Chapter 32

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 32
Chapter Title: A Boy and Girl in the Hydrangea Garden
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Having finally escaped the crowd of adults, Prince Alfonso gestured toward the rear garden. Ariadne readily followed him outside.

“That was quite an escape.”

Ariadne offered her sympathies to the prince, who had just pushed his way through the throng.

“Not at all!”

Despite having physically shouldered his way through the crush of noblemen, the prince strongly denied it, smiling brightly.

“I didn’t know you were coming today. How did you manage it? Did you come with… your mother?”

Ariadne shook her head.

“My governess, Mrs. Romani, is acting as my temporary chaperone, so I was able to come. She’s a relative of the Marchioness Cibo.”

“Well, I’m glad. How have you been? Do you like your dress today?”

Ariadne blushed, remembering their time atop the zelkova tree.

“I think it’s better than last time.”

“What about the hairpin I gave you?”

Ariadne blushed again, this time in embarrassment. To put it kindly, she had a refined and elegant appearance; to put it less kindly, her features were a bit sharp. The utterly adorable, bright pink, flower-shaped jeweled hairpin didn't suit her at all. But she felt too guilty to say such a thing to the person who had given it to her.

“It was lovely… but it doesn’t match today’s dress. I’ll be sure to wear it next time.”

The two continued their idle chatter as they strolled once around the Marchioness Cibo’s rear garden. They mostly exchanged pleasantries about how they had been, and while some important information, such as Ariadne’s reputation among the court nobles, was mixed in, their conversation could only be summarized as ‘idle.’ In truth, the words, the sentences they formed, and the meanings they conveyed were of no importance between them right now. All Alfonso could see was Ariadne’s smooth skin, her jet-black hair, her deep green eyes, and the way her eyes curved into crescent moons when she smiled. He saw them automatically, even when he tried not to. When she laughed in disbelief, her white front teeth and plump upper lip combined to make her look a bit like a rabbit. The sudden thought of what it would be like to press his lips there sent a shiver down his spine. But he could go no further. He was a prince, a future monarch. The kingdom would one day be his, but in return, he had to dedicate himself to it. That was what any proper monarch in his position would do. His marriage would be decided by his father and mother. In all likelihood, the woman he would meet in the future would be the daughter of some monarch from across the sea. He didn’t know if she would be beautiful, kind, or a good person, but she would arrive with gold, jewels, and the security of a nation loaded onto a ship, or piled high in horse-drawn carriages. As a price for his compliance with that marriage—that is, by growing fond of a woman he didn’t know, building a family with her, and having children—his kingdom and his people would become safer and more prosperous.

“Alfonso, isn’t that beautiful?”

Prince Alfonso was suddenly shaken from his reverie. Ariadne was looking back at him with a bright expression, pointing to the hydrangeas in full bloom in the Marchioness Cibo’s garden. There was a narrow path completely flanked by hydrangeas, which filled the space on both sides of the walkway.

“Let’s go over there!”

Led by the girl, he took a step onto the hydrangea path, thinking that since he hadn't initiated it, this much would be fine. The sight was magnificent. The towering bushes of pure white hydrangeas blocked the view of anyone who entered, and with a single step inside the path, the world seemed to vanish, leaving only the white blossoms, the deep green leaves visible at either end of the passage, and a sliver of brilliant blue sky if one looked up. It was just the two of them, alone. Amid the sea of white hydrangeas, a single purple one stood out—a solitary bloom that had turned a uniquely deep shade as the colors subtly shifted. *I shouldn’t,* he thought. His reason told him that if he didn’t touch it, didn’t get closer, didn’t pick it, and simply admired it from a safe distance as part of a good relationship, if he postponed the moment of decision as long as possible, they could continue to see each other with smiles. *Maintain a safe distance.* But his mouth moved of its own accord.

“Do you… want that one?”

“It belongs to the Marchioness Cibo. Is it alright to pick it?”

“Let’s just sneak it.”

Ariadne burst into a clear, bright laugh.

“And how am I supposed to sneak it away after picking it? Throw it away immediately? What a waste.”

“Hide it in the folds of your skirt and take it inside.”

Ariadne let out her signature high-pitched laugh and playfully slapped Alfonso’s shoulder. The touch of the girl’s hand on his shoulder was enough to blow a fuse in his mind. When he had met Ariadne at the abandoned fountain in the Queen's palace, he had helped her climb the tree without much thought. He could swear that he had held her arm and taken her in his arms with no ulterior motives. But afterward, just before falling asleep, the image of the black-haired girl in the white dress would suddenly appear. The sensation of her arm in his grasp, the feel of her breath, the scent of her soft skin and hair—they would overwhelm him as he lay in bed. Once he became aware of it, it was uncontrollable. Objectively, Ariadne’s touch today might have meant nothing, but subjectively, it was special. Unable to stop himself, Alfonso called to her in a low voice.

“Come here.”

“Wh-What?”

Alfonso took Ariadne by the waist and lifted her. Now, he could no longer even make the excuse that he hadn’t been the one to reach out first.

***

Ariadne, who had seemed surprised at first, took advantage of the height Alfonso gave her and used her own hand to pluck the purple hydrangea blooming at the top of the bush. She held the picked flower in her hand like a bouquet.

“How is it? Is it pretty?”

“It’s truly beautiful.”

Their conversation seemed to flow smoothly on the surface, but they were referring to different things. The girl had asked if the flower was pretty, but the boy’s answer had been about the girl. Other guests from the salon who were out for a stroll could occasionally be seen nearby. In their eyes, anyone other than the two of them was like an inanimate object, a wall clock, or a piece of furniture. But one thing a wall clock and the other guests had in common was that they told the time. A man and a woman could take a natural stroll around the grounds, whether in the garden or the building, but if they lingered too long in one spot or disappeared somewhere and didn't reemerge, they would immediately become the subject of gossip. A ‘natural lap’ meant staying within a safe zone where the other guests they had seen at the start of their walk were still visible around them. Ariadne and Alfonso began to realize that familiar faces were becoming sparse, or had almost disappeared entirely.

“We should head back inside soon.”

Alfonso reluctantly agreed with Ariadne’s haste. The memory of her waist, which had fit so perfectly in his hands, lingered in his mind. The yellow satin dress she wore had been in his grasp for a moment before she was gone, leaving him with a sense of loss, like when the sunlight streams through a window for a moment only to vanish abruptly.

***

“I would like to extend my gratitude to the Marquis and Marchioness Cibo for hosting this splendid event, to His Highness Prince Alfonso de Carlo for gracing us with his presence, and to all the ladies and gentlemen here today.”

The art auction was finally beginning. The merchant who had brought the items was a middle-aged man in his fifties with a somewhat sharp impression, a meticulously trimmed beard, and an excessively stylish flair.

“My name is Vincenzio, and I hail from the Republic of Porto. I have the honor of being the second son of the younger brother of the esteemed Benascio of the Del Gato family, who serves as the Minister of Finance for the Republic of Porto. It is through this connection that I am able to present these fantastic works of art to you today! You all know what’s coming, don’t you?”

Though he emphasized his ties to a powerful family in the Republic of Porto, the man had the distinct air of a street hawker. But the rumors of the *Vittoria Nike* were so great that the guests, now seated in the hall, buzzed with excitement, fueling each other’s anticipation.

“First, let us begin with some small and lovely items. These are paintings by a new artist from Urbino. Even if they don’t quite meet your standards, I ask you to look upon them with a generous heart, as if you were sponsoring a promising young talent. This is *Our Lady of the Daffodils*.”

Ariadne smirked. Bernardo of Urbino, the artist of this painting, would be scouted by the Holy See next year after his portrait of the Marquis of Urbino received immense praise. He would continue his career there and, in a few years, be put in charge of the expansion, renovation, and frescoes of the great Trevero Cathedral, causing his value to skyrocket. To call Bernardo of Urbino a new artist was almost embarrassing; his style, even in its early stages, boasted a solid and stable composition and brushwork. At this point in his youth, his works were even daring. Any art lover who found this piece lacking was either completely ignorant or, conversely, had such impossibly high standards that their only option was to pick up a brush and oil paints themselves.

“We’ll start the bidding at five ducats! Do I have any takers?”

However, because the merchant from Porto had opened with such a dismissive pitch, no one called out a price for the piece—a work that would be worth several times more by next year, and in five years, would be beyond the means of most nobles—even at a mere five ducats. Not wanting to draw attention to herself, Ariadne waited a moment longer before calling out her bid.

“Five ducats!”

“Oh, who was that? Ah, the second daughter of the de Mare family, you say. The Cardinal’s younger daughter bids five ducats! Anyone else!”

His form of address was unrefined, likely because he was a foreigner. She could laugh that off.

“If there are no other bids, I will begin the count. Five!”

“Four!”

“Three!”

“Eight ducats.”

The person who called the second bid had just taken the seat right next to Ariadne. He had rustled in late while the count was underway, and though the hall was quite full, it wasn't as if there were no other empty seats. It had been slightly annoying that he had come all the way to sit right beside her. It was impolite for a lady to stare at the person next to her, and since the bidding was in progress, Ariadne hadn’t checked to see who it was. Instead, the Porto merchant posed the question to the man beside her.

“And who might the gentleman be who called the second bid…”

After a moment of murmuring, the merchant received confirmation from the hosts and made the announcement.

“Ah! It is Count Cesare de Como!”

Ariadne, startled as if she’d been burned, whipped her head around to look beside her. Count Cesare de Como was just settling into his seat, removing his hat and adjusting his clothes. A high-bridged nose and a delicate jawline were briefly visible beneath his reddish-brown hair. He soon swept that hair back, turned to look at her, and met Ariadne’s shocked gaze. He raised his left eyebrow and the left corner of his mouth, forming an ambiguous expression that was neither a smile nor a sneer, and gave her a slight nod of greeting. It was an expression Ariadne knew all too well. Just then, the merchant from Porto called for the next bid.

“Count de Como has bid eight ducats, we have eight ducats! The next lady or gentleman to bid…!”

Before the merchant could finish his sentence, Ariadne cried out sharply.

“Ten ducats!”