Chapter 395: Embarrassing Words

Nicole blushed. “Stop it. There’s nothing certain yet—you’re getting ahead of yourself.”

Isolde smiled. “Tomorrow, when I enter the palace for my audience with Queen Mother, I’ll bring it up to the princess.”

Nicole’s emotions wavered between excitement and anxiety. It wasn’t that she thought too lowly of herself, but given her family—her disgraceful parents and her brother’s reputation—who in Argentum’s noble circles would take her seriously? Yet still… she couldn’t help but hope.

The next morning, Isolde woke early.

“You could sleep in a little longer,” Esme urged. “Queen Mother has other consorts to receive first. You won’t need to be there immediately.”

“I couldn’t sleep anyway,” Isolde admitted. She hadn’t rested well—her dreams had been muddled, and her mind was restless.

Noelle prepared warm water for her to wash, while Esme applied a light powder to mask the dark circles beneath her eyes.

“How does your chest feel today?” Esme asked.

“Better. Oliver left me medicine. I took one last night and woke up feeling less suffocated.”

“Good. Take another after breakfast,” Esme instructed.

Isolde chuckled. “This medicine is rare. I shouldn’t waste it.”

“Your health is more important. If we need more, we’ll find a way,” Esme said firmly.

“Fine, fine. I’ll take another dose.”

After breakfast, Isolde swallowed another pill before setting off. For this visit to the palace, she only brought Esme along. Hattie and Hazel remained at the estate to manage affairs.

Upon arriving at Mystic Palace, Rowena led them to a side chamber. “Queen Mother will see you shortly. The consorts should be leaving soon.”

“Thank you,” Isolde said.

Rowena studied her face. “You look better today. Oliver was so anxious when he came seeking medicine for you—Queen Mother was worried as well. Take care of yourself.”

Isolde felt a pang of warmth. “I will. Thank you.”

Rowena stepped out, but instead of the expected ten-minute wait, it was fifteen before she returned.

“Ashley was meant to come pay respects this morning as well,” Rowena explained, “but her attendants claimed she was unwell and had summoned an imperial physician. She will arrive later. The other consorts have now left. Queen Mother is ready for you.”

Isolde nodded and followed her inside. The palace attendants were clearing away tea sets when they entered. Thelma sat at the head of the room, draped in elegant robes, her expression calm yet weary. Across from her, Queen Catherine was nibbling on snacks. At Isolde’s arrival, Catherine put down her treats and studied her closely.

Isolde stepped forward, kneeling. “Your Majesties, I greet you both. May you enjoy peace and longevity.”

Catherine’s gaze softened. “Your father’s funeral is settled?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Catherine sighed. “Such a pity. He may not have been as sharp in recent years, but once, he was a formidable man.”

Thelma cast her a glance but said nothing. Some people, no matter how often corrected, never learned the art of diplomacy.

Isolde knelt deeper. “I have come to express my gratitude for Your Majesties’ kindness and grace.”

Catherine gestured. “Rise, rise. The floor is cold. And oh, you poor thing—no parents left, and your husband is an orphan as well. Truly, you two are pitiful.”

Isolde hesitated, unsure how to respond to such blunt words.

“Sit down,” Catherine said, waving a hand.

Isolde bowed again and took her seat.

“Bring her something warm to drink,” Catherine ordered. “Look at her, pale as a ghost. Haven’t been sleeping, have you? So tragic. Orphans are truly the most unfortunate in this world.”

Thelma resisted the urge to sigh. Catherine had developed a newfound sense of compassion in recent years, but her words had yet to catch up with her intentions.

Judith approached with a steaming bowl. “Queen Mother prepared this tonic for you, Lady Isolde. She had it brewing early this morning, knowing you’d be coming. Drink while it’s hot.”

Isolde looked at Thelma gratefully. “Thank you, Queen Mother.”

“Drink,” Thelma said simply.

Catherine leaned forward. “What’s this about? Are you ill?”

“You must be careful with your health. You’re still young. Grief is one thing, but don’t let it consume you.” Catherine sighed deeply. “Truly tragic.”

Isolde silently sipped her tonic, willing herself not to cry.

“You know,” Catherine mused, “I still don’t understand why Geoffrey hanged himself. So many ways to go, but hanging? I heard the body stiffens horribly. The tongue sticks out. And then there’s the… loss of bodily control. When they cut him down, there must have been… a mess.”

Isolde froze mid-sip, her hands trembling. She had expected sympathy. Not this. She could barely swallow. Her chest constricted, the air around her growing suffocating.

“Lady Isolde, don’t be too heartbroken—”

Thelma shot Catherine a glare. “Judith, bring Queen Catherine another plate of snacks.”

Catherine waved a hand. “I’m not hungry anymore. Talking about this makes me feel anxious.”

Thelma’s patience thinned. “Then perhaps I should have medicine sent to your palace. You can rest there instead?”

“Oh, don’t trouble yourself! I’ll just take the tonic here. No need for all that hassle.” Catherine beamed, entirely oblivious.

Thelma exhaled slowly, reigning in her irritation. Catherine was well-meaning. Truly, she was. But her words? Like daggers. Unintentional, yet cutting all the same. And worst of all—she had no idea.