Chapter 182

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 182
Chapter Title: By My Own Hand
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“...Your Majesty the King?”

Sensing something ominous in Leo III’s excessively long silence, Count Marquez cautiously raised his head.

“...not.”

Leo III mumbled to himself.

“Pardon?”

“...I said it is not reasonable!”

After a long silence, Leo III suddenly exploded at Count Marquez’s question, throwing the glass he held in his hand.

- Crash!

All the retainers in the room flinched, their shoulders tensing.

“The payment for Marguerite’s hand when she came to Etruscan with the Gaeta region was one hundred thousand ducats! A mere one hundred thousand!”

Furious, he grabbed a piece of parchment from his desk and shook it in the air.

“And eighty thousand of that was a loan!”

The Kingdom of Etruscan had given the Kingdom of Gallico 100,000 ducats when Queen Marguerite married into the family, but only 20,000 of that had been a direct payment.

Eighty thousand ducats had been a loan, and the Kingdom of Gallico had eventually repaid it in full.

“One hundred thousand ducats is too large a sum to grant all at once.”

Count Contarini added, supporting the king.

“But five hundred thousand ducats! Does five hundred thousand ducats even make sense!”

As Leo III’s rage erupted, Count Marquez stood his ground.

“It is an absurd amount, I agree. But the heir to the throne is more important than anything else!”

He was telling the king to think of his son’s life, not just the money. Alfonso was the sole heir to the throne of Etruscan.

“Prince Alfonso is currently being held in enemy territory. If we make one wrong move, we will have to face Gallico’s Montpellier Heavy Cavalry breaking through our borders and entering the heartland, all while the prince is in their grasp!”

“But there are principles to consider!”

Count Contarini’s sharp objection echoed through the hall.

“You don’t trust Etruscan’s justice system? Send Countess Rubina to Gallico? By what means can we trust those scoundrels?”

Count Contarini was in charge of the judiciary. The Kingdom of Gallico had, in effect, ignored him.

Marquis Valdesal, who was in charge of internal affairs, also carefully added his thoughts.

“The well-being of the heir to the throne is important. Of course, it is. But let us think realistically.”

Leo III had already given up on sponsoring the Third Crusade, which would have cost around 150,000 ducats, due to the financial burden.

Now that 150,000 had become 500,000, it was like trying to stop a flood with a shovel when a trowel had been too much.

But they didn’t even have a trowel, so a shovel was out of the question.

Marquis Valdesal confessed.

“...We do not have the capacity to raise five hundred thousand ducats right now. It is impossible.”

Faced with an unsolvable problem, the three ministers engaged in a fierce debate that lasted over six hours.

Leo III periodically slammed the table and threw his pen, shouting things like, “Does that even make sense!” or “Is there no one competent here!”

But slamming the table did not produce any brilliant solutions.

“Y-Your Majesty.”

“What is it!”

Sir Delpianos timidly caught Leo III’s attention. The king’s reaction was, as expected, harsh.

Sir Delpianos knew Leo III would be angry, but he had no choice but to deliver the message.

“An envoy from the Kingdom of Gallico has arrived. He is requesting an audience.”

Count Marquez, who had just arrived from Gallico, widened his eyes. He had thought he was the only one sent to deliver the message.

‘Why has another envoy from Gallico come separately?’

Leo III had a mixed reaction to the Gallican messenger.

It was unlikely he brought good news, but new information would break this dreadful stalemate.

He was genuinely frustrated with the current situation.

“Send him in at once!”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

- “Presenting Count Le Vian, envoy of the Kingdom of Gallico-!”

The man who appeared as the envoy had a familiar face.

It was Count Le Vian, who had previously stayed in the Kingdom of Etruscan as part of Lariesa’s entourage.

He too looked weary from the long journey, but his attire was much neater than that of Count Marquez, whose travel fatigue was plainly visible.

It seemed he had arrived in San Carlo at least half a day earlier, giving him time to wash and change his clothes.

He had probably left Gallico before Count Marquez.

Count Le Vian dryly read Philip IV’s message.

“...For these reasons, the great Kingdom of Gallico demands from the Kingdom of Etruscan five hundred thousand gold ducats and an official apology.”

“...”

Leo III stared intently at Count Le Vian, seriously contemplating what would happen if he beheaded a diplomatic envoy.

But that fantasy was instantly shattered by the very next words from the envoy’s mouth.

“However.”

Leo III drew in a sharp breath.

“Should proof of continued friendship and goodwill between our two nations be provided, there may be a way to resolve this matter amicably, without the need for compensation.”

Count Le Vian turned the parchment to the next page.

- Rustle.

Everyone hung on his next words.

“The great Kingdom of Gallico proposes that, in place of the five hundred thousand gold ducat compensation, the Kingdom of Etruscan send the Lady Bianca of Taranto to be the bride of His Majesty, King Philip IV.”

* * *

The rumor that the Kingdom of Gallico had demanded Bianca of Taranto as a bride in exchange for withdrawing their troops from the border spread like wildfire throughout San Carlo the very next day.

- “They’ll withdraw their army from the border? We should send her immediately!”

- “Philip IV of Gallico isn’t that much older, he’s a respectable young king. Isn’t this a good thing for Bianca of Taranto, too?”

While the common people’s opinion was favorable toward this marital alliance, Ariadne de Mare, who had heard Gallico’s demands a half-step ahead of everyone else, had a different reaction.

“The Kingdom of Gallico has demanded Bianca of Taranto as a bride.”

The Cardinal spoke during the de Mare family dinner that very evening, the same day Count Le Vian had read Gallico’s proposal before Leo III.

“It happened this afternoon. By tomorrow morning, the story will be all over San Carlo.”

- Clang!

Ariadne dropped the fork she was holding. Isabella immediately shot Ariadne a glare, and Ippolito clicked his tongue with a ‘tsk!’

But she was in no state to worry about her siblings right now.

“Father! What did His Majesty the King say in response?”

Ariadne’s hands trembled uncontrollably. Cardinal de Mare instantly understood why his daughter was reacting this way.

The Gallican king’s proposal was closely tied to Prince Alfonso’s safety.

His daughter was undoubtedly worried about Prince Alfonso. But Cardinal de Mare and his second daughter had different positions.

Ariadne had made a significant investment—as the Cardinal defined it—in Prince Alfonso, while the Cardinal himself had placed no bets in this situation.

So the Cardinal answered calmly, sticking only to the facts she asked for.

“His Majesty the King has not yet given any answer.”

Ariadne placed the knife she was still gripping tightly onto the table.

“Father.”

She looked at Cardinal de Mare, her green eyes filled with desperation.

“You must stop His Majesty!”

Cardinal de Mare looked at Ariadne.

“If you would speak to His Majesty...”

“Ariadne.”

Cardinal de Mare cut her off in a calm voice.

Ariadne looked up at the Cardinal with green eyes that were the spitting image of her father’s.

“Let’s not get too involved.”

“Pardon?”

“In the end, this is a matter for the de Carlo royal family. We are people of the Holy See. It does us no good to get deeply involved.”

The words ‘unless we intend to flip the entire board’ were left unsaid, but Ariadne understood her father’s true meaning completely.

And she realized that Cardinal de Mare knew exactly what she was thinking as well.

“But Father! We are people of the Kingdom of Etruscan, and you are the head of a diocese rooted in Etruscan!”

She pleaded, looking up at her father earnestly.

“No one in this family is immune to the fate of this country!”

“The Holy See,”

Cardinal de Mare replied calmly.

“endures forever, regardless of who the next king may be, or even of the survival of a single nation.”

He spoke slowly and deliberately.

“This is not our fight. I have no desire to be part of it.”

Cardinal de Mare offered some light comfort to his visibly disheartened daughter.

This was due to the faint affection that had grown between them while living under the same roof after Ariadne had returned to San Carlo from the Bergamo farm.

“Surely the Kingdom of Gallico won’t go that far.”

Comfort was comfort, but his assessment was another matter.

While placating his daughter, Cardinal de Mare observed Ariadne with a cold gaze.

He also knew that what his daughter truly cared about at this moment was not her family.

The head of a house must choose the family when the time for a choice comes. That was why he did not trust a female child.

A daughter of a house depends on her father for survival when young, and on her husband when she grows older.

This was a structural problem. It would not be overturned. At this point in time, a female child was unfit for the position of family head.

“I trust you understand.”

Ariadne realized her father would not be persuaded. She lowered her head without answering.

* * *

However, Ariadne had no intention of meekly obeying Cardinal de Mare’s words. This had to be stopped.

A shimmer like fine diamond dust on her fingertips glowed with fervor, cheering on her resolve.

Ariadne de Mare had no right to enter the royal court. It was because she held no title.

She was merely the illegitimate daughter of a cardinal of common birth, and since she herself was not a high-ranking cleric, she could not enter the royal palace.

Nor did she have a husband to lend her the dignity of a title.

But she decided to use everything she could.

The Kingdom of Etruscan was a Catholic nation, and everyone, including the king, attended Grand Mass once a month.

The Grand Mass was the very next morning, and as a member of the Cardinal’s household, she had the right to sit in the front row, right next to the aisle leading to the royal family’s balcony seats.

“My lady, are you alright?”

Sancha asked with concern as she helped Ariadne dress on the morning of the Grand Mass.

Ariadne, who was putting on a modest blue dress, asked back.

“Why?”

“...You seem anxious.”

Ariadne, who had thought she was not showing any agitation at all, blinked.

She couldn’t tell if she had failed to deceive Sancha’s eyes, or if she was truly trembling.

She studied her reflection in the large mirror in her room.

Inside the highly reflective Moorish mirror was a young woman with hair as black as ebony styled high, a high-bridged nose, a tall frame, and a calm expression.

She looked too mature to be called a girl.

Her attire was modest and elegant, but not out of place for her age.

The reason she looked older than her years must have been her expression.

She thought her face looked ruthless.

Firmly pressed lips. Eyes that vowed to succeed at all costs. The desperation of someone who could not afford to fail. ...And the urgency of one who didn't care what her father thought or what happened to her, as long as she achieved her goal.

Ariadne checked the mirror to see if her hands were trembling or if she had a frightened look on her face, then turned around.

“No. I’m fine.”

It was as much a vow to herself as it was a statement.

“Let’s go, Sancha.”