Chapter 52

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 52
Chapter Title: An Adult Affair
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The Royal Hunt was an annual event held every autumn. Participants would travel to the Orte Forest, the royal hunting grounds north of San Carlo, where they would pitch tents and hunt for the entire day. High-ranking nobles, ladies, and their daughters would converse in the tents set up at the forest's entrance, while the young men, armed with bows and quivers and leading hunting dogs, would venture deep into the woods for game. The highlight of the day was the award ceremony to determine the winner of the hunt. The day began early, and by late afternoon, each individual's catch was tallied. The young man who brought back the most and best game was awarded a prize—a small purse of gold from His Majesty the King and a laurel wreath placed upon his head by Queen Marguerite herself. Another spectacle was the ribbons and handkerchiefs bestowed by the young ladies. Giving a handkerchief was considered a token of a secret rendezvous, so only the boldest of ladies would dare to part with theirs. On this day, however, offering a handkerchief to the winner of the hunt was graciously permitted as a sign of admiration.

“Who do you think will win this time?”

Arabella asked Ariadne, her eyes sparkling. Lately, Arabella had made a habit of visiting Ariadne’s drawing room and staying for hours. To the still-young Arabella, the affairs of high society, all the incidents involving her older sisters, and the letters, notes, bouquets, and gifts from men were like tales from another world. No matter how many stories she heard, it was never enough; she always wanted more.

“Who knows?”

Ariadne shook her head. The court nobles who had settled in San Carlo were generally more skilled in chess and literature than in hunting or swordsmanship. As a result, the winner of the hunt was often a newcomer rather than a familiar name among the capital’s aristocracy.

“When I’m old enough to attend the hunt, I hope a handsome knight wins!”

Arabella declared with determination. Ariadne smiled and replied.

“If it’s a handsome knight you want, you can give him your handkerchief even if he doesn’t win, you know.”

It wasn’t just the winner who received such tokens. It was common for a young lady to shyly offer her handkerchief or tie a ribbon to the saddle of a man who had narrowly missed victory, or simply one who had appeared valiant in her eyes, before disappearing. The hunt was an event where sparks often flew between eligible young men and women. Unaware of such intricacies, Arabella’s eyes lit up.

“I’m going to marry a handsome groom!”

“Of course, you will.”

Ariadne smiled.

*I’ll help you. I’ll make sure you grow up safe and sound until that day comes, so that can happen. I’ll change your fate.*

The thought of Arabella bringing a handsome knight home to meet the family, just as she had declared, brought a natural smile to Ariadne’s lips. Whether the day would come when Arabella learned of her half-sister’s resolve was anyone’s guess. Most of the capital’s nobility were invited to the hunt. As it was an outdoor event with no strict limit on the number of attendees, invitations were generously extended to anyone of consequence, not just nobles but also their relatives or officials who had distinguished themselves. It was the number one event for ambitious and valiant men of lower status hoping to find a wife. This was precisely why Lucrezia had not sent Zanobi back to Taranto after the débutante ball; she wanted him to participate. Lucrezia prayed that her nephew Zanobi would manage to charm a respectable young lady and settle down in the capital. Or, considering Zanobi’s looks, that seemed unlikely, so she at least hoped he could make acquaintances with some gentlemen and find a decent job in the city.

“You, this time, no strange remarks. You must meet as many people as you can.”

Lucrezia sat Zanobi down and urged him earnestly.

“I know what I’m doing, Aunt Lucrezia!”

***

Even after his gift of a dress from Collezione was rejected, Cesare continued to send presents. Just before the hunt, another delivery arrived: the same bouquet of red roses and an exquisite horse saddle, specially crafted from deer leather. But they were met with the young lady’s ironclad indifference.

“Get the roses out of my sight, and send the saddle back.”

The servant in charge of mail, now accustomed to Ariadne’s instructions, said nothing more and turned to leave with the large gift box. He had become so used to the routine that he would make Cesare’s servant wait, receive the second daughter’s orders, and then have Cesare’s servant take the gift back with him on his way out. Isabella felt she was about to become neurotic at the mere sight of red roses. But Ariadne was no happier to see them either. The mail Ariadne had grown accustomed to receiving was Prince Alfonso’s stationery, adorned with gold leaf. The prince always wrote in a bold hand with blue ink on that gilded paper. However, since the débutante ball, aside from a single letter that arrived shortly after, informing her he had returned to the palace safely, there had been no word from Alfonso.

*Did something happen?*

Or perhaps, he just grew tired of me. Whenever Ariadne was alone, she replayed her moments with Alfonso in her mind. Was he upset that I didn’t tell him in advance that *Vittoria Nike* at the Marquis Cibo’s auction was a forgery? Was asking for a wish too presumptuous? Or was it that he was disappointed after seeing how large and unsightly my body was at the débutante ball? The mere thought sent her spiraling into melancholy. Ariadne shook her head, trying to dispel the thoughts.

“My lady, there is also a letter.”

The mail servant prompted a dazed Ariadne. Every time she was told ‘mail has arrived,’ she would look at him with anticipation for the prince’s letter, only to be presented not with gilded stationery but with enormous red roses and an envelope from the House of Como, decorated with silver foil. Today was no different. The envelope, sealed with red wax and adorned with silver, contained a short note written in Cesare’s beautiful cursive. “From your débutante partner. I intend to win this year’s hunt. If I become the champion who catches the Golden Stag, will you not grant me your handkerchief? - Count Cesare.” Ariadne had been responding to all of Count Cesare’s notes with silence. That is, she had never once sent a reply. But this note was so infuriating that she almost wrote back telling him to shut up. With parchment laid out and pen in hand, Ariadne managed to restrain herself just before writing the first word, setting the pen down on the desk with a sharp click.

“The audacity of that man.”

Then she took Count Cesare’s letter, tore it to shreds, and threw it into the wastebasket. She had standards. This was the moment a handwritten letter from Count Cesare—something the young ladies of the capital dreamed of receiving even once—was unceremoniously discarded as trash.

***

The day of the hunt was blessed with a clear, crisp autumn sky. The invited guests, each with their own expectations, gathered in twos and threes inside the large white tents pitched at the entrance of the Orte Forest, chatting about the day’s competition.

- “Who do you think will be this year’s winner?”

- “I heard the diplomatic envoys from the Kingdom of Gallico are here. Perhaps one of their attendants?”

- “The nobles of San Carlo are a bit weak when it comes to martial prowess, aren’t they?”

- “Still, I hope someone from Etruscan wins.”

- “I agree.”

Prince Alfonso was renowned for his skill in swordsmanship, jousting, and hunting. But until last year, he had been just a boy, and Queen Marguerite, who doted on her son, had forbidden him from participating in any dangerous activities. He had never taken part in the hunt. It was thought he would finally make his debut this year, but with the arrival of the Gallico diplomatic mission, the prince’s schedule was packed with meetings with the foreign envoys, forcing him to miss this year’s hunt as well. Today, Prince Alfonso’s place was not in the hunting grounds but in the tent with the esteemed guests.

“It’s always best to raid an empty house.”

With the strongest contender absent, Count Cesare de Como was eyeing the vacant spot. He was weak in contests requiring physical strength, like jousting, but he had a knack for archery and horsemanship, which relied more on skill than power. The hunt, decided by the bow, was the perfect arena for Cesare to shine.

“Is this a case of ‘when the tiger’s away, the fox becomes king’?”

“Shut up. Who are you calling a fox?”

Snapping at Ottavio, who was pestering him from the side, Cesare flicked his reins and surged ahead alone. Even if Ottavio hadn't been annoying him, he had planned to go solo today. If he accompanied other young nobles, he would have to share any game they found. With only his retainers to act as beaters and his hounds, Cesare intended to venture deep into the forest today to catch a wild boar, a bear, or perhaps even the legendary ‘Golden Stag.’

“Hey, you lot. Be careful not to harm the ‘Golden Stag.’”

“Come on, my lord. You don’t really think the ‘Golden Stag’ exists, do you? Aiming for a bear is more realistic.”

Cesare cheerfully shouted back at his jeering men.

“I’m telling you, I’ve seen it before! Life is all about one big score. If we find the ‘Golden Stag,’ victory is a sure thing. Keep your eyes peeled and find it!”

“Yes, my lord!”

***

Ariadne arrived at the outskirts of the Orte Forest, the site of the hunt, with Lucrezia, Isabella, and Zanobi. Today, they were on horseback, not in a carriage. It wasn’t just the gentlemen; the ladies, too, were dressed in splendid riding habits. Ariadne wore a new hunting hat from Raggione Tailors and a green, vertically striped riding habit with a narrow skirt for ease of movement and a neckline that rose to her chin. She rode a chestnut horse as she entered the edge of the forest. Isabella sat atop a brilliant white steed, dressed in an equally magnificent pure white riding habit, as if the thought of getting dirty had never crossed her mind. Lucrezia’s riding habit was cut with a neckline as deep as an evening gown, and Zanobi was dressed to the nines, hoping to hook some noble lady who could secure his livelihood. Isabella had wanted to spend the day with her friends, but the reality of having to keep her mother, who had yet to find her footing in society, company seemed to irritate her. But then again, considering Isabella’s circle of friends had shrunk considerably, having the excuse of needing to look after her mother might have been for the best. Ariadne glanced around. Giulia de Valdesal and her friends were mostly absent today. Young ladies who were already betrothed did not attend the hunt, and neither did those of such high birth that their matches were certain to be arranged by their families. Some came to cheer on a participating brother, but Giulia’s older brother was studying abroad in Padova, Cornelia had only a younger sister, and Gabriele’s younger brother was too young to participate. Far in the distance, she could see Prince Alfonso. He was standing with Leo III, Queen Marguerite, and the Gallico delegation in the most elevated VIP section at the very center of the tent. Ariadne looked toward the prince. He, too, was looking in her direction. Their eyes met in the open air. Upon meeting her gaze, Prince Alfonso grew flustered and bowed his head slightly. He made no formal acknowledgment or any sign that he knew her. Ariadne’s spirits plummeted. She could understand it intellectually. She and Prince Alfonso were merely friends, and her fluttery feelings for him were her own. He was currently performing official duties and had no time to spare for a mere friend. But her heart refused to follow where her head led. An inexplicable sense of loss washed over her, and she lowered her head, spurred her horse, and galloped forward.

***

The reason Alfonso hadn’t greeted Ariadne was not only due to his mother’s admonition but also because of the situation he was in. His current circumstances were not conducive to focusing on personal romance. A romance of national importance was being brokered. And it was not going smoothly. The Gallico delegation consisted of a duke, a count, and several officials, all of whom had served as diplomatic envoys to the Kingdom of Etruscan several times before. Naturally, they could speak Etruscan very well. The last time Duke Mireille had come to Etruscan as an envoy, he had conversed fluently in Etruscan with the noble ladies. But today, for some reason, they all kept their mouths shut and spoke only in the Gallico tongue. The interpreter assigned to them seemed utterly bewildered at having to actually do his job.

“It's a fine day, isn’t it.”

It was simple Gallico that Leo III could certainly understand, but for the king to communicate in a foreign language was unprecedented, leaving the assembled leaders flustered. The only one responding to the envoys’ small talk was Queen Marguerite, a native of Gallico for whom speaking the language was no fault, despite her royal status. Eventually, Countess Marquez, unable to watch any longer, had a word with the Gallico envoys through the interpreter.

“When in Etruscan, you should follow Etruscan customs. Let us converse in a language we are all comfortable with.”

At that, the Gallico envoy, Duke Mireille, smiled slyly and remarked.

“What makes a country great? Its’ language, I’d say.”