Sister I am the Queen in This Life [Novel] Chapter 164

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 164
Chapter Title: The Difference Between a Bastard and a Legitimate Son
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Cesare was slightly offended by Leo III’s question of “Have you been well?” but he did not let it show on his face.

‘My mother is locked in a dungeon, and I’ve been turning the capital upside down searching for her. I’m sure I’ve been doing just wonderfully.’

Instead, he praised the king with an exaggerated gesture. It was a survival instinct.

“By Your Majesty’s grace, am I not always well-fed and warm! What cause would I have for my spirits to be low?”

He shot a pointed glance at the chamberlain. It was a signal to leave. The chamberlain, catching Count Cesare’s hint, simultaneously gauged the king’s mood.

Sensing that Leo III did not particularly require his presence either, the chamberlain shrewdly gathered the attendants in the room and made a swift exit.

“So, what brings you here today? It’s quite difficult to see my son’s face.”

Cesare avoided the royal palace unless it was absolutely necessary. He was forced to see his parents only at the monthly High Mass. Rubina would nag him every time she saw him, and Leo III was completely unpredictable. There was no telling what nonsense he might spew. They were not people whose company offered much benefit.

“I heard that His Highness, the wise prince, has left San Carlo, so I came in case my father was feeling lonely, humble as I am. You have only two children, so shouldn’t at least one of us be by your side to dote on you?”

Leo III guffawed at the pleasant words.

“Yes, you’re the only one who thinks of me!”

A vein bulged on his forehead as if he had just recalled his argument with Alfonso the day before.

“That brat Alfonso! I raised him as if he were made of gold and jade, yet he doesn’t know his place! I should have broken his spirit long ago! He takes right after his mother’s damnable temper!”

Cesare inquired subtly.

“Did His Highness the Prince cause some sort of trouble?”

“Trouble is the least of it!”

Leo III, who had been on the verge of mentioning the affair with Duke Mireille, cleared his throat and chose his words carefully. He trusted no one. Not even his own flesh and blood, his bastard son who catered to his every whim.

“I sent him to Gallico to finalize the marriage alliance, and he had the gall to squawk at me, claiming it was against protocol for him to go there.”

Cesare pressed his forehead. That sounded exactly like something Alfonso would do. He could vividly picture Alfonso, a stickler for rules and principles, grating on Leo III’s nerves.

It was no concern of his what happened to his detestable half-brother, but he couldn’t help but feel a mix of admiration and jealousy toward Alfonso, who acted so freely while he himself wouldn’t dare talk back to Leo III.

‘That precious ‘legitimate bloodline.’ That damned ‘blessing of the Church.’’

A legitimate son was irreplaceable. No matter how much Leo III disliked Alfonso, he could not change the heir unless he took a new queen and she bore him another son.

About to be lost in thought, Cesare shook his head to clear it and put on a broad smile. He intended to incite Leo III.

“How insolent. What blasphemy against the blazing sun of Etruscan.”

He tossed out a casual remark.

“Perhaps it is because he carries the blood of Gallico, the blood of barbarians, that he is so utterly uncivilized.”

For a moment, Leo III looked shocked.

It was common for royals of different nations to intermarry. Leo III himself had foreign royal blood if one went back a few generations. Through his great-grandmother, he was one-eighth of the Kingdom of Brunnen’s bloodline, which accounted for his tall, northern-like physique and fair complexion.

But Leo III had never once thought of himself as a man of Brunnen. He had never been there and didn’t know the language.

Thus, he had only ever seen Alfonso as his son, never considering that he was half-Gallican through his mother. What’s more, his son was fluent in the Gallican tongue, having learned from both his mother and his tutors.

Not missing the moment of realization that dawned on Leo III, Cesare whispered.

“The Gallicans know no gratitude. And that’s not all. They know nothing of diplomacy or culture, relying recklessly on their military and metal.”

It was the moment Alfonso’s image in Leo III’s mind was overlaid with that of Gallico. The Kingdom of Gallico was currently experiencing a rapid rise in national power. This overlapped with the image of his son, who was growing into a robust adult, so different from the small, cute boy of a few years ago. Leo III took a sharp breath.

But Cesare had not come here today merely to drive a wedge between Leo III and Prince Alfonso. He had a more pressing matter.

“The assassination of the late Queen… wasn’t it, in fact, the work of a wicked Gallican faction?”

Leo III’s pale eyes wavered, and his gaze met Count Cesare’s, which were the exact same color.

Count Cesare couldn’t resist adding one more thing.

“I’ve discovered a few more details about the merchant who fled. He was originally from Gallico and had been meeting with people from his home country until recently.”

Cesare looked up at Leo III, expecting praise. The king’s mouth opened slowly, and after a long moment, he finally uttered a word. But it was not the kind of word Cesare had anticipated.

“You insolent whelp—!!!”

Leo III roared at the son whose eyes so closely resembled his own.

Startled by his father’s sudden fury, Cesare’s eyes widened as he looked up at Leo III.

“I took pity on you and let you live a life of comfort, wanting for nothing, and you dare forget your place and climb over me?”

Something was wrong. Count Cesare immediately clamped his mouth shut like a clamshell and bowed his head. But it was not enough to quell Leo III’s rage. The old king, panting for breath, hurled curses and pointed an accusing finger at his son.

“Who told you to take it upon yourself to investigate the assassination of a royal! Who told you to stick your nose in politics!”

If someone started digging into the queen’s assassination now and truly uncovered the Kingdom of Gallico behind it, the marriage alliance—or more accurately, the gunpowder formula—would be lost.

Leo III had no intention of burying the truth forever. An investigation would be conducted. If Gallico was indeed the culprit, he would hold them fully accountable.

After securing the gunpowder formula, it might be a good idea to break off Alfonso’s engagement and send out the marriage alliance pacts again to marry him off elsewhere. He could get another bride’s dowry.

The mere thought of sternly rebuking those wretched barbarians and giving them a taste of their own medicine was delightful. But not now.

Leo III took two steps closer to Cesare and yelled in his face.

“You and Rubina are nothing more than scraps, meant to quietly eat the chunks of meat I throw you and perform tricks when I demand! How dare you, in your position, dip your hand in the water and stir its surface!”

Seeing Cesare’s reddish-brown hair and fine, handsome features, he was reminded of Rubina. The memory of Rubina insulting him by bringing up the Salvar Mountains resurfaced, and Leo III’s anger doubled.

Cesare trembled, his head bowed, unable to utter a single word. He was in his early twenties. Though considered an adult, he lacked both experience and wisdom.

And everything he possessed was not his by right, but granted by Leo III’s grace. The king had the authority to revoke his beneficence at any time, on a whim.

So when he finally spoke, it was with every last ounce of courage he could muster.

“But please, spare my life, Your Majesty. Just my life.”

The atmosphere was not one in which he could call him ‘father.’ Tears welled in Cesare’s pale eyes. These tears were half genuine, half feigned. He had to look as pitiful as possible in Leo III’s eyes. Only then would he get what he wanted.

Count Cesare threw himself to the floor and muttered desperately. His handsome forehead touched the white marble floor. His reflection in the gleaming marble was a twisted mess.

“Not just chunks of meat, but even the leftover scraps you give me, I will gratefully devour. I dare not ask for more. But that is only possible if I am still breathing. Please save my mother, Your Majesty.”

Cesare crawled forward and kissed his father’s slippered feet. The silk slippers were slightly soiled. He felt a wave of nausea but could not show it.

At that moment, Leo III’s fury erupted.

“You lawless, insolent whelp!!!”

Rubina had to be the culprit. For the negotiations with Gallico to succeed, for him to get his hands on the chemical formula for gunpowder, for him to bring those wretched feudal nobles to their knees at the great king’s feet!

This was far more important than that mother and son, who were so tactlessly clinging to his feet today. His rage soaring to the heavens, Leo III kicked Cesare, who was prostrate on the floor.

*Thud!*

Leo III’s slippered foot struck Count Cesare squarely in the solar plexus, and the count flew back the length of a man’s torso before landing hard on his backside.

“Keogh…”

He clutched his chest, struggling for breath, in agony.

Startled by how far his son had fallen, Leo III rushed to Cesare’s side and knelt beside him.

“Cesare, Cesare!”

Count Cesare could not answer Leo III’s call. Instead, he struggled to catch his breath.

Beside him, Leo III fretted, not knowing what to do as he soothed his son.

“I was too harsh, Cesare. I was angry, I didn't mean it.”

With a thick, wrinkled hand, he brushed back the hair from Count Cesare’s forehead. Looking at him like this, he saw that while his son’s slender frame resembled his mother’s, his high nose and hollow cheeks were the spitting image of his own.

And what about his personality? Alfonso was the mirror image of his mother. But Cesare’s behavior resembled his own more than Rubina’s.

He had marveled several times watching the young Cesare, thinking how the boy’s scheming mind was just like his. The mystery of bloodlines! Even if he wasn't a child born of a marriage recognized by the church.

Leo III shook Cesare with a trembling hand.

“My boy.”

The severe pain in his abdomen was already excruciating, and Leo III’s shaking nearly made Cesare scream. But he was in no position to defy Leo III’s will. Summoning every ounce of strength he had, he managed to report.

“I-I am alright, Your Majesty.”

Seeing the son who looked so much like him unable to even call him ‘father,’ instead using ‘Your Majesty,’ Leo III felt a sudden pang in his heart. He stroked Cesare’s cheek as if he were a child and said.

“Shh, don’t speak if you’re in pain, my boy.”

Tears once again welled in Cesare’s pale eyes. Interpreting this in his own way, Leo III comforted his son.

“I can’t release Rubina right now. It’s not just anyone who died—it was Marguerite. The Queen! The Queen! A thorough investigation at the central level is necessary. It will take some time. But I do understand your position.”

Leo III considered what he could do. He couldn’t release Rubina. He couldn’t even move her from the dungeon to the west tower.

If her place of confinement changed, word would get out, and it would be seen as proof that he did not consider Rubina the culprit.

“I will have a word with Count Contarini and tell him to take special care of Rubina. No matter the circumstances, she is my son’s mother. Do you think I would have her beheaded immediately without conclusive proof?”

That was a blatant lie. Leo III would not hesitate to have Rubina’s head for the sake of the marriage alliance with Gallico. Cesare shed tears of blood at his own predicament.

His mother was a pawn. And he himself was in a position where he couldn’t even be a pawn. A princess from another country would not accept a bastard as a marriage partner.

Resenting Leo III was useless. He was like a natural disaster. When he swept through, not just Cesare, but everyone else was left in shambles. There was no emotional bond, no trust. That was the nature of a natural disaster.

But after the storm passed, the earth was cleared, and a gentle rain would fall. The soil would become fertile for farming. The natural disaster brought damage, but it was also the source of everything he needed to survive. Without Leo III, Count Cesare was finished.

So he thought of Alfonso, who had defied Leo III just as he had—no, even more brazenly—yet had not been struck, instead walking away with his head held high.

He was envious but didn't want to admit it. So instead, he resented him.

The filthy legitimate line of San Carlo. The filthy bloodline. A palace that ought to be burned to the ground if he could not have it.

“Guards! Is anyone there! Count Cesare seems to have a severe stomachache, bring a physician!”

Leo III raised his voice to summon people.

A stomachache, indeed. Since when was being kicked in the stomach called a stomachache? It was a mystery, but Leo III had convinced himself it was so.

“Cesare, you must see the physician.”

Leo III spoke in a feigned gentle tone, but he seemed eager to leave the room.

“I have a meeting right after this, so I must be going.”

Cesare could not argue with the transparent lie. Unlike the golden prince, he was a son of lesser worth.

“I am… grateful for your grace.”

In truth, Leo III had promised nothing regarding Countess Rubina’s treatment. Adding a few more cushions in her cell was something even Cesare could do. But Cesare could only respond in this way.

Beneath his submissively bowed head, his blue eyes blazed with fury.