Chapter 23 Did You Do It?

Isolde slowly lifted her head, fixing him with an icy stare. “You don’t know? That’s unfortunate. I had thought… if you gave me Helena’s brother, I might spare your life. But it seems this deal is no longer on the table.” She rose gracefully, advancing toward him. The butler stumbled back in terror, his feet fumbling clumsily.

With deliberate ease, Isolde plucked the dagger embedded by the bed. The cold steel caught the dim light, flashing menacingly as she twirled it before him. Her smile sharpened. “I’ll give you one more chance—where is Helena’s brother?”

The butler swallowed hard. Mary’s grisly end replayed in his mind. His heart pounded, but pride gave him a shred of defiance.

“Lady Marilda,” he rasped, struggling to sound bold, “I’m no bonded servant of the Duke’s house, nor was I ever sold to it. If you kill me, you’ll answer for it—you can’t escape the noose.”

Isolde chuckled, soft and low. “A life for a life? Perhaps… But…” Her gaze turned sharper, predatory. “Who’s to say I killed you?”

The dagger’s blade pressed against his cheek, the chill biting deep. The butler froze, petrified, afraid to move a muscle.

“You… you’ll regret this,” he stammered, his voice trembling despite himself. “The Marshal and the Duke won’t let you go unpunished!”

The words had barely left his lips when Isolde’s hand moved. The blade swept in a clean line, slicing from the corner of his mouth to his ear. Blood streamed down his face as he screamed—a sound swallowed instantly by the rolling thunder outside.

Somewhere, Lady Cantrell fled, her skirts flapping as she disappeared into the storm. She had no mind to intervene, leaving the butler to his fate. The wind howled, the rain drummed incessantly, and no soul in the house dared come near.

At last, the butler’s spirit cracked. Sobbing through his pain, he croaked, “The woodshed… in my family’s woodshed…”

Isolde’s lips curved into a cruel smile. She yanked him to his feet, her voice soft and mocking, “Lead the way, then.”

The butler was dragged out. The pouring rain washed over his wound, making him cry out in pain. At the shed, Isolde kicked the door open. A jagged bolt of lightning split the heavens, briefly lighting the inside. There, huddled beside the firewood, was a small, trembling figure.

Even in that fleeting light, Isolde saw the scars etched across the boy’s face. Fury ignited in her eyes. In one smooth motion, the dagger flashed again. The butler howled, and two ragged pieces of his ears dropped to the muddy ground.

By the time his wife arrived with the maids, Isolde was long gone.

The storm raged on, fierce as the end of days, shaking the heavens and tearing through the earth. It wasn’t until dawn that the rain finally ceased.

At the Pearl Tower, the gates shuddered under a barrage of furious pounding—like thunder given form. Noelle opened the door to find Geoffrey striding in, followed by his butler with bandaged ears and Matilda trailing close behind, fury written across her face.

In the yard, Isolde was planting vegetables. Noelle had brought back seeds earlier, and Isolde intended to scatter them—simple labor for a life of self-reliance. She was a farmer returned to her place, knowing her role, as expected.

Hearing the racket, Isolde slowly stood, leaning on her hoe for support. A cold, defiant smile played across her lips as her gaze met the Duke’s. “Well, Your Grace, what an unexpected honor. To what do I owe this visit?”

Geoffrey’s face was shadowed with anger and disappointment. “You’re incorrigible. Sneaking out last night to seek revenge—what madness is this? If you have a score to settle, then settle it with me. I’m the one who struck you.”

Dragging her aching leg, Isolde limped forward, her voice sharp with mockery. “Your Grace, what accusation is this? Speak plainly. But if you wish me to raise my hand against you—my father, by name—surely such a sin would invite heaven’s wrath. I couldn’t dare, could I?”

The butler broke in, his voice booming with indignation. “My Lady, all I’ve done has been under His Grace’s and Madam’s orders. If I’ve offended you, punish me! Kill me, if you must. But what right have you to harm my family?”

Isolde’s laughter rang out, cold and cutting. “Your family was harmed? Well, perhaps you’ve made one too many enemies, and someone came knocking. Why lay that burden on me?”

Matilda’s voice rose, sharp and angry. “Isolde, the butler is no common servant—you’ve no right to treat him so! If he brings this to the magistrate, you’ll not escape.”

“Then let him go,” Isolde said coolly. “But if you wish to accuse me, evidence will be required.”

Matilda scoffed. “Evidence? The butler’s wives saw you. They’ll testify against you.”

Isolde’s smirk deepened. “Very well. Let’s take it to the High Magistrate. While we’re there, I’ll inquire about how Constable Harmon dragged me off in the dead of night on a trumped-up murder charge, drugged me, and sent me to Wolf Mountain. I’d love to hear the explanation.”

Geoffrey’s face paled. “What nonsense is this?”

Isolde’s gaze turned to him, her voice low, steady, and bitter. “You’ve already judged me, haven’t you? You asked Helena, you questioned the guards, you listened to Lady Blackwell and the butler. You believe you’ve uncovered the truth. But tell me, Your Grace—did you ever ask me?”

Geoffrey’s voice was cold. “The evidence is clear. How can you deny it? Even if I asked you outright, would you admit it?”

The anger on Isolde’s face disappeared in an instant. She seemed to steady herself, her expression calm, her eyes devoid of emotion.

“Very well,” she said softly.

Geoffrey froze, momentarily taken aback. He studied Isolde closely. Though not the most cunning man in the court, he had dealt with enough people to recognize true grievance. Could it be… I misjudged her?

No. The city guard had witnessed it firsthand. Helena had confessed. And the Duchess claimed Isolde had long been consorting with a scholar, exchanging furtive glances and secret notes. How could this be a false accusation?

Matilda seized the moment, her voice cutting through the silence. “Don’t change the subject, girl. You had the gall to do it, yet none to own up to it? You injured the steward last night—admit it. Apologize and offer proper compensation, and I’ll see to it you’re forgiven.”

Geoffrey turned back to Isolde, his tone grave. “Was it you?”

Standing alone, Isolde faced their scorn without flinching, her frail silhouette stark against the room’s tension. “If you say so.”

“It really was you?” Geoffrey’s disappointment cut deeper than his words. “You truly are… heartless.”

“Summon the authorities!” Matilda screeched, her voice shrill with triumph. “She’s confessed—let her face the consequences.”

Isolde’s lips curved into a faint, mocking smile. “Go ahead. Call them.”