Chapter 61

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 61
Chapter Title: Three People and Their Letters
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Ariadne had, without a doubt, approached Alfonso with clear intent at first. She saw him as a golden key that would solve all her problems in one fell swoop—the insufferable Cesare, the troublesome members of the de Mare family, and all her other hardships. Marrying Prince Alfonso would certainly resolve everything cleanly. Of course, the matter of Cesare’s rebellion would still remain, but she knew a great deal about the cards Cesare held when he was plotting his treason. As long as history flowed as it had before, she would be able to stop it.

That was why she had thought it a perfect arrangement. It was beneficial for Alfonso and beneficial for her. If Alfonso simply agreed to marry her, there would be no obstacle in their path.

Thus, without a shred of guilt, Ariadne had intentionally set a trap to captivate the seventeen-year-old boy’s heart, both when they first met at the Rambouillet Almshouse and when they met a second time in the Queen’s garden.

The guilt of having led the Alfonso of her past life into a trap with her own hands had gradually faded. This time, she would place him on the throne through their marriage. And she never worried or fretted over his reaction. If he didn't take the bait, she would just set another trap. If he didn't love her, there was always the option of becoming his political bride and seizing the spot by his side.

Whatever the method, the result would be justified. Once she had Alfonso’s marriage vows in hand, Ariadne would be very close to the freedom she had dreamed of. As a bonus, Alfonso would also gain his rightful inheritance: the throne.

But at some point, the boy who had been her brother-in-law in a past life, this bright and cheerful soul, seemed to have seeped into her. She missed him when he wasn't there, worried about his well-being, and a desire coiled in her heart—a wish for him to wonder about her, to miss her too.

It was no longer about a political relationship of convenience, nor a mutually beneficial symbiosis; she wanted Alfonso’s heart, his sincerity. She wanted to save him from unhappiness and help keep sorrow and worry from overwhelming him.

‘Get a grip.’

Ariadne shook her head from side to side. She wasn't completely safe yet. True, gaining the authority to audit Lucrezia’s ledgers had given her some breathing room at home, but she didn't know how the family dynamics would shift once the eldest son, Ippolito, returned from his studies abroad. And as the years passed, Cardinal de Mare would eventually grow old and die, and Ippolito—Lucrezia’s son and Isabella’s biological brother—would inherit the de Mare family. She had to leave the house through marriage before then.

‘When I'm head over heels for a man, I'm no better than a sea anemone.’

Besides, her track record when she fell in love was disastrous. In her past life, the Cesare from the time when Ariadne was wary of him had been just as gentle, cheerful, and pleasant as a spring breeze. But after he realized she had fallen for him and become a prisoner of love, that she was blindly devoted only to him, her fiancé, without the support of family or friends, he became a completely different person.

- “The lily of the valley that blooms in the wild is just like you.”

Ariadne was a free flower blooming in a field. He picked her when he wanted and, when he grew tired of her, threw her back into the meadow. Ariadne’s love, like a bulb that had overwintered through the cold, would brilliantly bloom into lilies of the valley again in May, reigniting its passion for Cesare even when left alone.

The slightest warm breeze—for instance, seeing a single smile spread across his chiseled, marble-like face in reaction to something she did—would make the lily of the valley bulb think spring had come and burst into bloom with all its might.

While she devotedly gazed only at Cesare from the field, expecting nothing in return, Isabella became a beautiful rose, diligently cultivated in a greenhouse, growing on the nourishment of Cesare’s attention and love.

And it wasn’t just the expensive and precious Isabella. The list of people more important to Cesare than Ariadne was endless: there was the Countess Bartolini, who was ‘just a friend’; Baroness Santarosa, who was so gifted in instrumental music that she was Cesare’s ‘artistic muse’ (though Cesare himself engaged in no productive musical activities like composing or playing, other than listening); and the voluptuous, sensual Mrs. Gentilini, a commoner with no discernible culture, but whom he called his ‘soulmate’ and warned others not to interfere with their relationship.

When there were no women, there were his friends. That damned gang of hooligans, led by Ottavio de Contarini, was always running around together—playing cards, hunting, or making bets—leaving their wives and fiancées at home.

An Ariadne in love was not attractive. At least, she herself believed so.

‘Never again. I will not repeat it.’

Horrified by the incident with Zanobi, Ariadne decided to devalue not only Cesare's letters but Alfonso's as well. *Men can't be trusted. Count Cesare is a given, and Prince Alfonso probably doesn't mean it either. Even if he does, I can't fall for it. Don't waver. I will become queen by winning the place at the prince's side without falling in love with him, or anyone else. For my freedom and my safety.*

***

Contrary to Ariadne’s dismissive thoughts, Alfonso had put a great deal of thought and discussion into writing this letter with his secretary, Bernardino.

“Can I invite Ari?”

“Absolutely not, Your Highness.”

That was the firm response from his secretary, Bernardino, regarding whether an invitation could be sent in the name of the Prince’s Palace to Miss Ariadne de Mare to accompany him to the southern villa.

“On what grounds would you invite a young lady of marriageable age in the name of the Prince’s Palace?”

To that question, Alfonso had no reply.

“Your Highness can invite any young gentleman. If you were a princess, you could have invited Miss de Mare. But right now, especially in this situation, a female guest is absolutely out of the question.”

Bernardino pointedly referred to the current political climate, where negotiations for a strategic marriage were underway, to dissuade Alfonso.

For a moment, Alfonso imagined disguising Ariadne as an unknown young gentleman, dressing her in men’s clothes, and running around the southern villa with her. They would go for a walk in the morning, splash around in the fountain at noon, take a nap in a hammock in the afternoon, and then share some grapes… A dream-like day, like walking on clouds.

Alfonso was not one for a vivid imagination. He was a model student who learned what he was taught and faithfully executed his lessons. But whenever it came to Ariadne, he would have the most absurd fantasies.

He had lived a life where everything was decided according to a set plan. He was born a prince, and it was his destiny to study the arts of kingship diligently to become a wise ruler. His mother had tirelessly paved the way for him, and his father had eliminated every obstacle in his son’s path.

When the time came, he would meet the daughter of a monarch, marry her, have children with her, and maintain a respectful, sacred, but dry married life while waiting for his father to pass away, at which point he would inherit the throne. The only thing Alfonso was meant to care for was his people, and nothing else. He had firmly believed he would live such a life.

‘Is there no way to be with Ari?’

The clever Ariadne would offer her counsel, and he would lead the nation—

“Your Highness?”

Alfonso snapped out of his thoughts. He considered asking his secretary, Bernardino, ‘What do you think of my idea?’ but shook his head after a second. If Alfonso were to unilaterally break off the marriage talks without securing another ally through his own marriage, it wouldn't be strange for the Kingdom of Gallico to lead its troops to the border.

Breaking off the talks might be manageable. But if the talks were finalized and became a formal betrothal, breaking *that* would truly bring Gallico’s heavy armored cavalry and artillery units to the border. And before any of that could happen, whether it was the cancellation of talks or the breaking of an engagement, the moment those words left Alfonso’s lips, Lucca would surely scream.

“It’s nothing. Let’s proceed with the afternoon schedule.”

In the end, Alfonso sent the letter having written only the sentence, ‘I truly want to show you the Star Palace of Taranto.’ That much was both sincere and a promise he could keep, even now.

***

Count Cesare de Como’s letterbox was overflowing. His letters to Ariadne had been consistently ignored until he recently succeeded in receiving his first reply. Since then, a response came back for about one out of every three letters he sent.

When it came to Ariadne, his success rate in getting a reply was not very good. However, in most cases, Cesare didn't write to others; others wrote to him first. For that reason, letters were piled up in Count Cesare’s letterbox, spilling over the top of the container. Two-thirds of them were from women who adored him.

「My dearest Count Cesare, it has been over a month since I last saw my beloved. The passion you showed then, standing beneath my window all night, drenched in the morning dew, has vanished without a trace, and I stand here alone, miserable…」

“Ah, this is tedious.”

Cesare crumpled the letter from Viscount Benedetto’s daughter and tossed it on the floor. Beside him, Ottavio de Contarini curiously picked it up and glanced at it. Cesare didn't bother to stop him.

“Isn’t this the young lady you were seeing last month? Tired of her already?”

“Seeing her? We just had some fun once. Why is she so clueless? If there’s no letter for a month, doesn’t that basically mean we’re done?”

“You’re definitely going to die with a knife in your back from a woman one day.”

Ottavio looked at the massive pile of letters on Cesare’s desk. He picked one up and read it aloud.

“I waited for you at the mill on the outskirts as we promised, but you never appeared. Oh, you cruel man.”

After reading the line with exaggerated emotion and emphasis, Ottavio clicked his tongue.

“The mill? Don’t tell me you sweet-talked a woman into meeting you at a mill for *that*, only to stand her up at the last minute?”

“I forgot.”

*I’ve had something more deserving of my focus lately,* Cesare added mentally.

“Still, how could you forget that? Wow, this girl is going to be scarred for life.”

“She’s no maiden. She’s a married woman. She should be grateful I forgot. Thanks to my change of heart, she gets to keep her peaceful family, doesn’t she? Since I didn’t show up, she probably had a passionate reunion with that husband of hers instead. It worked out for everyone, didn’t it?”

It was Cesare at his most shameless. Ottavio shook his head and continued to rummage through the things on Cesare’s desk until he found a letter tucked in a corner. Unlike the other letters, which had been torn open carelessly, the red wax seal on this one had been carefully broken and then delicately pressed back into place, its original shape preserved. It bore the crest of the de Mare family.

“What’s this, set up like a holy relic?”

As Ottavio reached for the de Mare letter, Cesare slapped his wrist away with his good right hand.

“Get your hands off.”

“What is it that you’re hiding from me?”

“None of your business.”

At Cesare’s resistance, Ottavio grinned slyly.

“Well, well? Hand it over! What’s the big deal?”

Ottavio started to wrestle with Cesare, trying to snatch the letter. Cesare swung his splinted left arm, chasing Ottavio away. The sudden exertion made his face flush and his breath ragged. It was uncharacteristic of the always elegant Count Cesare.

He managed to grab Ariadne’s letter before Ottavio could, stuffed it into a drawer, and locked the top drawer with a key. He also tucked the reply he had been writing inside the drawer with it.

“I said it’s none of your business!”

“What, are you planning a gambling party or something? If so, why won’t you show me? Trying to go gambling without me?”

“No!”

“Don’t tell me… it’s a woman?”

“Shut up!”

Alfonso’s letter ended with, ‘I want to see the Star Palace of Taranto with you.’ It contained no such line as, ‘I invite you to the palace.’ It was a letter that stated only the truth, a promise he could keep.

The reply Cesare was writing to Ariadne said, ‘I’ll choose you as the woman I’ll marry, seduced by your pretty face. If you take responsibility for me, I’ll offer you the kingdom itself.’ For now, they were words far too sweet to be believed, from a man who had neither the ability nor the sincerity to fulfill promises of marriage or kingdoms.

Whether a woman’s heart would choose one over the other, or remain frozen like ice, was something that could only be known when the time came.

And the masquerade ball, where they could meet one another with their identities concealed, was fast approaching.