Chapter 25 Forgive Me

Geoffrey drew Lord Garraway aside, his tone low and urgent. “Did Isolde truly save Lord Theodric? Could this be some fabrication?”

Lord Garraway’s face darkened. “What nonsense is this? Didn’t she tell you? That day, Isolde was taken to Wolf Mountain. She escaped alongside the Marshal and saved my son. Isolde even slew several bandits herself—Marshal Brackenfell witnessed it with his own eyes. Do you think such a thing could be feigned?”

Geoffrey’s chest tightened. He remembered that night, before raising the family whip. Isolde had looked at him, her sorrowful eyes pleading as she spoke: I killed the bandits. Do you believe me? Of course he hadn’t. A girl, slaying bandits? Impossible.

His gaze snapped to Matilda, his temper flaring despite Princess Aveline’s presence. “What about this scholar you mentioned? Where is he?”

Matilda, still reeling from the truth, stammered in alarm at Geoffrey’s anger. “I… I don’t know! It was the maid who said so—or was it the soldier at the gate?”

Her frustration simmered. Isolde saved Lord Theodric? Thank the heavens the engagement was annulled, or Eleanor would never have set foot in the Marquis’s household.

Princess Aveline turned to Isolde, gently taking her hand. Though she pieced together enough, she refrained from probing further. “Your injuries didn’t seem so grave that day. What happened? Are you alright?”

Isolde smiled faintly, pale and weary. “I’m fine, Your Highness. Please don’t trouble yourself.”

“How could they be so cruel?” Aveline hissed, her voice shaking as she caught sight of the whip marks—raw and festering—on Isolde’s scalp. Glaring daggers at Geoffrey, she growled, “What sort of father allows this?”

“Disregard for the house’s laws must be punished,” Isolde replied quietly, her tone devoid of feeling.

Matilda stepped forward, her voice soft, coaxing. “Isolde, my dear, why didn’t you say you went to save someone? You stubborn child. If you’d explained, your father would have praised you, not punished you.”

Isolde instinctively pulled back, her gaze cutting past Matilda to rest on Geoffrey. With a faint, bitter smile, she murmured, “Indeed. If I’d told him, how could he have brought himself to strike me?”

Geoffrey said nothing, though his heart was a storm of regret. She had told him—and he had punished her anyway. He remembered her tear-filled, furious eyes, the clenched fists as she demanded, “Why don’t you ever believe me?”

The girl who had once been so fierce and defiant now stood before him, frail and lifeless, her indifference stinging sharper than any words. The contrast unsettled him deeply.

Princess Aveline’s voice broke the silence, sharp with reproach. “Your family’s rules are not mine to question, but she is still your daughter—your flesh and blood. A motherless child from birth, and yet you treat her so mercilessly? Even if she’s at fault, how can you raise your hand against her like this?”

Geoffrey’s unease deepened. He had seen Isolde’s tears only moments ago, and it felt as if something vital had been broken.

Lord Garraway seized the moment, pulling Geoffrey into the courtyard for a quiet word. “Geoffrey,” he began, sighing, “your late wife bore only this one daughter. How could you be so cruel?”

Geoffrey’s expression hardened as he turned his thoughts to the past. “If not for Isolde’s birth, Prunella might still be alive…”

Garraway shook his head in disbelief. “When Prunella carried Isolde, the physician warned her—childbirth might cost her life. Yet she chose to bring the girl into this world. She loved Isolde more than life itself! Can’t you see? If Prunella could witness this now, do you think she’d rest easy?”

Geoffrey faltered, his sorrow raw. “You don’t understand. I sent her away to the estate all these years because every time I see her, I remember how Prunella died.”

“Fool!” Lord Garraway’s voice was sharp, his frustration spilling over. “How can you blame her for that? She’s the one who suffers most—motherless from birth, shunned by her father. And you sent her away like some shameful burden? When my son was taken, I would have gladly traded my life for his!”

Garraway’s tone softened, though it was heavy with reproach. “We’ve been friends for decades, Geoffrey, so forgive my bluntness—but you’ve been far too harsh, too unfeeling toward this child.”

Geoffrey’s heart quivered. Princess Aveline, unwilling to let the matter rest, insisted on summoning the royal physician to tend to Isolde’s wounds. At her urging, Isolde led the group to the Pearl Tower.

“You poor child, what hardship you’ve suffered!” Princess Aveline gasped softly as she inspected the wounds.

Isolde offered a faint smile. “It’s nothing.” But there was much bitterness and defiance hidden behind that simple word.

Princess Aveline chose not to dwell on matters of the inner household. Instead, she said gently, “If anyone troubles you again, come to me.”

Isolde’s lips curled faintly. “Your Grace, here in the Duke’s estate, the only one who can torment me is my father. No one else would dare lay a finger on me.”

Princess Aveline exhaled softly, her gaze shadowed with concern. “Seeing your strength gives me some comfort. Your father… Ah,” she paused, careful with her words. “He is a good man. Loyal to his duty.”

Isolde’s voice turned cool. “Indeed. A loyal man. A good man. But to her, he had shown none of that goodness.”

The physician arrived swiftly. At the sight of Isolde’s wounds, he drew a sharp breath. “Why wasn’t this treated sooner? The wound is infected—pus has already set in.”

He opened his medical case, signaling for a healer to cleanse the injury. Then, he carefully ground fresh medicinal powder. Once finished, he handed Noelle a prescription. “The infection is severe, and the fever high. I’ve prescribed a strong dose. Isolde will feel drowsy after taking it, but it’s nothing to worry about. Let her sleep—it’s what she needs most now.”

Princess Aveline personally escorted the physician, murmuring a few instructions to Noelle before leaving. As she departed, she left her personal guard, Keith, to keep watch over Isolde.

That night, Geoffrey appeared unannounced at Pearl Tower. He came alone, his shadowed figure looming in the doorway. The dim light blurred the harsh lines of his face, casting him as something less than human—something more like a ghost.

Inside, Isolde was having her bandages changed. Strips of bloodied gauze, thick with pus, lay discarded on the floor, a grim testament to her suffering.

Geoffrey hesitated, his gaze faltering. Is this truly the result of my hand? He hadn’t realized he’d struck so hard. And if her wounds were this severe, how did she manage to step out into the storm last night? Had I… wronged her after all?

Noticing his arrival, Noelle paused, ready to bow.

“Don’t stop,” Geoffrey said hoarsely, stepping into the room.

Noelle obeyed, carefully finishing the dressing before gathering the sullied bandages and leaving the two of them alone.

Geoffrey sat in a chair, silent for a long while before finally speaking. “Are you feeling any better?”

Isolde’s reply was curt, cold. “I’m not dying, if that’s what you mean.”

His brow furrowed, his voice quieter than before. “Do you hate me?”

Isolde smiled faintly, but there was no warmth in it. “Hate? Why waste the effort? You’re nothing more than a stranger to me.”

His expression wavered. “Must you always speak so cruelly?”

Isolde’s smile deepened, sharp with bitterness. “I was born of a mother but never taught by one. Forgive me, Your Grace, if I lack the manners you prefer.”

Chapter 26 Let You Off