Sister I am the Queen in This Life [Novel] Chapter 119

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 119
Chapter Title: Sticks of Love
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Ariadne immediately relayed her new plan to Alfonso. He responded with general approval to her intention of attending the royal ball with the eldest son of the Marquis de Valdesal.

“Raphael is a rather good friend of mine! I haven't seen him in recent years, but he'll be a fine escort. If it's all right with you, I'll send him a letter in advance to explain the situation. What do you think?”

Alfonso seemed uneasy about entrusting Ariadne to Raphael de Valdesal without an explanation. To be honest, it seemed one of his own royal guards was his first choice over Raphael, but he didn't go so far as to object to her choice of ball partner.

Ariadne wondered if it was because all the reasons she gave were sound, or if it was simply in Alfonso's nature to grant his woman whatever she desired.

*Even in my past life, Crown Prince Alfonso consented to whatever Sister Isabella wanted without a single complaint.*

Ariadne thought of the lavish jewels and dresses Isabella had bought in her past life, and the splendid balls she had thrown time and again. They were certainly not to Alfonso's taste.

Dating someone new was like getting to know a whole new world, Ariadne mused. Her point of reference had been Cesare from her past life, and Alfonso’s reactions were completely different from his. Overall, life was less exciting, but he was kinder and far gentler.

Of course, that wasn't to say Alfonso wasn't stubborn.

“You are not to hold hands with Valdesal without gloves, and though he is your partner for the ball, you are not to be alone with him for too long.”

*You might as well assign someone to watch my every move,* she thought.

Ariadne grumbled under her breath, but she couldn't hide the faint smile that graced her lips.

And then, the very invitation that had prompted all her preparations finally arrived.

“Lady Ariadne, a letter from Count Cesare’s estate.”

Ariadne unfolded the letter.

“To my débutante, I trust the invitations from the palace have all been delivered by now. Naturally, one must have arrived for the de Mare family as well. Will you grant me the honor of escorting you to yet another ball? - Count Cesare.”

It was the message she had been waiting for. Without hesitation, Ariadne began to write, using the excuse she had prepared in advance.

Her letter was gentler than usual. Not only was it long, but it also included praise for Count Cesare and emphasized that her refusal of his escort was by no means his fault.

But a refusal was a refusal.

“I am terribly disappointed that I cannot attend the ball with you, Count Cesare.”

Ariadne shivered as she wrote the words. The sentiment was so insincere that even her handwriting faltered. After rambling on with 101 unfortunate yet unavoidable reasons why she could not be with him, she set her pen down on the desk with a clatter.

*I've done what I can. Well, if Count Cesare still takes offense, there's nothing I can do about it.*

She wasn't about to be dragged to a ball just to soothe someone else's ego. Ariadne handed the long-winded letter of refusal to a footman.

“Deliver this well. And come back quickly, before the master of the house opens the letter.”

It was a consideration born of Ariadne's concern that Cesare's temper might lash out at an innocent de Mare servant.

* * *

As expected, Cesare was in a foul mood after reading Ariadne's letter.

“Raphael de Valdesal? She’s refusing an invitation from Count Cesare because of that punk?”

Cesare paced back and forth in his study. Ottavio, sprawled across Cesare's expensive sofa, chuckled.

“Well, well, Count Cesare. Did you lose out to the young Marquis de Valdesal? My, my, it seems Lady de Mare's taste runs to men even more delicate than you.”

Ottavio, who had always felt a little insecure about his own brawny, bull-like appearance next to Cesare's chiseled features that swept women off their feet, seemed to be enjoying the situation immensely.

“Shut up. It’s not like that.”

Cesare tossed Ariadne's letter to Ottavio.

“At the request of my dear friend, Giulia de Valdesal…”

After skimming the letter, Ottavio returned it with a slightly deflated expression.

“Just when it was getting interesting.”

It wasn't the "I despise you, Count Cesare, so get lost" that Ottavio had been hoping for, but rather a story about having to do a friend a favor and putting the man off until next time.

“But you know.”

People see what they want to see.

“You can’t take a woman’s refusal at face value.”

Ottavio, whose dating experience was lacking but whose experience in being rejected by women far surpassed his friend's, offered Cesare some earnest advice.

“They all sugarcoat their rejections. ‘You’re like a good older brother, I don’t see you as a man,’ or ‘If we get close and it doesn't work out, it would be hard to see you even as a friend, and I don’t want to lose someone as good as you…’ I’ve heard it all, and it’s all bullshit.”

Ottavio leaned in close to Cesare’s face and stated firmly.

“She just doesn’t see you as a man.”

Cesare, who had taken off his gloves and was fiddling with them, threw one right at Ottavio.

“Shut up!”

Ottavio, struck squarely in the face by the deerskin glove, just cackled. Realizing that getting angrier would only make him look pathetic, Cesare reined in his frustration and slumped onto the sofa.

“There's only a week left. Where am I supposed to find a new partner?”

“Since when was that a concern for you? Can’t you just ask anyone?”

“I’m saying all the decent potential partners will have already been taken off the market.”

There was always the option of twisting the wrist of a woman who already had a partner—or that of her male partner—and snatching her away, but that would lead to gossip. Of course, Count Cesare couldn't care less about rumors, but he had no intention of getting embroiled in scandal for a mere replacement partner, especially when it wasn't even a woman he truly wanted to go with.

“Who are you going with?”

“Me? As always, with my fiancée, Miss Camelia de Castiglione.”

Ottavio let out a sigh.

“Sometimes I wonder. Is this the end of my youth?”

He dramatically stretched his arms forward.

“Is there no way for me to ever blossom into my full potential as a man? Am I destined to be wrapped around Miss Camelia’s little finger, led around by a dog leash by that one woman for the rest of my life?”

Cesare smacked Ottavio on the back of the head.

“You're talking nonsense because you're spoiled. You won't find another wife that beautiful with a father-in-law that rich in all of San Carlo.”

Camelia de Castiglione had been the undisputed beauty of San Carlo before Isabella de Mare's debut. Moreover, Baron Castiglione was a new-money tycoon who had a firm grip on the capital's textile industry. One might find a prettier woman if they scoured the entire country, and perhaps a richer father-in-law. But a woman who possessed both virtues was non-existent. And that was without even considering the odds of such a woman choosing Ottavio.

“That’s true.”

Ottavio licked his lips.

“But you know how it is, give them an inch and they'll take a mile. Now that my future father-in-law has money, I find myself wishing he had power, too.”

“Well, Baron Castiglione’s position is a bit unstable. He’s new money, after all.”

“If only Camelia had a cardinal for an older brother, it would have been perfect.”

“Get a grip, Ottavio. If she did, do you really think Miss Camelia would be engaged to you?”

“Cesare!”

Having landed a solid comeback, Cesare chuckled and handed Ottavio a glass of spirits on ice.

* * *

Ippolito occupied a frustratingly ambiguous position in San Carlo's high society.

He was the eldest son of the powerful Cardinal de Mare, one of the most influential men in the Holy See, but a clerical title was not hereditary and ended with the man himself. Nor did Ippolito have a separate title of his own to inherit.

Personally, Ippolito was well-built but not quite handsome. He ran with the popular crowd but wasn't exceptional in his own right. By any measure, he wasn't the kind of young man ladies would line up for.

Nor was he particularly sociable with the young ladies, so he had no close friendships to fall back on. No lady had offered to go to the ball with him, and every time he had asked someone, he had been flatly rejected.

“While I appreciate your kind offer, I will be attending the upcoming royal ball with the son of Count So-and-so… I hope to see you on another pleasant occasion…”

“…I was a little surprised by your sudden proposal… I have a fiancé, an arrangement made between our families this winter, so I will be attending the ball with him…”

“Are you an idiot, brother?”

Isabella stood beside Ippolito’s desk, sneering.

“Did you just send out letters asking to be partners without any prior connection?”

She laughed as she flipped through the rejection letters.

“It’s so obvious you don't care about the girl and just need a partner. You should have at least checked if they had a fiancé. Who would accept an invitation like this?”

Ippolito’s mood was at an all-time low.

“Shut your mouth before I hit you.”

“Wow, look at the dates. You asked Lady Number Two before you even got a reply from Lady Number One. What would you have done if they had both said yes? Oh, wait, that would never happen, would it?”

“…I told you to shut your fucking mouth.”

“Father would be thrilled if you hit me now. ‘Daddy, Ippolito, who does nothing but freeload at home, hit the beautiful and kind Isabella! What if I get a scar on my face and can’t get married?’”

“Hey!”

When Ippolito let out a genuine growl, Isabella finally ceased her provocations. She had only been letting off steam at his pathetic state; she hadn't come here for a real fight.

“You don't have a partner, do you? How about going with my friend?”

Ippolito hadn't forgotten her earlier taunts.

“You have any friends left?”

“You…!”

Isabella barely managed to swallow the harsh words on the tip of her tongue. She tossed the letter she had brought onto the desk.

“As if you could find a woman to go with even if your life depended on it.”

Isabella bit back the urge to say, *The fact that your friends won't even introduce you to their sisters or cousins says a lot about your standing.* She held her tongue because her own situation wasn't much better.

“Read the letter.”

The letter was from Viscountess Leticia de Leonati, who could be considered Isabella's one remaining friend. It explained that the young man she was supposed to attend the royal ball with had gotten engaged last week, suddenly leaving her without a partner.

“She’s nice. Too good for you.”

With only one friend left, even the haughty Isabella seemed to have grudgingly revised her opinion of Leticia. In the past, she would have let Ippolito sit hunched in a corner without a partner rather than recommend Leticia, whom she used to look down on as her handmaiden, as a ball partner for her brother.

“Isn’t she the ugly one? The one with the square, wide face?” Ippolito grimaced after reading the letter.

“Are you in a position to be picky?” Isabella snapped.

“Can’t find a human woman, so you're planning to take a bisque doll? Or maybe you'll find a pretty maid somewhere and proudly show her off?”

At the mention of a maid, Ippolito glared at Isabella. The topic of Maletta was a raw nerve for him now. He didn't know where it had all gone wrong, but ever since getting entangled with that wicked maid, everything had gone downhill, and in the end, he had lost his mother.

“Stop running that mouth of yours.”

Seeing the genuine anger in his expression, Isabella fell silent. She was offended, but now was not the time for a real fight with her only brother.

“Anyway. Think about it. You have until tomorrow to reply.”

She pursed her lips primly and left the room.

The moment she stepped out of Ippolito's room, a footman in charge of mail found her.

“Lady Isabella! There you are. A letter has arrived for you.”

*Finally, the ball invitation?* Isabella wondered as she accepted the envelope the footman held out. She examined the outside.

“What’s this? Who is it from? There’s no name.”

On the front of the blank envelope, ‘Isabella de Mare’ was written in crooked handwriting, but there was not a single word to indicate the sender's identity.