Chapter 102

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 102
Chapter Title: An Increase in Affection or Something of the Sort
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Alfonso arrived in Taranto twice as disheveled as when he had reached San Carlo. Even for a man of great stamina, enduring two grueling journeys of three days and nights with less than twenty-four hours of rest in between was an unbearable feat. This was no different for the knights; of the ten who had set out to escort the prince, three had fallen behind along the way. Only eight, including the prince, made it back to Taranto on time. Thanks to this, Prince Alfonso perfectly fit the alibi he had given—that he was ‘unwell’—and collapsed into bed the moment he returned. As he lay there, his secretary, Bernardino, cautiously approached him.

“Your Highness, I understand you must be exhausted, but I have an urgent report for you.”

“Later, Dino.”

Alfonso had taken a bath upon his return, and the hot water had made his eyes close on their own. He was in no condition to listen to a report.

“It concerns Grand Duchess Lariesa…”

He really wasn't in the mood.

“Dino. Let’s deal with it in three hours.”

Alfonso placed an arm, clad in an indoor tunic, over his eyes to block the light, and Bernardino began to withdraw. Or rather, he was about to. *Slam!*

“Your Highness!”

“Gasp!”

Grand Duchess Lariesa had barged into the room. Bernardino cried out in alarm. His commendable attempt to let his master rest had failed. Bernardino threw himself in front of Lariesa, who had practically broken down the door, spreading his arms wide to hastily stop her.

“Your Grace! You cannot simply barge into a man’s chambers like this!”

But Grand Duchess Lariesa pushed Bernardino aside and stubbornly advanced toward Prince Alfonso’s bed.

“Your Highness!”

“…Grand Duchess?”

Alfonso looked utterly haggard. After a week of grueling travel, changing horses and riding for sixteen hours a day, he had lost at least three to four rotolos (about 3-4 kg). Dark circles shadowed his eyes from lack of sleep. In his dazed state, he even looked feverish. Seeing Alfonso so gaunt and pale, Lariesa gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.

“Your Highness… you really were ill.”

She reached out to touch Alfonso’s forehead.

“I’m sorry… I thought you were pretending to be sick because you didn’t want to see Lari. You really were ill.”

Alfonso instinctively turned his head, avoiding her touch. Lariesa either didn’t notice the prince’s blatant avoidance or simply didn’t care, as she tried to touch him again. A horrified Bernardino threw himself in front of her to block her way.

“Your Grace! You mustn’t do this! You must return to your chambers before anyone sees you!”

Bernardino called for a servant.

“Is anyone there? The guards… no, fetch Count Levien!”

He had instinctively called for the guards but changed his mind at the last second, opting for Count Levien. It wouldn’t do to have the guards drag out a Grand Duchess who was being treated as a foreign princess. But Lariesa remained unfazed even at the mention of Count Levien. It seemed the count was utterly ineffective at controlling her. Fortunately, Count Levien, who had been waiting nearby, rushed to Alfonso’s private chambers. As he had not received permission for an audience with the prince, he waited outside the room and called out to Lariesa pitifully.

“Your Grace! His Highness the Prince must rest! Please, come out! Please!”

His true feelings bled through in that final word. Only when she heard that the prince needed rest did Lariesa finally gasp and cover her mouth.

“That’s right, Your Highness. You need to rest.”

Alfonso and Bernardino, who had been tense with the fear that she might insist on nursing him, breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“Then Lari will leave ‘my Al’ for now.”

As she was about to leave, she paused and looked back. Meeting Alfonso’s eyes, Lariesa’s pale face bloomed into her usual simple smile as she added.

“My Al, you won’t forget your promise, will you?”

She then left Alfonso’s chambers, swaying the hem of her dress as if delighted. After the whirlwind that was the Grand Duchess of Valois had passed, Alfonso, now wide awake, glared at Bernardino.

“Dino. I believe you have a report for me.”

“Your Highness, as a matter of fact…”

“Who in the world is ‘Al’? Surely that’s not my pet name?”

“About that… I can explain everything.”

While Alfonso was away, Bernardino had pretended to be the prince and exchanged letters with Grand Duchess Lariesa.

“And a promise? What promise?”

“I will explain that now as well!”

“Let’s say you can explain it. Can you take responsibility for it?”

“I cannot take responsibility.”

Alfonso covered his face with a pillow and screamed.

***

Maletta stared at her undergarments in the washroom, her face a mask of dismay. Red blood. Another failure this month. Ippolito didn’t know it, but Maletta had been actively trying to conceive, eating everything said to be good for the body and even counting the days. Fifteen days after her monthly bleeding began, she would throw herself at Ippolito with desperation. The oblivious Ippolito simply enjoyed it, innocently pleased that she was taking the initiative. Maletta gritted her teeth. If only she could get pregnant, she could secure her position immediately! But that one crucial moment just wouldn’t align. There was a reason Maletta was so sure the young master would take responsibility if she became pregnant.

“Maletta, no matter what, you only have me, right?”

After returning to San Carlo, Ippolito’s attitude was a stark contrast to how he had been in Taranto; he cherished Maletta dearly. Maletta’s stay in Taranto had been surprisingly disappointing. In Taranto, Ippolito had often—no, quite frequently—left Maletta behind to go enjoy banquets with his friends. The same Ippolito who had sworn, ‘Maletta, I’ll be sure to take you into society this winter!’ as they left, had never once taken her to a formal party that required a partner. The only gatherings Maletta was able to attend were the card games Ippolito’s friends hosted under the guise of a ‘salon.’ After getting all dolled up with a swelling heart, she had entered the ‘salon’ only to find it filled with men puffing away on tobacco indoors, with her as the sole exception. Ah, there were other women. Courtesans, or serving maids. Maletta, who had imagined being introduced to society that day as the ‘future Mrs. de Mare,’ was so upset she almost lost her temper with Ippolito. What little comfort she found came from one of Ippolito’s friends.

“And who might this lady be?”

The nameless nobleman acknowledged Maletta with impeccable courtesy. His words lifted Maletta’s spirits, and she beamed. Unfamiliar with the speech of nobles, she didn't realize that this unfittingly excessive politeness was a form of sarcasm.

“Ah. You know, the one I told you about.”

Unfortunately, Ippolito, who was standing beside her, perfectly understood the man’s nuance and responded accordingly. He didn’t even use the word ‘lover,’ let alone mention that she was the woman he was going to marry, as Maletta had hoped.

“Ah, that one?”

The nobleman held up his little finger. Ippolito snickered and nodded. The nobleman clapped Ippolito on the shoulder.

“You’re going to have some fun.”

“Fun? What fun? You can see for yourself.”

“Still. Heh. I’m off.”

After that, word of Maletta’s position must have spread among the male guests, because some tried to grope her, others ordered her to pour them drinks, and one even told her to hold his cloak. Even for the thick-skinned Maletta, that day she had almost given up on her pursuit of the young master. But that Ippolito de Mare had changed.

“Maletta, you really only have me, right? You can’t live without me, can you?”

Maletta, who had once been like the tongue in Ippolito’s mouth, now had some built-up resentment and replied with a glare.

“Did you eat something bad, young master? Why are you acting so strange all of a sudden?”

“Come on, Maletta. You only have me. Just say it.”

“I don’t know.”

Maletta took this conversation as a sign that the scales of their relationship had tipped in her favor. But she failed to notice that Ippolito’s eyes had narrowed like a snake’s, observing something.

***

Alfonso heaved a long sigh after hearing Bernardino’s explanation.

“Dino… to think you did this while I was away…”

While Prince Alfonso was gone, Grand Duchess Lariesa had repeatedly pressed for a meeting. She had exploded when told that Alfonso was away visiting his second cousin, Bianca of Taranto, and thus couldn’t see her. She had caused a scene, demanding, ‘Am I a lower priority to you than your second cousin?’ Bernardino shook his head, saying that calling it a ‘scene’ was putting it mildly; it had been more like a natural disaster.

“Was there no other way to handle it?”

“I did my best.”

Bernardino replied grimly. At the time, Bernardino had been ghostwriting replies to Grand Duchess Lariesa’s morning letters, pretending to be Prince Alfonso. As a bachelor in his late thirties who knew nothing of a woman’s heart, he found it impossible to keep up with the ever-changing moods of an eighteen-year-old girl. So, Bernardino had simply placated her by agreeing to all of her demands.

“Your Highness, how on earth have you managed to keep that ticking time bomb so docile until now?”

Bernardino had surrendered to Grand Duchess Lariesa’s demand that they ‘create pet names for just the two of us since we’ll be married soon.’ As a result, they became ‘Lari’ and ‘Al.’ That dreadful pet name was something Alfonso had never even allowed for the Ariadne of the past. Prince Alfonso shuddered.

“You think it’s easy for me?”

“You have the makings of a king, truly!”

Grand Duchess Lariesa had demanded more. She said that upon their return to San Carlo, she wanted to visit the famous daffodil garden of Palazzo Carlo alone with Prince Alfonso. It was a romantic spot, where legend had it that one of the previous kings, Stefano I, had proposed to the ducal daughter, Brigitte of Taranto. Bernardino, of course, had no authority to force a schedule upon the prince. However, he was so desperate to prevent Grand Duchess Lariesa from making good on her threat to storm the prince’s bedroom that he had accepted, planning to make an excuse and refuse later.

“How is managing this type of person a talent for a king? It’s a talent for a subordinate.”

It was Alfonso’s rebuke, implying that soothing Lariesa was something Bernardino should have handled on his own.

“It is the same as inspiring and guiding a humble subordinate with your virtue. It is, of course, the talent of one destined to be king.”

Bernardino decided that for today, he would flatter him until his tongue wore out. In any case, Prince Alfonso would have to endure being called by a nauseating pet name and deal with the aftermath of canceling a date he had never agreed to. To make Alfonso feel even slightly better, he offered a word of consolation.

“Your Highness. Won’t you eventually have pet names after you’re married? Just think of it as taking a blow you were bound to get sooner rather than later.”

Alfonso gave Bernardino a strange look. An uneasy feeling crept over Bernardino as he met his young master’s gaze.

“Don’t tell me…”

Bernardino, too, had heard the news almost immediately after the prince had left. The story was that Cardinal de Mare’s deceased daughter was the youngest, Arabella, not the second daughter, Ariadne.

“…Please tell me it’s not true, Your Highness.”

“Your intuition is correct. I will not be marrying Grand Duchess Lariesa.”

Leaving his horrified secretary behind, Alfonso rose to his feet.

“I am going to speak with my father and mother.”