ISTL CHAPTER 37

Bang―!
Pop! Bang!
A fist-sized ball zipped back and forth between the rackets, gaining momentum with every exchange. The two men, energetically chasing the ball and slamming it back over the court, were breathing heavily.
At first glance, it seemed like their skills were evenly matched. But as nearly an hour of back-and-forth passed, the tide began to shift dramatically. The ball, which had been tracing predictable paths, suddenly veered sharply off course.
“Argh!”
With a groan, the racket swung out in vain, just missing the ball by a hair. Camille, now on his knees and panting as he watched the ball roll out of bounds, muttered under his breath.
“I lost! Damn, you’re a scary guy.”
“When have you ever won against me?”
Despite his own declaration of surrender, Camille chucked a water bottle at his smug opponent.
“What’s gotten you so cranky, our youngest prince?”
“Me? Not at all.”
Max, casually wiping his mouth after a quick drink, shot him a glance. His shirt, soaked in sweat, clung to his chest, which rose and fell heavily through the partially undone buttons.
“You can fool anyone else, but not me. One look, and I can tell you’re seething.”
“I swear, there’s never been a more peaceful time than now. Everything’s quiet, no one’s bothering me, and I’ve never felt this at ease.”
“Now you’re just scaring me with how hard you’re selling that.”
Ignoring Camille’s grumbles, Max made a point of displaying an exaggeratedly carefree expression. Setting down the water bottle, he grabbed his racket again.
“One more round?”
“Are you serious? We’ve been at it for an hour and a half! I don’t even have the strength to hold the racket anymore.”
“Quit whining.”
“If this is some new form of torment, could you at least just say so? If I’ve done something wrong, we can talk it out.”
Camille flopped onto the court dramatically, defying Max with an exaggerated display of exhaustion. He was convinced that keeping up with his relentless friend would leave him in pieces. Clearly, Max assumed everyone shared his monstrous stamina.
“Why on earth did you come barging in at this hour just to torment me?”
Draining the last of his water, Camille waved at a servant in the distance to bring more.
“What’s got you so restless, Max? You can’t sit still for even a moment.”
It wasn’t as if Camille wanted to complain, but Max’s sudden intrusion had forced him to cancel his entire morning schedule. It was hard not to grumble about it.
“Or wait, were you bored? Did you miss me that much?”
“Don’t say creepy things like that.”
A mischievous grin spread across Camille’s face.
“Why so serious? Things have been going pretty well for you lately.”
“Camille Descente. Stop it!”
Camille suddenly burst into laughter and sat up abruptly.
“That woman! You said she wasn’t much of a talent, huh? Turns out she’s quite something! Stirring up scandals, making waves—Lady Bastian’s certainly proven herself. Looks like Her Majesty the Dowager Empress knew what she was doing. I never thought I’d live to see an article about Lady Bastian and Prince Max dating in my lifetime…”
“I think I’ve heard enough about that already.”
The calm façade Max tried to maintain quickly hardened. His discomfort was palpable. Ever since the article about him and Roxanne had been splashed across the morning papers, he’d been the center of incessant, unwanted attention.
And a good 80% of that bothersome attention was courtesy of Camille Descente and Dowager Empress Elise. Whenever Camille teased him, fully aware of the situation, Max felt an overwhelming urge to gag his longtime friend—especially at moments like this.
Annoyed? Me? Why would I be?
These days had been the quietest and most peaceful he could remember. Too quiet, even—as if everything had gone back to the way it was before.
Why hasn’t she come by?
Anaïs Brienne…
By now, she should’ve shown up with another absurd scheme, pestering him to join her in whatever harebrained plan she’d concocted. It was about time to humor her whimsical ideas again.
But ever since that day, there hadn’t been a single word from her.
Could something have happened?
Max immediately pushed the thought away. It was precisely these kinds of musings that annoyed him to no end.
Why on earth am I even worrying about Anaïs Brienne?
Camille, now holding a freshly refilled water bottle from a servant, took a long drink before speaking again.
“That Lady Anaïs Brienne—being the Dowager Empress’s aide is impressive enough, but no wonder she’s also the owner of a salon. You’d need that kind of skill to handle someone like Lady Amour.”
“Camille, do you still visit that Lady Amour?”
“Nope. Ever since Roxanne’s dating news broke, her consultations have stopped.”
“Stopped? The consultations?”
“Yeah. Probably because of all the backlash from people who’d gone to her hoping to win over Roxanne. Imagine putting in all that effort, only to find out some random scoundrel got to meet her instead. They must’ve gone wild.”
“……”
“Wouldn’t you feel the same? People want to vent their anger somewhere. But since they can’t exactly come throwing rocks at you—most folks value their lives too much for that…”
“And the salon?”
“It’s fine, as far as I know. Oh, right—speaking of, I saw Lady Brienne.”
Max’s tone subtly shifted as he asked, “You saw Brienne?”
“Yeah. At the Brienne estate…”
Camille trailed off, his eyes narrowing with a sly, amused look.
“Well, aren’t you just full of surprises? This might be the first time you’ve reacted so eagerly to something I said. What do you think?”
“What nonsense are you spouting?”
“Lady Brienne must be quite skilled—impressive enough to even manage a little behavior adjustment for you…”
“Camille. Stop the nonsense and finish what you were saying.”
“Well, I thought I’d take the chance to strike up a conversation since I was sure it was her. But she was with some man, so I decided against it.”
“…A man?”
Max’s brow furrowed deeply. A man around Anaïs? Besides the butler, who else could it be? As if reading his thoughts, Camille began recounting the situation.
“Since I’ve been in and out of the salon, I know the butler’s face. It wasn’t him. He was younger.”
“…”
A man younger than the butler. One name flashed in Max’s mind.
Otto Joslin.
‘Could it be that Joslin is approaching Anaïs again?’
Max thought it was entirely possible, considering Joslin’s obsessive persistence and perverse tendencies.
‘And Anaïs is being swayed by him again?’
Knowing Anaïs, who had a peculiar tendency to blur boundaries when it came to personal matters, Max considered it a real possibility.
That had to be why she hadn’t come to him with her usual trivial chatter.
“It didn’t feel right to interrupt and say hello— Hey! Where are you going?!”
Camille exclaimed in surprise as Max suddenly bolted upright. But without a word of explanation, he stormed out of the coatroom.
“He wouldn’t budge when I told him to leave earlier, and now this? What’s gotten into him?”
Left staring dumbfounded at the direction Max had disappeared to, Camille eventually slumped back into his seat in the coatroom.
***
For an artist, the atelier was a sanctuary, a place where inspiration for creation was born.
Anaïs’s decision to use an unused space in the salon as an atelier was influenced by her father. With a deep passion for art, her father had always wanted to help struggling artists who lacked the means or proper space to create.
As someone who ran a salon—essentially a hub for enjoying and sharing knowledge across various fields—he often said it was only natural to support artists in creating quality work.
Anaïs had naturally accepted and agreed with her father’s philosophy.
During financially difficult times, she couldn’t even think about pursuing it. However, she had promised herself that she would set up a studio in the salon as soon as the situation improved. Yet, having only a superficial understanding of what a studio entailed, she hesitated to act even when the time came.
In this context, Arthur Giverny’s appearance was a significant turning point.
He seamlessly organized what was needed to set up the atelier, from choosing art supplies to arranging them. There wasn’t a single detail that escaped his touch as an artist.
Anaïs now looked proudly at the well-appointed atelier.
The effort and passion poured into converting one of the salon’s six halls into an art studio felt entirely worth it.
“Lady Brienne, could you sit over there for a moment?”
Arthur gestured toward the platform in the center of the atelier. Without much thought, Anaïs sat on the chair atop the platform. Arthur began moving his hands briskly at the easel. Shh, shh. The graphite grazed the white canvas.
“What are you doing?”
“Do you remember the promise we made last time?”