Chapter 11

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: The First Invitation to the Royal Palace
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“You might have caught some filthy disease, so you’re not to come inside until we can confirm you’re clean!”

—Clank. Lucrezia and Isabella were true to their word. Using quarantine as a pretext, they locked Ariadne in the stables outside the manor the moment she returned from the Rambouillet Almshouse. The ridiculous part was that while they confined Ariadne under the guise of isolation, they took Maletta and Sancha inside immediately.

“And who is this child?”

Lucrezia’s sharp voice, upon first seeing Sancha, echoed through the corridor. Ariadne answered calmly.

“She is a child I brought from the almshouse.”

“Have you lost your mind? Who do you think you are, bringing in strays as you please?”

Lucrezia seemed genuinely offended.

“You are truly brazen. You say you’re sorry, that you were wrong, yet how can you be so willful with every single step you take?”

She gestured toward Sancha, who stood with her head bowed low, and shouted.

“I will not have this beggar in my house. Who knows what diseases she might be carrying? Throw her out at once!”

Just as the servants moved to drag Sancha away, Ariadne took a handkerchief from her dress and offered it to Lucrezia.

“Mother, please look at this.”

“What is this?”

Without so much as touching it, Lucrezia scanned the handkerchief with suspicious eyes. It was made of fine cotton gauze, adorned with lace at the corners. For something of Ariadne’s, it was far too luxurious.

“Don’t tell me you stole it.”

“Of course not!”

When Lucrezia refused to take it, Ariadne held out the handkerchief to show her the corner embroidered with ‘AFC’ in gold thread.

“It belongs to Prince Alfonso de Carlo.”

Lucrezia’s eyebrows shot up. The look in Isabella’s eyes changed as well.

“I happened to meet the Prince at the almshouse. I had only intended to care for this child while I was there, but His Highness praised Cardinal de Mare for his great virtue in taking in the poor.”

Ariadne continued, carefully observing Lucrezia’s reaction.

“Prince Alfonso seemed to think I was taking this child in to give her a job. I couldn’t bring myself to say otherwise… It would tarnish His Eminence the Cardinal’s name, would it not?”

Regardless of whether Ariadne used Prince Alfonso or Cardinal de Mare as an excuse, Lucrezia had no intention of tolerating any more of the trouble she caused. Cardinal de Mare was still scrutinizing her household accounts after she had siphoned money to her family under the pretext of hiring a tutor. The thought of presenting the Cardinal with ledgers showing unnecessary expenses because of Ariadne, and then having to face his wrath, brought on a headache and a sudden surge of irritation.

“You’re all talk! Such a silver tongue! Both of you, get out! Go on, hold hands and run off to the almshouse! Who do you take me for, acting so willfully?”

It was Isabella’s greed that broke through Lucrezia’s boiling anger.

“Prince Alfonso…? How did you meet him?”

Isabella’s violet eyes gleamed with avarice. Ariadne chose her words carefully, trying her best not to provoke Isabella.

“Since the Rambouillet Almshouse is managed by Her Majesty the Queen, I suppose he was there for an inspection. Prince Alfonso was present during the meal service for everyone at the almshouse.”

Upon hearing this, Isabella immediately turned to Lucrezia and began to plead.

“Mother! I want to go to the Rambouillet Almshouse next week!”

“Isabella! That’s no place for you to go!”

Lucrezia slapped Isabella’s shoulder.

“If you want to see the prince, there’s High Mass and there are tea parties! The almshouse is out of the question!”

Isabella seemed slightly annoyed, but after a deep sigh, she composed herself and gave Lucrezia a sweet smile.

“Mother, if I can’t go to the almshouse, then please take in that beggar child instead.”

“Now you’re acting on your own whims too? You think your mother is a pushover, don’t you?!”

“Oh, Mother, really. I’ll need a topic of conversation when I see the prince at a tea party, won’t I?”

Isabella retorted, chiding Lucrezia.

“Father won’t build any bridges for me with Prince Alfonso, so I have to use my wits like this! The least you could do is help!”

While Lucrezia was flustered by Isabella’s audacious tantrum, Isabella approached Ariadne and snatched the handkerchief.

“I’ll hold on to this.”

Ariadne instinctively tightened her grip on the handkerchief, a surge of resentment rising within her, but there was no way to refuse. She resisted for a moment before finally letting go. With Prince Alfonso’s handkerchief in hand, Isabella smiled brightly at Ariadne. Her flaxen hair swayed, and her delicate features seemed to sparkle like a fairy’s.

“You’ve done well.”

At Isabella’s tone, as if speaking to a servant, Ariadne clenched her jaw and struggled to keep her expression neutral. Playing handmaiden to Isabella. It was the same in this life as it was in her last.

“It was nothing, Sister.”

Lucrezia ordered Ariadne to be taken to the stables and went inside with Isabella and the rest of the household. Maletta and Sancha awkwardly followed at the end of the group. As Lucrezia turned her back and the others followed, creating a moment of commotion, Sancha took the opportunity to approach Ariadne. The small, thin girl whispered quietly.

“Thank you so much for saving me, my lady. I will surely repay this kindness.”

* * *

On a sunny day, as spring turned to summer, Ariadne—who had been living in the stables with rough planks for walls and straw for a mattress—received an unexpected summons.

“Lady Ariadne, the mistress says you are to come out, wash up, and get ready.”

It was Maletta, who had brought the still-in-training Sancha, announcing the end of her confinement. It was the tenth day.

“I was prepared for a month. What’s going on?”

Before Maletta could answer, the quick-witted Sancha spoke up.

“A carriage has come from the royal palace! They said it was specifically to escort Lady Ariadne!”

Ariadne grinned. It was an unexpected opportunity to repay Lucrezia for her ten days in the stables. Ariadne followed the maids up to her room on the third floor. In the small attic room lay a neat, ivory-colored silk dress and a pure white chemise befitting a noble lady to wear underneath. It wasn’t a particularly expensive outfit, but it was the prettiest thing she had laid hands on since her return. However, instead of coveting the dress, Ariadne turned to Sancha with a gentle smile.

“Child, let’s trade clothes.”

“Pardon?”

“The chemise. You wear that one. I’ll wear the one you have on.”

The maids were surprised. Moreover, Maletta’s expression soured when Ariadne singled out Sancha instead of her. Bewildered but obedient, Sancha took off the clothes she was wearing and handed them to Ariadne.

Ariadne changed out of her chemise into the one from her maid, Sancha, and then put on the dress the de Mare family had provided. Where the white lace of the chemise should have peeked out, the yellowish cotton of the undergarment showed instead. Ariadne simply combed her hair neatly, barely looking the part for an outing, and went downstairs.

* * *

“Mother, Mother! Why would Queen Marguerite suddenly invite us to Mass?”

“She must have heard of my beautiful Isabella and grown curious to see your face!”

Inside the carriage, the excited mother and daughter were putting on a parade of self-importance.

“The prince will be there too, won’t he? I brought the handkerchief, just in case.”

Isabella fluttered the handkerchief with the initials AFC. She had laundered it cleanly, scented it with perfume, and kept it preciously.

Isabella herself was done up like a porcelain doll. Rouge was applied to her lovely, fair skin to give it a rosy blush, and her eyelashes were darkened and thickened with a mixture of coal dust and oil. Her flaxen hair was styled in the fashion of the Porto Republic, half-tied up with the rest flowing down in waves.

The dress she wore was an ivory-colored day dress, the same color as Ariadne’s, but its luxuriousness was beyond compare. An already beautiful girl, adorned with such meticulous care, seemed to make everything around her dim, as if she were the sole source of light.

According to the customs of the Kingdom of Etruscan, a young lady who had not yet had her début could not wear colored cosmetics. Plain-faced and shabby, Ariadne kept her mouth shut like a clamshell and sat in the far corner of the carriage, trying to avoid comparison with Isabella while enduring the exasperating mother-daughter duo.

—Neigh! With a snort from the horses, the carriage arrived at Palazzo Carlo in the heart of San Carlo. After passing through the palace’s outer gates, the carriage stopped at the main inner entrance. A palace official greeted the affectionate mother and daughter as they alighted, with Ariadne following behind.

“Welcome to the family of Cardinal de Mare.”

The official elegantly avoided calling Lucrezia ‘madam’ or using the word ‘family’ for a clergyman. Instead, with impeccable court etiquette, he escorted the three of them to an outer receiving room used by Queen Marguerite for private Mass.

It was a small, modest, yet elegant chapel. At the altar, a priest in white vestments was just beginning to speak. In the front row, a dignified woman in her late thirties, her head covered with a mantilla, was bowing her head piously. Behind her, a few ladies-in-waiting were also about to begin their prayers. The priest was conducting the Mass in the language of the Kingdom of Gallico.

‘It’s Queen Marguerite.’

Ariadne had never seen Queen Marguerite in person in her past life, but she recognized her at once from her portraits. In truth, she would have known it was her even without the portraits. The queen’s noble bearing and attire immediately marked her as a lady of high birth.

—“Uh, what should we do?”

Lucrezia, who had no experience in meeting royalty, was at a loss and whispered to Isabella in a panic. It was proper to offer one’s greetings immediately upon being granted an audience with Her Majesty the Queen. However, to speak to the queen while she was praying would be a great discourtesy. Isabella was just as clueless.

Ariadne glanced at the flustered pair, then calmly took a seat a few rows behind Queen Marguerite and began to pray along with them.

—“Mother!”

Isabella was indeed quick-witted. She nudged Lucrezia’s side, motioning toward Ariadne, then quickly sat down beside her and began to pray as well. Though she rolled her eyes in annoyance that Ariadne had taken a good spot first, she knew this was the best course of action for now.

Once her eldest daughter was seated, Lucrezia also hesitantly sat beside her and began to pray.

“-And therefore the Gon of Jesarche sacrificed himself and saved the sinners, for they are imperfect yet still his children.”

The priest’s prayer was reaching its end.

“We can only ponder what went through Gon of Jesarche’s mind when he sacrificed himself for the immoral, selfish, dundering ones under his wings. The noble, rich, witful or spiritual ones must care for the others first before saving themselves in order to replicate Gon of Jesarche’s way of living. Amen.”

“Amen.”

The voices of the women in the small chapel echoed in unison. Isabella’s ‘Amen’, however, was particularly loud and clear, desperate as she was to catch the queen’s attention.

Had Isabella understood even a single word of the Mass? Ariadne instinctively frowned, but realizing her own agitation, she quickly smoothed the crease between her brows. Such a desperate, forced attempt to stand out was foolish. Had Isabella been ten years older, she never would have done such a thing. But for now, her cruel nemesis—the one who had skillfully tormented Ariadne her whole life and eventually succeeded in throwing her into the west tower—was nothing more than a seventeen-year-old adolescent girl.

At the unusually loud ‘Amen’, the lady in the mantilla turned around. Her hair was the same brilliant gold as her son’s. Sunlight, filtering through the stained-glass window, enveloped her gentle features. The queen’s expression was benevolent, but her blue-gray eyes were cold. Her gaze came to rest on Isabella.

Seeing the queen’s gaze, Ariadne, who was sitting next to Isabella, respectfully lowered her head once more.

Realizing Queen Marguerite’s eyes were on her, Isabella opened her mouth, driven by an instinctive desire for attention.

“Oh, my goodness…!”

All eyes snapped to Isabella.