Chapter 93

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 93
Chapter Title: Taranto's Winter Social Season
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The ten-day journey to Taranto in the south, with its constant swaying from side to side, was objectively arduous, but Maletta savored every moment.

Here, with no Lady Lucrezia to scold her and no Lady Ariadne to correct her, Maletta was a little queen.

First, Maletta gathered all the jewelry her young master had bought for her and draped herself in it.

Beneath it, she wore a seductive négligée—the kind she hadn't dared to wear at the Cardinal's residence for fear of prying eyes.

Over that, she wore nothing but a layer of fur.

Each new négligée Maletta donned, Ippolito would promptly tear off and toss to the carriage floor.

They were clothes she could never wear in San Carlo anyway.

Maletta changed her négligées and robes two or three times a day.

In the time left over, they drank from noon onward, and when their hangovers grew severe, they drank cold water—water imported from Acereto, infused with lime.

It was the height of luxury.

Aside from being a bit cramped, shaky, and unsanitary, the inside of the carriage was nothing short of a paradise for the depraved.

Ippolito, drunk on the mood, chattered away.

“Maletta, do you have any idea how beautiful a city Taranto is?”

Taranto was a city on the coast of the White Sea, where the weather remained mild even in the dead of winter. The warm, salt-laced air filled the streets, which were lined with ocher brick buildings. It was the most beautiful port city the Kingdom of Etruscan had to offer.

“This outstanding port and the kingdom that comes with it, the entire territory of Taranto—it all belongs to Bianca of Taranto, the late duke’s only daughter.”

“Ah, I’ve heard of Bianca of Taranto. They say she’s the most eligible bride in the Kingdom of Etruscan, no, in the entire central continent, right?”

Bianca of Taranto was the duke’s only child, and both her parents had already passed away. Leo III was her official guardian, while the practical matters of ruling Taranto were handled by a council of vassals.

The man who married her would possess everything she had.

Among the assets she was set to inherit was the city of Taranto itself, the second-largest port in the Kingdom of Etruscan and a hub for all manner of logistics. Its hinterland was the entirety of the fertile Taranto territory, which comprised most of southwestern Etruscan.

Bianca’s inheritance naturally included the rights to rule and tax the entire territory, as well as the authority to raise a private army.

But that wasn’t all.

Through her father’s line, she was a descendant of King Stefano I, the king before last, making her Leo III’s second cousin once removed.

Which meant that Bianca was next in line to the throne, right after Prince Alfonso.

If, by some chance, something were to happen to the direct royal line, she was of a station to be immediately crowned Queen of Etruscan.

Her husband would become Prince Regent, ruling for his wife.

“Surely, young master, you’re not interested in Bianca of Taranto, are you?”

Maletta looked at Ippolito with a pout. Ippolito waved his hands dismissively, denying it vehemently.

“No, no! Do you have any idea how old Bianca of Taranto is?”

“I don’t.”

“She’s twelve this year, twelve!”

She was only two years older than Arabella. Even if the noble ladies of the Kingdom of Etruscan tended to marry in their mid-to-late teens, twelve was far too young.

“How could anyone see a child like that as a woman! A woman should be, you know, soft and supple like you.”

Ippolito buried his nose in Maletta’s cheek and shook his head. It was true that he preferred mature, older women.

“Mmm, this scent! Now this is a woman!”

“Oh, stop it, young master. Eek!”

Maletta, looking quite satisfied, feigned resistance before snuggling into her young master’s arms.

*He must be hopelessly smitten with me,* Maletta thought, pleased with herself.

***

Upon arriving in Taranto and settling into the finest hotel, Ippolito, after thoroughly exhausting Maletta, immediately summoned his troublesome friends scattered across the city.

Among them was Count Cesare de Como.

“Cesare!”

“Ippolito.”

As Ippolito approached with a wide grin and open arms, Cesare deftly turned his body to avoid the embrace.

Instead of a hug, he offered a simple bump of his fist.

Ippolito, who had been about to embrace Cesare, quickly switched gears as if he had intended a fist bump all along and grinned obsequiously.

“Been well, my friend?”

“So-so.”

“How’s Taranto?”

“Same as always. Slow, quiet, bustling.”

The room was crowded with Ottavio de Contarini and his usual clique.

With cigarettes in their mouths and glasses of iced spirits and cards in their hands, they were having a grand time killing time.

Ippolito glanced around before casually broaching the subject with Cesare.

“Have you heard anything about Bianca of Taranto lately? Like if she’ll be making an appearance in the winter social season, anything like that.”

Cesare was holding a wine glass, not a spirits glass. He paid Ippolito no mind, instead admiring the color of the red wine within.

It was the same deep crimson as his mother, Countess Rubina’s, eyes—a color only found in the highest quality wines.

“Hey, Cesare.”

Ippolito tried again, his tone deliberately casual.

Cesare let out a faint smile. The man’s intentions were laughably transparent.

“My dear Ippolito. How would I know the well-being of our precious ducal lady?”

Responding to a whiner with a similar display of weakness was always the best approach.

“Our dear ducal lady has once again locked the gates of her grand mansion and refuses to see anyone this year. Ah, though it seems she sees her second cousin, His Highness Prince Alfonso, from time to time. How could she have any attention to spare for a distant relative like me, a mere count?”

“Ah… not even you?”

Ippolito couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice. Cesare de Como was his closest link to the royal family. If even Cesare couldn't meet Bianca of Taranto, then he had no chance either.

Cesare couldn’t help but smirk at Ippolito’s picture-perfect reaction.

It seemed some of it showed on his face. He replied to Ippolito with a wry smile, his left eyebrow and the corner of his mouth raised.

“Indeed. If I hear that Bianca of Taranto is attending a social gathering, I’ll be sure to tell you first.”

“You’re a true friend!”

Cesare joined in the laughter with the overly joyous Ippolito.

The sight of men chasing after a rich woman’s skirt was even more pathetic than he’d imagined, and keeping up the act for his audience was truly exhausting.

Cesare had just returned from having breakfast with Bianca of Taranto and the rest of the royal household.

*Even if Bianca of Taranto seems like an easy target because she lost her parents young…*

Cesare glanced at Ippolito.

*Is she really within reach for a man like you?*

He then clapped the foolishly grinning Ippolito on the shoulder a couple of times and laughed along with him.

***

While the band of ruffians was holed up in a section of the Taranto Winter Palace, engrossed in a card game, the proper prince was strolling through the rose garden with the woman who was to be his fiancée.

“Your Highness, the red roses are so lush, even in the middle of winter!”

“They are beautiful.”

Alfonso met Lariesa’s eyes and answered earnestly.

*Thump!*

*Was he calling me beautiful? Surely he didn’t mean the flowers? Did he think I look like a flower?*

But as she let her imagination run wild, unmoored from any real rapport with Alfonso, something snagged on the sensitive grand duchess's intuition.

*But if that was a compliment for me, why was it so short? Isn’t that a bit half-hearted?*

Feeling she should give Prince Alfonso one more chance, she cast her next conversational lure.

“What part do you find most beautiful?”

*My nose? My lips? Or perhaps my sparkling eyes?*

“…The size and shape of the blossoms?”

Alfonso, who had been gazing at the rose garden without much thought, was startled by the Grand Duchess Lariesa’s question.

In his effort to give a sincere answer, he narrowed his eyes and began to study the red roses intently.

He had been so engrossed in pondering which part of the red roses—which had failed to stir any emotion in him—was the most beautiful that he had inadvertently answered the Grand Duchess Lariesa in Etruscan, not Gallican.

A flicker of displeasure immediately crossed the Grand Duchess Lariesa’s face.

*What is this? Why is he so dismissive? Can’t he even be bothered to speak Gallican? He’s not even trying!*

But Lariesa didn’t have the nerve to demand why he wasn’t looking at her.

He was the golden prince who had fallen into her lap as a potential fiancé, a position undeservedly hers thanks to her sister’s death.

Besides, strictly speaking, she wasn’t even his fiancée yet.

Though the kingdoms of Gallico and Etruscan acted as if they were ready to sign the betrothal agreement at any moment, they were stuck in a stalemate, each proposing new conditions one after another.

A sliver of panic that throwing a tantrum now could jeopardize the royal marriage stopped Lariesa in her tracks.

“Your Highness has such a discerning eye! The rose greenhouse in Montpellier is famous even in neighboring countries. I would love to show you the blue roses that bloom there.”

She decided to do her utmost to please Alfonso. Winning his favor was her top priority.

And to pique his curiosity, she brandished her formidable background like a peacock showing off its tail feathers.

Lariesa, who had never excelled at anything since she was young, would boast of her family’s prestige or her beautiful sister’s affection whenever she craved attention.

“Please visit Montpellier sometime. You won’t regret it.”

“If the opportunity arises, I will.”

As she spoke, she recalled the request made by Princess Auguste, Philip IV’s sister.

Princess Auguste had begged the Grand Duchess Lariesa to bring Prince Alfonso to Montpellier, no matter what it took.

Princess Auguste was haughty. She was not one to ask favors of a younger, lower-ranking distant cousin.

That was why Lariesa was eager to grant Princess Auguste’s request.

Half of it was a desire to get on the princess’s good side, and the other half was a desire to show off.

Lariesa forced her gaze to meet Prince Alfonso’s and put on her kindest-looking smile.

She was determined to show him what a wonderful woman—what a wonderful match—‘the Grand Duchess of Gallico, Lariesa de Valois, adopted daughter of Philip IV’ truly was.

She was the lady from the most powerful nation Prince Alfonso could ever meet.

At the same time, she was sweet, gentle, and popular.

She decided to impress this fact upon Prince Alfonso as quickly as possible.

There were countless ways to do so.

***

At the Grand Duchess Lariesa’s insistence, she and Prince Alfonso began to exchange brief letters.

「To Prince Alfonso,
It is a truly beautiful morning.
With affection and devotion,
Lariesa.」

Prince Alfonso sent back a polite and proper reply.

「A good morning to you, Grand Duchess de Valois.
I have arranged for a tour of Taranto city this afternoon, as you previously expressed a wish to go. I will come to escort you after you have had your luncheon.
- Prince Alfonso.」

Upon receiving the letter, Lariesa threw it violently onto the sofa.

Count Levien, who was sitting opposite her, looked up in surprise.

Count Levien was the chief of the working-level officials in the Gallican delegation and a trusted right-hand man to Lariesa’s father, Grand Duke Eudes. He was also serving as the Grand Duchess Lariesa’s chaperone.

He had to meet with her often to deliver directives from their home country, so they were frequently together.

“Count Levien, look at this letter! I’m furious!”

“Pardon?”

He took the letter, startled.

Though he’d initially thought the role of chaperone was a mere formality, Count Levien had recently come to find the duty more burdensome than the actual negotiations.

The Grand Duchess Lariesa was a very, very high-maintenance person.

If Prince Alfonso had been rude to the Grand Duchess Lariesa, it could become a diplomatic issue. No, the Kingdom of Gallico would *make* it a diplomatic issue.

Startled, Count Levien quickly read the letter.

Then, he read it again with narrowed eyes, and even flipped it over to see if there was some other content that might have offended the Grand Duchess Lariesa.

He asked cautiously.

“Your Grace, is there perhaps a part I missed? Did His Highness Prince Alfonso, without my knowledge, commit some breach of etiquette that has upset you?”