Episode 4
Isabel, who had fallen asleep almost as if fainting, only woke when a maid came knocking to deliver her schedule.
“His Highness has granted you an audience before the morning council. You should prepare right away.”
“…Understood.”
“There isn’t much time, so I’ll bring in the wash water immediately.”
At that, other maids waiting outside entered with steaming water and a basin.
This treatment was far more fitting for a noble lady than a nun — but it was permitted only because Isabel now held the position of the Prince’s preacher.
Yet even in this courteous summons, she could feel the unmistakable pressure — the intent to test her.
Whatever his purpose was, thinking too deeply on her own wouldn’t yield an answer. Isabel simply washed her face with the warm water.
When she looked up, the maid handed her a towel.
“Allow me to comb your hair, Sister.”
Next to her lay an elegant brush and scented oil.
Isabel recognized the expression in the maid’s eyes — one she had often seen during her noble days, when attendants were desperate to adorn their lady.
If she didn’t stop her, the maid would likely insist on braiding or tying her hair. Isabel tried to decline politely.
“I am a nun. Such things are unnecessary — besides, I wear a veil.”
“But you are here not as a nun, but as a preacher. For His Highness’s dignity, please accept my help.”
Left with no excuse, Isabel reluctantly allowed it.
The brush ran softly through her hair, leaving a pleasant sensation, followed by the gentle scent of perfume.
After a moment of silence, the maid smiled faintly.
“I don’t know if I should say this, Sister… but it’s a bit of a pity.”
“A pity?”
“That someone with beauty sharp enough to be a weapon cannot use it — because she is a nun. Perhaps that, too, is God’s will?”
Isabel, who had once wielded real weapons, felt a dull ache in her chest at those words — but she said nothing.
Once her hair was done, she put on a clean habit, took her scripture, and followed the maid out.
After a long walk down the corridor, they arrived at a reception chamber — not the grand, imposing audience hall, but a smaller room meant for conversation.
He must really want to talk about something.
Though called a preacher, Isabel had no plan.
Only yesterday, she’d been prepared to die — and in truth, she’d never actually delivered a sermon before. She’d merely read scriptures aloud for others.
Nuns were rarely given the chance or authority to preach, so this was unsurprising.
And now, her first “congregant” was a prince. The only thing she could rely on was the scripture in her hands.
“Your Highness, Sister Isabel requests permission to enter.”
“Enter.”
Clutching the book tightly, Isabel stepped into the reception room. A long table stood in the center, with Lionel seated at its far end.
“Everyone but the nun, leave.”
The attendants quietly exited, leaving the two of them alone.
Lionel pointed with his quill to the seat opposite.
When Isabel sat, he continued writing on his papers, his tone businesslike.
“Have you been uncomfortable in any way?”
“No, Your Highness. Thank you for your consideration.”
At her honest gratitude, Lionel set the quill back in the ink and looked up.
“Good. Though I imagine there are other discomforts besides last night’s — speak freely and confess them.”
The question left her at a loss for words.
There were so many things she wanted to ask, yet she didn’t know where to begin — or how much she could say safely.
After a moment’s thought, she felt the weight of the scripture in her hands and cautiously spoke.
“Do you truly wish to hear my sermon, Your Highness?”
“I do.”
“Then may I begin now?”
“You may.”
She took a deep breath, opened the book, and began calmly.
The passage that came to mind was about Saint Martires, the martyr.
“Long ago, when the land of Iremez suffered a terrible drought and the people’s cries rose to heaven, Saint Martires—”
“Enough.”
When she looked up, Lionel’s indifferent eyes now carried a spark of irritation.
“Do you think I granted this precious time just to listen to scripture?”
“But, Your Highness—”
“Stop pretending to be a mere nun and preach. With your whole life on the line.”
For the first time, his face — always filled with cold boredom — showed a trace of intensity.
A chill of fear ran through Isabel.
He’s serious.
This was no act of petty cruelty. She could sense that clearly — and that terrified her.
“Your Highness, I am but an ordinary nun…”
“Were you born a nun?”
“No.”
“Then you had a life before the convent — and a different one after your vows. Tell me what enlightenment you’ve gained from that. That, to me, would be a sermon.”
No one had ever asked about Isabel’s past. Among nuns, it was an unspoken rule not to question each other’s origins.
But Lionel was not one to respect such boundaries — and, strangely, he seemed almost eager to know.
When Isabel hesitated and averted her gaze, Lionel tilted his head and smirked.
“When did you become a nun?”
“…Three years ago.”
“So before that, you were a noble.”
“Yes.”
“From which house?”
Lionel already seemed to know the answer.
Feeling a subtle threat, Isabel bit her lip. Lionel sighed.
“You seem clever, but not wise. If you stay silent to protect your house, I’ll just have my men find out for me.”
Cornered, Isabel finally spoke.
“The House of Baron Pienne.”
“Pienne, hmm… Never heard of it.”
Of course not. A minor barony in the Kingdom of Kalia would mean nothing to an imperial prince.
“All right. Then tell me — was life better as a nun than as a noble?”
The question was blunt, almost mocking.
It was deliberate provocation — and Isabel knew that reacting emotionally would be a mistake. She steadied herself.
“Many of noble birth choose the path of faith. It is not a matter of better or worse.”
“I don’t see ‘many’ here. Only one nun who risked her life over a head tax.”
“If Your Highness speaks of material matters, then yes — it was harsh. But such hardship is part of a servant of God’s life.”
“You sound proud of that.”
“I am.”
She still couldn’t tell what he wanted — but for now, maintaining her composure as a nun seemed the best defense.
Yet Lionel gave her no room to breathe.
“Then tell me — did you choose to become God’s servant willingly?”
The question struck like an arrow.
While Isabel froze, he continued, voice calm but piercing.
“Or were you forced into it — by someone else’s will?”
She had been trained to call herself a servant of God, to accept that as natural. But deep inside, she had long buried a different truth — and his words unearthed it.
Lionel’s gaze pierced through her like steel.
“If it was by choice, then tell me what revelation you found. If not… then I have a question.”
“….”
“Do you resent God — or humankind?”
It was a cruel question — and yet, in its own way, merciful. He was guiding her, giving her an opening to speak.
Now was her chance.
If she rebuked his arrogance and preached forgiveness and faith, she could prove her devotion.
“….”
But she couldn’t. No words came.
Lionel’s lips curved slightly.
“I’d prefer if it were both.”
That cornered her completely.
At the edge of her endurance, Isabel suddenly regained clarity. The sharper the crisis, the calmer she became.
He’s not sane.
That realization dulled the sting of his words.
Steeling herself, Isabel spoke firmly.
“It has been three years since I left behind the life you describe, Your Highness. With respect, it was you who shattered my peace.”
“That’s true. And so?”
“Even so, I do not resent you. So I ask — please, do not insult me.”
Lionel gave a low, mocking laugh.
“If I truly meant to insult you, do you think I’d be sitting here talking across a table?”
One more step, and this conversation might cross into something truly terrifying.
When she fell silent again, Lionel tapped the table lightly.
“That’s enough for today. It was mildly entertaining — but you’re not ready yet.”
The conversation ended abruptly. Perhaps he was showing lenience on their first day.
As Isabel exhaled in relief, Lionel called for a maid.
“We’re done here. Take the nun to the east tower guest room.”
“Yes, Your Highness. Shall I return to my other duties afterward?”
“I’ll have further orders tomorrow.”
Only then did Isabel realize — within this fortress, her status had just been demoted.
