The Swordswoman’s Revenge: After Betoth

Chapter 380: I Shall Submit a Memorial

Oliver faltered. “You’re still thinking of him… Have you stopped hating him?”

Isolde let out a bitter smile. “Hate! Resentment! Of course. But in the end, he is my father. And in Zlomond, he did save my life. Even without that, he is a general—just like us. A general’s fate should not be one of disgrace.”

“But if we don’t expose the truth, you’ll suffer for it. I can’t bear to see that,” Oliver sighed.

“I’m not afraid of suffering. In this life and the last, have I not endured enough? Just this once, listen to me—no pleading, not from you, not from my master. This will pass, in time.”

Oliver’s heart clenched. When they married, he had vowed she would never shed a tear, never endure hardship under his watch. But now? Mere days into their marriage, he was already failing her.

He gently cupped her face, his eyes dark with sorrow. “Alright. I’ll listen to you. But don’t worry. I’ll make sure justice is served.”

Isolde forced a smile, trying to make it look reassuring. Yet her eyes turned red with unshed tears.

Oliver pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly it was as if he could shield her from the world. “How can I let you bear this alone? I wanted to beat Arthur senseless and get thrown in with you. We swore to share joy and suffering together.”

“No. Absolutely not.” Isolde pushed away, blinking back tears. “I don’t know how long I’ll be locked away. What if Grandmother passes while I’m still inside? You must visit her for me, talk to her, remember everything she says, and tell me when I return.”

That was her greatest fear. When Esme had suggested fleeing, she had considered it—running until her grandmother was gone, then returning to accept her punishment. But if she fled, the King’s wrath would only intensify, and his vengeance would fall on the Valen and Sharp families. If her grandmother learned of it, it could be the final blow to her fragile health.

“Go to the palace. I’ll beg the Queen Mother for medicine. I promise—your grandmother will hold on until you return.” Oliver wiped away her tears.

“Alright. Alright.” Isolde quickly brushed at her face. “It’s time. I have to go.”

Oliver took her hand. “Then let’s go together.”

Arthur, watching from a distance, smirked as he saw Isolde emerge. He raised his hand. “Take her away.”

From the side entrance, Ashley watched the scene unfold, a satisfied smile curling on her lips. A person’s downfall always lay in their weaknesses. And Isolde’s weakness was her stubbornness, her inability to yield. Had she been more flexible, had she known when to bend, she wouldn’t have brought this disaster upon herself.

With that thought, she turned and left, her steps light and victorious. Removing Isolde meant eliminating her greatest obstacle.

Chapter 380: I Shall Submit a Memorial

News of her arrest quickly spread to the Langley and Sharp families.

Esme rushed to inform the Sharps, urging them to remain silent—to not alarm Garrett and Natasha, and most importantly, to not plead on Isolde’s behalf.

The Sharp family dared not tell Natasha. But staying out of the matter entirely? Impossible.

Kolton immediately sought out Princess Aveline. Aveline, in turn, brought Jonathan and Rosemary into the fold. Alongside Pablo, they all went to the palace to plead for Isolde. However, the King, already enraged, saw their intervention as further defiance. Isolde had first disobeyed filial duty, and now so many were pleading on her behalf, challenging his decree. His verdict was swift—if anyone else dared plead for her, he would have her executed for insubordination.

The words struck terror into the court. No one else dared to intervene.

Harlan had initially withheld the news from Geoffrey. But when he heard how the King had reacted, he panicked and rushed to inform him.

Geoffrey was not as ill as he had led others to believe. His injuries had mostly healed, but lingering ailments from his wounds still plagued him.

Upon hearing the news, he let out a deep sigh.

“Geoffrey, what do we do?” Harlan asked anxiously. “The Ministry of Justice’s prison is no place for Isolde. If even the Valen family can’t help her, what will become of her!”

Geoffrey remained silent, lost in thought. “There is nothing to be done. Defying an imperial decree—it was bound to enrage the King.”

“So that’s it? There’s no other way?” Harlan’s heart sank.

“No. There is no other way.” Geoffrey stepped outside. Snow had begun to fall, blanketing the world in white. He stared at it for a moment, dazed. “It’s snowing?”

“It has been for a while now,” Harlan answered. “Come back inside—it’s cold.”

“I’ve been to that prison before,” Geoffrey continued walking into the snow, his voice distant. “It’s as cold as today.”

Harlan frowned. “That place is freezing. How will Isolde survive it?”

“Windermount’s winters are harsh, too. The Belleview estate sits atop a mountain, encased in ice through the long months. The winds howl, strong enough to strip a man to the bone. If you walk too long outside, your ears might freeze off.”

“That’s an exaggeration,” Harlan muttered, fetching a cloak to drape over him. “But yes, the mountains are cold.”

“They burned coal for warmth in the estate,” Geoffrey continued, as if lost in memory. “No heated floors, just charcoal braziers. One winter, the doors and windows were sealed too tight. She nearly suffocated in her sleep… almost lost her life.”

Chapter 380: I Shall Submit a Memorial

A layer of fur-lined robes, heated walls in every room, a warm carriage for outings. Bryant and Michelle had fire-warmed beds, thick quilts in excess. They played in the snow, then came inside to steaming ginger tea.

Harlan swallowed hard. Geoffrey’s words carried an unbearable chill, slicing straight through the heart.

Slowly, Geoffrey turned to him and, with a sorrowful smile, said, “And yet, she alone was my true daughter. The rightful heiress of the Langley family. And I never protected her. For sixteen years, I shielded two children who were never mine, ensuring their every comfort, paving their future. But my own daughter? She was far away, buried in the ice of Windermount. Tell me, ten years ago on a night like this, what was she doing? Eleven years ago? And in those fourteen years that I never saw her—what was she enduring?”

“Stop. I can’t listen to this.” Harlan’s voice wavered with emotion.

But Geoffrey only smiled again. “And yet, despite all this, look at her now. How accomplished she has become.” It was a smile of pride—yet tinged with unbearable sorrow.

He stood there, letting the snow settle over him, unmoving, until finally, he turned.

“I am no longer fit to serve the court,” he said quietly. “I shall submit a memorial. Take it to Peyton and have him deliver it to the King.”

“What memorial?” Harlan asked, though he already suspected the answer.

“My resignation,” Geoffrey said, walking back inside with slow, weary steps.