Chapter 208

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 208
Chapter Title: Cesare's Savior
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Defeated at the Battle of the Savoyard Plains, Duke Cesare did not return to his domain in Pisano but came straight back to the capital.

It was hardly the behavior of a proper lord.

But having lost all of Etruscan's 7,000 troops, Cesare couldn't bear the thought of holing up alone in Pisano, enduring the scornful glares of his people.

It was an impulsive return, but he thought it was worth it if it meant being freed from his duties and going home.

…But it soon became clear that this had been a grave misjudgment.

“Cesare! The Gallico army has advanced to the very outskirts of San Carlo!”

It wasn't just the Gallico army that had followed Cesare south.

Countess Rubina had also stormed all the way from the royal palace in the heart of the capital to Cesare's residence in the southern district, the Villa Sorotone.

Barging into her son's drawing room, she berated him in a harsh tone.

“Are you just going to sit there and do nothing?! You have to do something, boy!”

Cesare stared at the floor, his face grim.

He was currently trying his best to treat Rubina's words as mere noise, not meaningful speech.

If he were five years younger, he would have covered his ears with his hands and shaken his head.

“Are you even listening to your mother?!”

He didn't even have the energy to argue.

*Alcohol. I need alcohol.*

With a sliver of responsibility, he thought of his best friend, whom he had been avoiding lately.

He usually preferred sparkling wine, but on a day like today, it seemed better to drink himself into a stupor with hard liquor and pass out.

As he was lost in this fantasy, a terrifying threat, like a cannonball on the battlefield, flew into his ears.

“His Majesty the King will be summoning you to the palace soon.”

He snapped his head up.

“What? Why.”

“What do you mean, why?! You are the commander-in-chief of the Kingdom of Etruscan! The defense of our homeland rests in your hands!”

Since Cesare's return to the capital, Leo III had not summoned his ‘nephew’ to the palace.

The capital's gossips were probably whispering that Duke Cesare had lost the King's favor, but Cesare himself was quite pleased with the King's silence.

It was a blessing not to be sought by the King. He wanted no more responsibility, no more weight, no more interrogations.

“Don't tell me you arranged this, Mother.”

Rubina declared proudly.

“Yes! I did!”

“Ha!”

Cesare's patience had reached its limit.

He had been gritting his teeth and enduring Rubina's nagging because of the army he had lost, but being dragged before the King due to his mother's machinations was a different story.

“Are you insane?”

“What?”

“Do you want to see your son's head roll?”

A vein bulged in Cesare's neck.

“If I’m dragged to the throne room now, what else will happen besides being held accountable for the defeat? His Majesty was gracious enough to let it slide, so why are you stirring up trouble?”

“Why would my son's head roll!”

Countess Rubina shot back, her voice rising just as high.

“You don't know the stories circulating in the capital! Do you have any idea what everyone is whispering?”

“And I need to know that?”

Countess Rubina had no intention of letting her son's evasion slide. She hammered each word into his ear.

“They’re all chattering that the Duke of Pisano has lost the King's favor, that he’s completely fallen from His Majesty’s grace!”

“Ugh, just stop!”

He didn't want to know. What kind of twisted mind insists on delivering bad news to the very person who doesn't want to hear it?

“Mother, please!”

Despite Cesare's plea, Countess Rubina continued with what she had to say.

“Yes, if you see the King now, you can’t avoid being questioned about the defeat. But do you really think your father would have you executed?”

Cesare retorted hotly.

“How should I know! Who can read his mind?”

“I can, that’s who!”

She pounded her chest in frustration at her son, who could only see one side of things.

“You don't understand the nature of power. In life, as in war, you can win and you can lose.”

One cannot live a life of constant victory. Even Rubina, who had been triumphant after giving birth to the king's firstborn son, had faced her share of ups and downs.

She would never forget the feeling of the sky falling when the foreigner, Marguerite, gave birth to a son.

“But the key is to stand firm and not crumble when you lose!”

In the end, she had outlasted Marguerite. And she would be the final victor.

The way to ‘stand firm’ in Etruscan, as Rubina knew it, was ultimately to win the King's favor.

If you couldn't earn his respect, then you had to grasp at least his affection, or even just a sliver of his daily life.

One cannot ignore a person who is constantly in their sight. As long as they could hold on in the King's proximity, the sun would never set on their little kingdom.

“At times like this, you must show your face to His Majesty often, act friendly, even whine about how hard things are!”

To have a grown son rub up against his father’s leg and act chummy—it was something Cesare, regardless of his skill at it, would rather die than do.

But Cesare's likes and dislikes were not Rubina's concern.

“People don't just like those who are useful to them. They grow fonder of those they’ve done favors for, those they’ve bestowed grace upon! So stick by his side! Ask for things, plead your case, cling to him!”

He had to do it, even if he hated it. It was a matter of survival.

“That way, people will see you're still standing strong and won't dare to strike at you!”

Rubina raised her voice even higher.

“That's public sentiment! That's how reputation works! And in the end, the decision-maker is influenced by what people say!”

Cesare muttered despairingly.

“...For what reason must I go to such lengths?”

An endless cycle. A wheel that never stops turning. Rubina had so much. When would she ever be satisfied?

“Obviously!”

Rubina shouted, as if in disbelief.

*The Sun Scepter. What this mother wants is my son's coronation in the Hall of the Sun.*

“Have you no ambition? Don't you want to establish yourself properly in the capital, to enjoy the freedom of no one being able to say anything to you? Yes, if things go well, the throne, even the throne!”

The throne. Yes, the throne. It was the truth, uttered timidly. And she believed that now was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

“With Alfonso away, this is a chance that won't come again! Do you have any idea how much I suffered to keep that damn Alfonso stuck in Iesac?”

Rubina must have dreamed of her son ascending the throne from the moment she knew the child in her womb was a boy.

No matter what anyone said, Cesare was Leo III's firstborn son.

But that was merely Rubina's dream. Her son did not share it.

“I told you I’m not interested in that!”

“You foolish bastard!”

Countess Rubina, finally unable to contain her anger, threw the teacup she was holding.

- Crash!

Against the loud shattering of the porcelain teacup, she unleashed her fury upon her son.

“Yes, a bastard! The King's bastard!”

Each word struck Cesare's heart like a dagger.

“Do you think you can live in peace if Alfonso takes the throne?! He must be grinding his teeth, thinking Rubina is the bitch who devoured his mother! You are my son, in the end! You can never shed that label!”

The tedious taking of sides. His team was decided from birth. He was, inescapably, on Rubina's side.

An unbreakable umbilical cord connected Cesare and Rubina.

“You are destined to be an enemy to that boy Alfonso, and in the competition for the succession, there is only one winner!”

Cesare's anger erupted.

“Get out!”

Rubina was trying to set Cesare up as her avatar on a battlefield he had never once wanted.

This fact ignited an unbearable rage in Cesare. A rage of inexplicable intensity.

“Honestly, do you think just causing trouble is enough? You just start whatever you want, throw me into the middle of it, and it's always my job to clean up the mess!”

Cesare's tirade against his mother was escalating to a dangerous level.

“Is life that easy for you?”

“You ungrateful whelp!”

But Rubina didn't back down.

“I'm laying a path of flowers for you, so why are you so difficult, whining that you don't want to do it! You idiot who can't even eat when spoon-fed! A common street urchin is better than you!”

Sparks flew from Rubina's eyes. Cesare had no intention of yielding either.

Rage flashed in his watery blue eyes, so much like Rubina's.

“You, as a person, are just…!”

He hurled a string of the world's vilest insults at his mother, but there was one thing he couldn't bring himself to say.

*‘Do you even love me?’*

If she loved her son, she couldn't possibly drive him into such a corner. That was what Cesare truly wanted to say, but the words couldn't leave his lips.

It was because he feared the answer might be, *‘I don't love you.’*

Even the great Rubina probably wouldn't answer so bluntly.

Instead, she would beat around the bush, making other attacks, calling him an ungrateful son. But Cesare couldn't allow even a sliver of that possibility.

The moment he heard it, he would break.

At the end of their sharp exchange, Countess Rubina declared as if issuing a proclamation of war.

“The audience will likely be scheduled in about two weeks. Until then, take care of yourself, and don't go out. Stay cooped up at home!”

She whipped her satin cloak over her shoulders. The thick material, appropriate for the chilly weather, wrapped fiercely around her.

“Useless brat.”

It was Countess Rubina's final, piercing blow.

* * *

After that, Duke Cesare developed a neurosis about visitors to his residence. He never knew when a royal messenger might arrive to summon him for an audience with the King.

“Damn it all!”

He couldn't just lock the main gate and refuse all guests as he pleased. If a royal messenger came, he had to receive them.

Normally, he would have been drinking heavily, but with a guilty conscience, he couldn't show himself drunk to the King's envoy.

He had no choice but to endure a full week stone-cold sober. It was nothing short of torture.

“Your Grace, you have a visitor.”

“From the palace?”

At Cesare's thorny reply, the attendant calmly announced.

“It is Lady Ariadne de Mare.”

Unlike the servants in Pisano, Cesare's personal attendant knew what his master responded to and what he didn't.

At the name Ariadne, Cesare's expression brightened instantly.

“The young lady? Where is she now?”

Ariadne. She would have some brilliant idea.

Cesare had thought that the answer might lie with her, but he couldn't bring himself to contact her first.

No man wants to whine to a woman he likes. Especially not Duke Cesare, who lived and died by his image.

He would have rather died than send a messenger to Ariadne first to ask for a strategy.

But today, Ariadne had come to him. She was… special, somehow.

He felt like it would be okay to lean on the hand she offered. Just a little.

“I was going to show her to the drawing room, but she insisted on waiting in the garden.”

In the garden? It was getting too cold for long strolls now. But if that's what she wanted, it didn't matter.

“I'll go out at once. Tell the kitchen to prepare some warm tea.”

He added.

“And quickly, so the lady doesn't have to wait!”

* * *

Cesare was able to meet Ariadne looking much neater and more stylish than last time.

He had been bathing and purifying himself every morning while waiting for the King's messenger.

Meeting outdoors also allowed him to wear an overcoat and hat, which helped him dress more flamboyantly.

“Have you been waiting long?”

Cesare greeted her with a bright smile.

While Cesare was dressed like a peacock, Ariadne's attire was the epitome of modesty.

She wore a long, black robe, like those worn by plague doctors, completely concealing whatever dress she had on underneath.

She also had a scarf wrapped around her face.

Cesare was slightly disappointed.

*‘What, she didn't dress up at all to come see me?’*

He glanced down at his own peacock-like outfit again. *Should I… have worn something simpler?*

“Weren't you cold?”

But concealing his true feelings was what Cesare did best.

Especially when it was disappointment, and the other person was someone he wanted to impress.

With a broad smile, he took a step closer to hand Ariadne the warm tea brought from the kitchen.

Steam rose gently from the beautiful porcelain cup, inlaid with silver patterns.

“Don't come any closer.”

Ariadne took a step back. At this, even the great Cesare failed to maintain his expression.

Noticing the hint of disappointment that escaped, Ariadne explained with a slightly softer expression.

“I had to be near a plague patient recently.”

Even after hearing this perfectly logical and reasonable explanation, Cesare's mood didn't improve.

Ariadne, keenly sensing his displeasure, added another word. She could read Cesare's expressions with her eyes closed.

“It's for your sake, Your Grace. You can't get sick.”

At these words, Cesare felt the knot that had been forming in his chest dissolve like cotton candy.

It was absurd. This woman had the power to send his spirits soaring into the sky or plunging into the cellar with the smallest of actions.

With a hint of admiration, Cesare offered again.

“But take this. You must be cold after being outside for so long.”

Tenderness dripped from Cesare's voice, and his actions showed respect.

He placed the teacup and saucer on a decorative rock and took a step back.

Ariadne reluctantly approached, picked up only the porcelain cup, and held it in both hands.

She didn't lower her face scarf, merely enjoying the warmth of the cup, but that alone made Cesare feel a sense of pride swell within him.

Because she had murmured softly.

“Mm, it's warm.”

The influence he had on the one person who could move him. To think such a small thing could bring so much joy.

But that trivial satisfaction was completely forgotten with Ariadne's next words.

“Your Grace. I have come today with a way to defeat the Gallico army.”

A rush of exhilaration, like a potent shot of grappa coursing through his veins, exploded in his mind.