Chapter 215

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 215
Chapter Title: A Heart Yet Unable to Accept
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Ariadne descended to the drawing room, her face pale.

Despite the fire roaring in the hearth, a wool shawl was wrapped around her shoulders, and her hands were covered in thick leather gloves.

Cesare shot up from his seat to greet Ariadne as she quietly entered the room.

“My lady! What’s wrong with your face! Are you ill?”

He strode over, took Ariadne’s hand, and led her to the drawing room sofa.

It was done with such ease that one couldn’t tell who was the host and who was the guest.

She flinched for a moment at the touch of Cesare’s hand, but soon offered her gloved left hand and allowed him to guide her.

“It’s nothing,” she said weakly, sitting on the sofa.

“I’m just a little tired.”

He replied at once.

“It’s more than that. I’ve never seen you so listless.”

A look of concern flickered across his sculpted, handsome face.

It was a face she could draw with her eyes closed, a voice she could recall without hearing it, yet she had no memory of such an absorbed expression, such a demeanor.

Ariadne searched her memory, wondering if Cesare had always been this kind of man, and threw out a pointless joke to break the somewhat awkward atmosphere.

“I hope it’s not the Black Death.”

“Oh, my.”

Cesare smiled, revealing a set of perfect teeth.

“Then I’d catch it too.”

The two of them were alone in the enclosed drawing room, without any protective gear. She let out a small laugh and replied.

“Unfortunately for you, yes.”

“Then will you let us be quarantined together?”

He smiled brightly as he looked around the drawing room.

“This house is magnificent, it looks just right for a ten-day stay. I’d prefer it if my room was the same as yours, my lady. It must be boring to be locked up alone.”

Ariadne’s eyes widened as she answered.

“You’re not going home?”

“Live up to your reputation and do something for the nation and its people, Lady de Mare. If I were to return home now, I’d be spreading the Black Death all along the road, not to mention exposing the poor members of the Duke of Pisano’s household to the plague, wouldn’t I?”

He shook his head from side to side.

“From what I hear, Lady Ariadne de Mare has the disposition of an angel fresh from heaven and is so compassionate she feeds the entire almshouse.”

“You should sleep at your own home.”

“The real you is merciless, I see.”

He looked at Ariadne with narrowed eyes.

“Only one of the rumors is true.”

“What is it?”

“That your cunning pierces the heavens.”

He gazed at her intently.

“...Thank you.”

Ariadne, startled by a word she never expected to hear from Cesare’s lips, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

Did I hear that right? It was her attempt to clear any obstacle, to hear better.

Utterly oblivious to the fact that Ariadne was doubting her own ears, Cesare continued.

“Thanks to you, I was spared a difficult situation.”

He looked out the window of the de Mare estate. Far in the distance, the western spire of the Palazzo Carlo was faintly visible.

“A defeated commander-in-chief. A title I never needed was forced upon me, a hat that didn’t fit.”

He had thought that until this matter was resolved, he might be held responsible for the defeat and imprisoned in the western spire.

“I was utterly humiliated and defeated. A scapegoat is always needed after a lost battle.”

Ariadne followed Cesare’s gaze and realized what he had been thinking.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

She said with a sneer.

“It would not have gone as Your Grace imagined. You’ve been officially recognized as having blue blood, even if from a collateral branch. Do you think they’d lock you in the west tower for a single defeat?”

The words, *that’s a place for people like me, with no one to back them up*, were swallowed down with effort.

The Cesare before her now didn’t know that she had been imprisoned in the western spire.

As she spoke, Ariadne observed herself, noticing how she kept losing her composure when dealing with Cesare.

She was confident that not a single shred of affection for him remained. All that was left was rage and resentment. The anger, that must be why.

Unaware of her inner turmoil, Cesare smiled and shook his head.

“You overestimate my dear father.”

Countess Rubina, the king’s mistress of over twenty years, was thrown not into the west tower but the dungeon the moment she was suspected of harming Queen Marguerite.

Not that Leo III had genuinely cared for Queen Marguerite, either.

When the opportunity arose to investigate the queen’s death, the king weighed the political pros and cons, feared the Kingdom of Gallico, and turned a blind eye.

He showed no intention of seeking revenge. The mastermind behind her murder remains a mystery to this day.

“I’m not the legitimate firstborn, and even if I were, do you truly think I’d be excluded from the list of potential scapegoats to be hung from the city walls in the king’s stead to answer for a military defeat? Truly?”

“I suppose he wouldn’t exclude you.”

Ariadne replied with a smile.

“But hanging Your Grace from the walls would be a grand gesture for His Majesty, so he would save it for the very, very end.”

After all, once Cesare was hung, the only offering left to provide would be the king himself. This wasn't to say Leo III would show warmth to his own flesh and blood.

It meant he wouldn't execute him for something so trivial. He would save him for when the stakes were higher.

“...Now that I hear you say it, my lady, that makes sense too.”

Cesare stared at Ariadne as if entranced.

“It’s truly strange.”

“What is?”

“Did you put something in the tea?”

Cesare made the outlandish comment and lifted the teacup from the tea table to peer inside.

Naturally, there was nothing but tea inside.

“I’m not one to believe others easily.”

Ariadne nodded. Cesare might be impressionable, but that was different from trusting others. *So he does know that much about himself.*

“But when I hear you speak, I just find myself convinced. No questions asked. Why on earth is that?”

Ariadne laughed as if in disbelief.

“Perhaps it’s because I only say what’s right.”

“That’s true, too.”

Seeing Cesare nod so readily struck Ariadne as somewhat comical.

“There’s nothing in the tea. It seems you’re the one who’s sick, Your Grace, not me.”

“Hm? Why me?”

“They say people do things they never used to when they’re about to die.”

“So you’ll let me sleep here?”

“How did the conversation get there?”

“If I have the Black Death, then you must have it too. If we patients quarantine together nicely, we can save resources, reduce trouble, and it would be good in many ways, wouldn’t it?”

Cesare smiled and took off the cloak he was wearing.

“Isn’t it warm in this room? The fire is burning quite well.”

Ariadne was still wearing her thick shawl and gloves.

“Are you still not feeling well? Your color is a bit better than when you first came in.”

Cesare was examining Ariadne’s face and expression in detail. In fact, this was a first.

Even in their past life, he had never taken such care of her when she was his fiancée.

He would praise Ariadne when she appeared beautifully dressed at a ball, show displeasure if she seemed less skilled at dancing than other ladies, get annoyed if she was too sick to meet a schedule, and be pleased when she did something well that earned him praise instead.

He had rarely shown interest in her herself. No, he never had.

Did he show it to Isabella? Ariadne thought that was probably not the case either. Cesare just wasn't built that way.

“I think I’m feeling a little better. It is warm in here.”

He crossed over from the tea table and stood beside Ariadne.

“If you give me your shawl, I’ll hang it over there for you.”

This behavior from Cesare was still unfamiliar. Ariadne couldn’t help but say something.

“What’s gotten into you, Your Grace? I don’t recall you being this kind of person.”

He laughed pleasantly with his handsome face.

“You’re strange too, my lady. We haven’t spent much time together, yet how do you know me so well? You’re not secretly reading only the Cesare de Carlo section in the ‘San Carlo Gazette,’ are you?”

Ariadne offered a vague excuse.

“Society gossip travels fast.”

“You shouldn’t believe what people say. They always talk about things that are far from the truth.”

He gazed at her deeply. Beneath his long lashes, watery-blue eyes watched her.

There was a time she had desperately wanted the full attention of those eyes.

So much so that if she could monopolize that gaze, she would have wanted nothing more in life. Really? And now?

“People also say you’re the reincarnation of an angel that fell from the sky, don’t they? How absurd!”

Cesare reached out and gently lifted Ariadne’s chin.

“A sword on your tongue, a venomous nature. You never lose an argument. Far from an angel, you live by an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, and you never accept a loss.”

The watery-blue eyes met the green.

Though his words were a torrent of criticism, his gaze was incredibly gentle, taking in her eyes, nose, and lips, one by one, with an affectionate look.

“But everything you say is right, and everything you want is within the bounds of common sense. An eye for an eye applies to you as well. You don’t make unreasonable demands or take unfair advantages. Surprisingly, you’re always giving to others. For all your talk, you’re a complete softy.”

He slowly tilted his head to the side.

Though the distance remained, the line that had connected their noses shifted to the side, and instead, the line between their lips aligned.

“Do you know what’s funny? All of that is secondary. For some reason I can’t explain, you’re the only one I see now.”

Ariadne turned her head slightly to the side. Her cheeks were flushed.

“It’s hot.”

She had to get out of his angle. Cesare didn't insist on holding the position and readily straightened his head.

“Hot? Give me your shawl.”

Instead of taking off the wool shawl she was wearing, she simply offered her shoulder to him. Cesare removed her shawl himself. His touch was practiced.

Once it was off, the skin on her collarbone where the shawl had been was flushed red.

It was impossible to tell whether it was from the friction of the wool as sweat formed in the sweltering heat of the room, or if she was swayed by the atmosphere.

“Oh, my.”

Cesare took Ariadne’s shawl, draped it over the arm of a wingback chair, and took out a handkerchief.

He pressed the clean handkerchief to the nape of her neck. It came away damp with sweat.

“It’s all red.”

Ariadne glanced down at Cesare’s handkerchief. *My handkerchief from that time. I need to get it back.*

Then she thought of Cesare crying like a child that day. Was the Cesare of that day sincere? Had some part of him changed?

He spoke softly, in a tone one might use to soothe a child.

“It’s not good to be bundled up so tightly when it’s warm. I realized it while hunting—your body can get sick if your temperature rises too much.”

He held out his hand.

“Take off your gloves too?”

Wearing gloves indoors when it wasn't a formal occasion like a ball was against San Carlo etiquette.

But etiquette was a secondary concern.

He wanted Ariadne to be comfortable with him.

He found himself wanting to see her in simple indoor clothes, without makeup.

Like a part of daily life. For him, who had always sought a woman to adorn his surroundings like an artistic sculpture, with perfect makeup on porcelain skin, it was a feeling he had never experienced before.

Since she had so readily given him her shawl, Cesare assumed it would be fine to take off her gloves.

The hand he reached for happened to be her left one.

The moment his hand touched the camel-colored leather glove, she recoiled in shock and slapped his hand away.

“Don’t touch me!”