Sister I am the Queen in This Life [Novel] Chapter 117

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 117
Chapter Title: Jealousy, the Seed of Doubt
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Ariadne and Alfonso strictly kept their promise.

Ariadne was seated in the front row of the general pews with Ippolito and Isabella.

The royal family passed by her, heading toward the royal balcony on the second floor.

Ariadne bowed her head to the passing royal family, paying her respects to Leo III, but she didn't even turn her head in Alfonso's direction.

Alfonso, too, stared straight ahead, rigid, not even glancing toward Ariadne.

Grand Duchess Lariesa, following a step behind Prince Alfonso, felt a slight sense of unease.

*Something... is strange.*

The Cardinal de Mare's second daughter and Prince Alfonso were clearly acquainted.

Prince Alfonso had rescued her at the masquerade ball when she was in a predicament because of Count Cesare.

A noble lady who had received such help would normally show some sign of recognition, if only out of courtesy.

But that young lady was completely ignoring the prince, as if she were carved from wood.

Besides, the kind Prince Alfonso would have at least offered a nod of acknowledgment, even during a royal procession.

This was the monthly High Mass, not an occasion that demanded strict protocol.

Yet now, even Prince Alfonso was calmly looking elsewhere, as if such a young lady didn't exist on this earth.

Lariesa wasn't particularly astute, so she couldn't clearly organize her thoughts or put any of this into words.

But she had a woman's intuition, a chilling feeling in her chest that wouldn't go away.

The feeling did not fade easily and lingered in her mind for a long time.

***

While one man had to pretend not to know Ariadne, another made a point of acknowledging her.

It was Count Cesare.

“Lady de Mare!”

As everyone was leaving the grand chapel after High Mass, he went out of his way to push through the crowd heading for the exit and greet Ariadne, who was seated in the front row.

“It has been too long. Upon my return to San Carlo, I was greeted by a profusion of spring blossoms, but the most beautiful of them all is you, my lady!”

Ariadne replied with a faint sneer on her lips.

She was dressed in mourning for Lucrezia.

“Do spring blossoms bloom in black these days?”

Undeterred, Cesare retorted.

“The black tulips of Tulle are this spring's 'it' item.”

He flashed a grin, revealing his white teeth.

Ariadne couldn't help but let out a small laugh.

“You haven't changed a bit, Count de Como.”

“Cesare. We agreed to drop the formalities, didn't we?”

Ariadne frowned and replied.

“We agreed to use first names instead of surnames, not to drop formalities entirely.”

“My, so you remembered our agreement about names but are deliberately keeping your distance?”

Count Cesare accused her with a playful smile.

“You must keep your promises, Lady de Mare.”

A persistent man.

Ariadne rolled her eyes, sighed deeply, and answered.

“Count Cesare. Is that better?”

“My, how cold. Playing hard to get, yet you're wearing the gift I gave you.”

He glanced at the deerskin gloves she was wearing, then took her left hand and gracefully brought it to his lips.

Ariadne desperately wanted to snatch her hand away, but not wanting to cause a scene in front of everyone, she forced herself to endure his kiss on the back of her hand.

But only her left hand was still; her words fiercely attacked Cesare.

“You must be confused from sending gifts to so many young ladies at once. This is not the gift you sent.”

“Ah, that's right. I sent an ebony rosary, not gloves. You returned it, I see.”

Busted.

This man, he'd known all along.

Ariadne stiffened for a moment before regaining her composure and replying.

“I didn't like it. Must I accept every gift you send, Count Cesare?”

Cesare narrowed his eyes and looked at Ariadne.

“There's no way you would dislike that rosary.”

Ariadne replied coldly.

“You seem to be an expert on my tastes.”

“I am an expert on the tastes of all women. But this isn't about that.”

Cesare carefully looked Ariadne up and down.

“You're too kind a lady to refuse a gift from someone.”

*Kind.* It had been a long time since she'd heard that word.

At least, it wasn't something she heard often after her regression.

Ariadne gave a light laugh and shot back.

“Have you forgotten the countless gifts of yours I've refused, Count Cesare?”

“That was before we became close. We've grown quite close since then, haven't we? We went through hardships together on the hunting grounds, and I saved you from a crisis at the masquerade ball.”

Ariadne scoffed.

Close, he said.

The time we were truly close was in the distant past.

*That* was when we were intimate.

Compared to that, what happened at the hunting grounds or the ball was child's play.

“Stop deluding yourself. We are not close at all.”

“My. You've changed, my lady. It seems a few months apart have reset you to your initial state.”

Cesare licked his lips.

“An ice maiden, radiating cold. We'll just have to get close again until a warm breeze blows. Let's get to know each other well, Lady de Mare.”

“Calling me by my first name and kissing my hand when we're not close at all—what great progress you've made today.”

“Not that much. I'm still not quite satisfied. But since it's been a while, I'll content myself with this for today.”

He paused for a moment, then threw out a remark.

“The next time we meet, you'd better be prepared for us to get truly close.”

Ariadne answered sarcastically.

“Oh, my. I'll be so excited I won't be able to sleep tonight.”

“Is that... an indecent proposal?”

“Count Cesare!”

“Just kidding, just kidding!”

They bantered back and forth as they headed for the chapel exit.

Someone on the second-floor balcony was looking down at the backs of Ariadne and Cesare.

It was Prince Alfonso.

He stood like a statue, watching the man and woman walk away.

And Grand Duchess Lariesa watched Prince Alfonso with anxious eyes.

***

As their brief meeting at the High Mass concluded, Count Cesare casually threw out a remark.

“I'll be sending you an invitation to be my partner soon, so be ready.”

He was talking about the royal ball held on the eve of the Spring Festival.

Attending the royal ball required a partner, and objectively, Count Cesare was a very good one.

There was no excuse to refuse.

It was true that she had received various forms of help from him.

Alfonso was officially tied to Grand Duchess Lariesa, so he couldn't be her partner.

*…For these reasons, Count Cesare has asked me to be his partner. What should I do? - A troubled, Your Ari.*

The prince's reply was firm.

*Absolutely not.*

After they had confirmed their feelings for each other, Alfonso was quite different from before.

Compared to his previous self, who had been endlessly gentle and mild, he now showed stubbornness and a possessive side.

It seemed his true, inner self and personality were now emerging, not just the external persona he had shown until now.

*But still...*

He's going to attend the royal ball with Grand Duchess Lariesa as his partner, yet he tells me not to go with Count Cesare.

*It's not fair.*

Ariadne pouted.

Alfonso insisted that she refuse Count Cesare's request, suggesting he would assign one of his royal guards to be her escort.

But then she would have to explain why she refused Count Cesare, the obviously better choice, to partner with a royal guard she'd never met.

The added burden was having to explain to Alfonso's guard that she and the prince were secretly dating.

Ariadne wrote back to Alfonso, "Let's talk about this when we meet later."

*When I see his face, I won't let him get away with this.*

***

Ariadne, for her part, was deliberating.

She was serious about it, and it was causing her stress.

But if someone else had seen her, they would have been angry, calling it the worry of a spoiled child.

That someone else was Isabella.

For the first time in her life, she was facing the crisis of potentially being unable to attend a ball for lack of a partner.

“There's no one, no one, no one!”

Isabella swept the pile of letters from her desk onto the floor.

The only letters arriving for Isabella now were promotional mail.

After society returned to San Carlo from Taranto, Isabella had been pretending to be a reborn, devout servant of God. She had written to renowned nuns and monks to inquire about catechisms and good books to read.

In return, she received piles of letters containing recommended reading lists, invitations to volunteer, and solicitations for donations.

Only such letters completely covered Isabella's desk.

Normally, Isabella would have received at least a dozen personal letters.

Five or six would have been bold invitations, "I would like to escort Lady Isabella de Mare to the upcoming ball," and another three or four, from those lacking even that courage, would have inquired about her recent well-being while subtly asking, "What are your plans around the date of the ball?"

But this time, not a single letter had arrived asking to take Isabella to the royal ball.

“Fools, obsessed with their reputations!”

Isabella snarled in frustration.

How could these men be so afraid of public opinion, cowering like cowards!

Was there truly no real man who would rescue her, one who pursued love without a second thought?

The only letter that wasn't part of the bundle of religious book catalogs from the church was from Ottavio de Contarini.

He wrote that "thinking of Miss Isabella upon returning to San Carlo from Taranto," he hoped to greet her at a society event when the opportunity arose.

“'When the opportunity arose,' my foot!”

Isabella wanted to strangle Ottavio with a towel.

The only reason Isabella had been able to associate with Ottavio was because she was close friends with his fiancée, Camelia.

They could only meet when Camelia was present, as a group of three or more.

But that was no longer possible.

The relationship between Isabella and Camelia had been irrevocably broken.

The first thing Isabella did after being released from her confinement was to open the bundle of letters that had arrived for her, which her father had forbidden her from reading.

There were all sorts of letters.

At first, there was a flood of letters from people she was merely acquainted with, seeking to satisfy their base curiosity ('Is the story about Marquis Campa true?'). After that, letters inquiring after her well-being came sporadically.

The latter were mostly from the faithful Leticia de Leonati.

But from Camelia de Castiglione, there wasn't a single letter from beginning to end.

Isabella understood immediately.

*Either Camelia de Castiglione wasn't the least bit curious about the rumors circulating about me and Marquis Campa.*

She gnashed her teeth.

*Or she helped spread them.*

It couldn't have been the former.

Even if Camelia had suddenly attained enlightenment and decided to shut her ears to society gossip, not sending Isabella a single letter of concern was a silent declaration of severing ties.

*The little bitch.*

Isabella crushed the quill pen in her hand.

As long as she and Camelia were no longer friends, she had to assume she would never have an excuse to meet Ottavio.

But wait, didn't she still have a card she hadn't played?

“This wasn't how I intended to use it, but.”

Isabella took out a sheet of paper, dipped her pen in black ink, and began to fill it with fluid strokes.

*Dearest Countess Bartolini—no, dearest Clemente. I hope you are well these days. I'm so proud that my self-sacrifice seems to have brought peace to your family. Spring is here, with new shoots sprouting and all of nature stretching awake. Isn't it in the spirit of the Spring Festival to cast old grudges into the bonfire and burn them away before new stories begin to brew? Let's have tea together soon. Please pick a day. - From someone who wishes you well, Isabella de Mare.*

Countess Bartolini was Marquis Campa's true secret lover.

And she was also Ottavio de Contarini's older sister.

“It looks much better to be seen with his sister than to tag along with his fiancée, doesn't it?”

Isabella wiped under her nose.