
The surface reason was that no secular ruler could demand payment from the servants of God.
The practical reason, however, was that their religious duties — such as performing sacraments — greatly benefited the administration of the realm.
Thus, the Chardonnay Convent, under the Church of Minesse, paid no taxes to the Kingdom of Kallia.
“Under the skies of the Empire, every living being must pay their due.”
But the land now belonged to the Alevan Empire, and the Empire taxed even its clergy — an unconditional collection enforced regardless of tradition or precedent.
So far, many had come to collect: minor tax officers, administrative agents, and more.
But this time, someone had arrived who could not simply be sent away.
“It’s coincidence that I came here, but I was told this convent has already been notified several times about imperial tax law. Why the repeated defiance?”
Prince Lionel was not a man who let irritations pass him by.
Just as he had personally executed a runaway knight, the fate of this convent too now rested entirely in his hands.
And there was only one person capable of handling the situation.
Lionel pointed her out with his finger.
“You there. What’s your name?”
“…Isabel.”
Isabel lowered her gaze slightly as she answered.
Lionel, knowing there was no amusement to be had in berating a nun’s manners, went straight to the point.
“You’re the only one here who understands Imperial?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Then you’re the one who turned away my officials every time they came, aren’t you?”
“…Yes.”
“Looks like I’ve found the problem.”
Like tightening a noose around his prey, Lionel closed in on her.
“There are thirteen of you in this convent. You defied a direct order to pay the proper head tax. Explain why.”
It was too late to beg for mercy or agree to pay — that would only make the punishment harsher.
Sensing that this would not end easily, Isabel steadied herself.
The suffocating pressure and exhaustion from the sleepless night pressed down on her, but she knew she had to remain calm.
‘Saying I need orders from the Church will mean nothing to him.’
She had managed to fend off officials before with excuses, but this time her opponent was an imperial prince.
Choosing her words carefully, Isabel spoke:
“Your Highness, please look kindly upon a humble convent. We are but servants of God, and the labor of thirteen sisters barely keeps us alive.”
“So it seems.”
“To demand tax from us — is that not the same as commanding us to seek wealth?”
Lionel scoffed.
“Head tax is hardly extortion. Wealth, you say?”
“To us, it is reality. No amount of work or higher prices for our goods would make up the difference. Do you truly wish us to abandon our charity and pastoral duties entirely?”
If the convent devoted itself solely to trade, they could perhaps afford the tax —
but that would make them slaves to the Empire.
Desperate, Isabel studied Lionel’s face. He was as cold and sharp as a blade.
‘No use… That’s the look of a man who will act.’
Lionel was not one to assert authority through mercy, but through punishment. Isabel, familiar with the ways of nobles, could read that easily.
She decided quickly: she had to draw his wrath toward herself — not the convent.
“Your Highness, you cannot enslave the servants of God.”
Her slight provocation made Lionel frown.
“Slaves, hmm? Slaves don’t pay taxes. Is that what you want to be?”
“…”
“Cat got your tongue?”
As Isabel remained silent with her eyes downcast, Lionel’s smile turned cruel.
“There’s another way, of course. If you’re all dead, you won’t have to pay at all… Shall I kill you here and now?”
He raised his sword, intent on frightening her into submission.
But Isabel, who had been waiting for the right moment, saw through his bluff instantly.
In her days training with knights, she had often sensed the precise moment when victory or defeat was decided.
This was that moment.
Calmly, she spoke:
“How, Your Highness?”
“Did you not see what this sword can do?”
“Will you strike down unarmed nuns yourself?”
“…”
“Or will you order your knights to do it for you?”
Only then did Lionel realize his mistake.
Since the death of the First Prince — once heir apparent — the nobles who had supported him had turned to back the princess instead, throwing succession into chaos.
To slaughter nuns now, merely to flex his authority, would invite both religious outrage and political backlash.
As if reading his thoughts, Isabel added:
“I’m sure Her Highness the Princess would be delighted to hear you massacred thirteen nuns.”
The guards immediately raised their spears, but Lionel merely looked at her quietly.
Their gazes locked in silence.
He couldn’t kill all the nuns.
But if Isabel took responsibility and offered her life, he could execute her — as both warning and release — and the matter would be neatly resolved.
Her mention of royal politics even gave him the perfect justification.
Let my blood be enough.
If Lionel decided to punish them, he could seize even their winter provisions under the pretext of tax — and that would doom them all.
If her life could send him away, that would be the better choice.
If she survived the day, the parish would soon be reorganized, and a priest would return to take charge.
Beyond that, she did not think.
As the guards began to approach, Isabel felt a deep weariness.
“Enough.”
Lionel suddenly halted them.
“You’re right, Sister Isabel. I can’t kill you.”
Isabel’s normally calm face flickered with surprise — and the prince found that expression rather beautiful.
“You have quite the nerve. Very well. If you can do one thing for me, I’ll exempt this convent from the head tax.”
“…What is it?”
“Take your own life.”
A nun who kills herself finds no salvation — only eternal disgrace.
From the moment she had defied him, Lionel had been waiting for this opportunity.
It would have been easy to take her head —
but somehow, killing her outright felt like a waste. He preferred to toy with her first.
He wanted to see how this woman, prepared to die, would react when asked to die the worst death of all.
But Isabel’s reaction defied expectation. She remained calm.
She stepped toward one of the guards holding a spear and extended her hand.
“May I borrow your dagger?”
The knight hesitated when he saw her missing pinky, but then drew his dagger and handed it over.
Isabel studied the blade for a moment, then brought it to her neck.
“This is a sacred promise, Your Highness. Please keep your word.”
“…Are you truly afraid of nothing?”
Lionel had seen many deaths. Some faced it silently —
but never had he seen anyone so calm, so utterly unafraid.
And she was a nun — one who should recoil at even the thought of suicide.
Fascinated, he watched as Isabel spoke slowly:
“I kept vigil all night beside a dying man today. Then I watched a knight be executed. Both blamed me for their deaths.”
“…What?”
“It seems now it’s my turn — the third.”
Her voice was heavy, as if something dark and sticky clung to it.
For a brief instant, she overwhelmed everyone present.
The air turned cold and sharp.
“You think words like that will make me flinch?” Lionel said.
“Then don’t blink. Watch closely — and see the price of your promise.”
Without a tremor, Isabel drew a long breath.
A pale mist escaped her lips into the winter air.
She closed her eyes, watching the last breath she might ever take dissolve into white.
She had tried to live, but she was so very tired.
She had attempted suicide once before, three years ago.
This time, she had a reason. There was no turning back.
Shhk—
The blade touched her throat.
The bite of cold steel against her skin was dreadful —
but Isabel did not stop. She began to draw the knife—
“Wait.”
A firm hand seized her wrist.
Opening her eyes, she found Lionel standing before her, holding her still.
“Isabel. You’ve beaten me twice.”
He had wanted to see her die — the insolent woman who dared defy a prince —
yet as he stopped her, Lionel realized, unwillingly, that she had shaken him.
But even conceding twice to one woman did not mean the trial was over.
“Let’s change the terms,” he said quietly.
“Come with me. I want to hear more of your preaching.”
What was he plotting?
She could not tell — but for now, accepting was safer than refusing.
“In exchange for your service as a preacher, I’ll grant this convent tax exemption, and my protection.”
Isabel turned to the sisters beside her. They were trembling, not understanding what was happening.
After a moment, she nodded.
“…As you command.”
Even after hearing her answer, Lionel did not release her wrist.
His eyes gleamed like those of a predator fascinated by its prey.
Isabel met that cold gaze and pressed her lips together tightly.
