She surely wouldn’t try to make the excuse that this chemise was something she had worn herself, would she? Anyone could see it was a rag fit only for a scullery maid.
“It seems Lucrezia is raising Cardinal Del Mare’s second daughter as if she were less than a servant.”
“Even a distant relative or a lady’s maid wouldn’t be made to wear such clothes. That is truly a garment for a servant.”
Isabella’s pupils shook as if caught in an earthquake. She had no way to salvage the situation. Just as she was turning beet red, weighing whether to tell another lie or run away, Queen Marguerite—who had remained silent until now—threw a single remark at Isabella.
“Is this chemise, too, something you once wore?”
Isabella turned deathly pale and clamped her mouth shut like a clam. For a girl of only seventeen, Isabella’s situational judgment was remarkably quick. When driven into a corner, the best course of action is to speak less and escape.
However, Lucrezia, lacking her daughter’s sharp instincts, tried desperately to salvage the situation.
“That is…! I did not dress her like that; it must have been the servants who swapped it out!”
Queen Marguerite clicked her tongue. In her attempt to claim she hadn’t abused her stepdaughter, Lucrezia had inadvertently confessed that she held no control over her own household.
Queen Marguerite firmly waved her hand, a gesture that cut Lucrezia off.
“That is enough. Take that child, provide her with a proper chemise, and have her change.”
The Queen’s lady-in-waiting bowed, took Ariadne’s hand, and helped her up.
Ariadne summoned every ounce of her acting ability, widening her eyes and looking around with an expression of naive confusion as she stood under the lady-in-waiting’s guidance. As she exited the drawing room, she caught sight of Lucrezia in the periphery of her vision, her face crimson with shame, struggling to catch her breath.
Queen Marguerite had handed down a social death sentence upon Lucrezia.
“Miss De Rossi, I shall have the Cardinal’s second daughter change her clothes and keep her with me for a while longer. You and the Cardinal’s eldest daughter may return now.”
The dismissal, which disregarded all pretense of courtesy, was the final blow.
The cold use of her maiden name, the insinuation that the children were the Cardinal’s alone rather than hers, and the command to exit the Queen’s circle—it was the stuff of Lucrezia’s worst nightmares.
* * *
The path to the Queen’s inner palace, following the lady-in-waiting, was a route far too familiar to Ariadne. It was the palace where she had stayed for nine years as the Regent’s fiancée.
This was a back way leading into the inner palace through a side gate. Because few people traveled it, it was the path Ariadne had always used when she needed to sneak out for Cesare.
In other words, it was the path that served as the starting point for every sin Ariadne had committed in her previous life.
*I wish I could erase it from my memory.*
If she could wipe it all away and refrain from repeating those mistakes—if she could truly live as the upright, good person she had once longed to be—perhaps the sins of the past would fade as if they had never happened. Perhaps she could even be absolved of the debts she had already incurred.
Ariadne was lost in thought, walking forward until she bumped into the back of the lady-in-waiting, who had come to a sudden halt.
“Ow.”
The lady-in-waiting’s voice rose, high and sharp.
“I greet Prince Alfonso.”
She bowed deeply at the waist, and Ariadne, having bumped into her, hurriedly stepped back and bowed a beat late.
The sin she had committed in the past was looking right at her, manifested in the form of a fair-skinned, neat-looking boy.
“Ariadne?”
“Alfonso?”
1.
The secluded back trail saw little sunlight, yet a lucky shaft broke through the canopy, brilliantly illuminating Alfonso’s blonde hair.
Ariadne offered a bitter smile, the memory cutting deep: the day she had navigated this very path to leave the Queen’s palace and meet Alfonso, only to lead him to his death.
But the Alfonso standing before her now was merely an innocent seventeen-year-old, entirely unburdened by the shadow of power struggles.
“Alfonso, you were a Prince?”
Even in this life, Ariadne could not be honest.
Honesty was a luxury for those with something to lose. As someone who had nothing, she had to claw her way toward safety, even if it meant weaving a tapestry of lies and deception.
She needed Alfonso’s favor—and, perhaps, his hand in marriage. There would be countless obstacles before she reached that peak.
But, if she only succeeded…?
“Miss De Mare! How insolent!”
Ariadne had been worried about her own subpar performance, but the flustered lady-in-waiting stepped in to cover for the lead actress’s lack of skill.
“This is His Highness Alfonso De Carlo, the only child of His Majesty King Leo III and Her Majesty Queen Marguerite!”
Alfonso stopped the incensed woman.
“Carla, stop. I didn’t tell her on purpose. Ariadne didn’t know.”
Carla, the lady-in-waiting, glared at Ariadne with eyes that screamed, *How could that be?* Avoiding the heat of that gaze, Ariadne lowered her head.
“My sincerest apologies, Your Highness.”
Ariadne bowed politely to Alfonso, keeping a wary eye on Carla.
“I have committed an act of disrespect, and I humbly beseech you to grant me your generous forgiveness, just this once.”
Strictly speaking, the daughter of a Cardinal need not bow to a lady-in-waiting. However, she knew this woman was the Queen’s direct subordinate and confidante; every detail of this encounter would undoubtedly reach Queen Marguerite’s ears.
The Queen had taken Ariadne’s side earlier, shaming Lucrezia, but likely not out of fondness for Ariadne. She simply loathed Lucrezia—or, more accurately, all mistresses and concubines. Queen Marguerite had suffered a lifetime because of Countess Rubina, the mistress of King Leo III and mother to Cesare.
Lucrezia had simply caught the lashing that day. If the Queen were to learn that Ariadne had treated her only son poorly, her favor would evaporate in a heartbeat.
“Hmm, hmph. You have been well-educated in etiquette.”
As Carla’s arched brows softened at the formal apology, Alfonso’s lips pouted.
“I don’t like that.”
“Pardon…?”
“In the royal palace, everyone calls me ‘Prince.’ No one treats me like just Alfonso. I finally met someone who didn’t know, but look what happened.”
*You have been deceived, though,* she thought.
“Your Highness. One’s position changes according to one’s status, and with it, one’s nobility and innate character. It is only natural to see you as a Prince rather than an individual; you must accept this.”
At the lady-in-waiting’s nagging, a shadow flickered over Alfonso’s well-drawn, kind eyes—a flash of boredom and annoyance. No matter how upright a person was, there was no stifling the rebellious spirit of adolescence.
Suddenly, the Prince’s eyes sparkled. Wearing the look of someone about to embark on a grand adventure, Alfonso’s eyes brimmed with mischief. He grabbed Ariadne’s wrist and bolted away from the outer edge of the Queen’s inner palace.
“Ariadne, let’s go!”
“Ahhhh!!”
Only the echoes of the flustered lady-in-waiting’s cries remained.
“Your Highness!! Where are you going!! Your Highness!!!”
* * *
The place where Alfonso dragged Ariadne was a small, secluded fountain. Ivy crept up the weathered stone, and daffodils, long untouched by a gardener’s hand, bloomed in the wild patches of grass.
“…It’s so beautiful.”
Prince Alfonso smiled with a sense of pride. The puerile expression of an adolescent boy looked endearing, and Ariadne echoed his smile, softly.
She spoke informally. It was an act that defied all etiquette, but her intuition as a woman whispered that it was permissible.
“You must have really hated it, being treated like a prince.”
“This is much better.”
The two locked eyes and chuckled, sharing an inexplicable sense of defiance. A comradeship bloomed—the thrill of doing something forbidden together. Ariadne, who had laughed until her stomach ached, hummed along with Alfonso.
“Back at the relief center, they gave you… a different meal than everyone else.”
A shadow fell over Alfonso’s face. He seemed dissatisfied with the special treatment he received as a prince, like a bird trapped in a cage.
Ariadne paused for a moment, then asked, “But what should I call you? You?”
“Call me ‘Alfonso’.”
At the prince’s easygoing nature, Ariadne gave a shy smile and shook her head.
“I can’t do that, Your Highness.”
“Why the sudden change?”
“Didn’t you see Lady Carla’s face earlier? She looked ready to beat me to death.”
Admittedly, the woman had nearly leaped up, accusing her of insolence.
“If I’m caught calling you ‘Alfonso’, they’ll hardly let me off the hook.”
“I don’t like ‘Your Highness’.”
“Then, how about this?”
Ariadne smiled brightly.
“Let’s make up a secret name.”
Alfonso stared at Ariadne. There wasn’t a hint of malice in the boy’s clear face, yet his demeanor carried the distinct gravity of one accustomed to privilege.
“So, you would dare to be even more insolent? Not just a casual address, but a nickname for the only heir to the Etruscan throne? You’re awfully confident, my lady.”
A younger noble lady might have sensed a mistake and shrunk away. But Ariadne, having been through hell and back, didn’t even blink.
Instead, she arched an eyebrow and put on a stern expression.
“If you keep that up, I’ll call you ‘Your Highness’.”
Jackpot. A look of utter distaste flickered across Alfonso’s face.
“Please. Anything but that.”
“Your Highness, I am deeply honored by your presence. I wish you health and eternal youth. Shall I go on?”
“No, no. Anything but that.”
Alfonso, having vehemently refused, waved a white flag.
“Fine. I’m sorry. Do whatever you like. Anything is fine.”
Having secured her victory, Ariadne made a simple proposal.
“Then, how about ‘Al’?”
The prince shook his head. He didn’t seem to like it.
“‘Ponso’?”
“‘Ponso’ doesn’t sound like a nickname; it sounds like a plain person’s name. It feels less like a term of endearment and more like an alias.”
The prince’s resistance to the suggested nicknames was firm. But Ariadne had an answer for this, too. She stepped forward and took Alfonso’s hand.
It was a hand, large and thick—not at all like a boy’s. She knew that in a few years, this hand would become even more powerful.
Ariadne forced Alfonso’s palm open and traced a letter on it with her finger.
– A.
“‘Dear A.’ Let’s go with this.”
Taken by surprise, Alfonso stood frozen as he stared at Ariadne. The woman hidden behind the guise of a girl smiled brightly and pulled her hand from his grip. Her warmth retreated, leaving him chilled.
“I think I should go now.”
Ariadne looked back at Alfonso as she rose. Even her simple ivory dress looked perfectly at home amidst the worn fountain and trailing ivy leaves.
Alfonso suddenly felt that the young lady before him blended into this place as if she were a part of the castle itself.
“I was on my way to follow a maid because Queen Marguerite said she would bestow a dress upon me, but I ran away. If I stay out too long, I’ll hear some unpleasant words.”
He wanted to keep her, but it was a reason he had no choice but to accept.
“Ah, right. Mother wouldn’t be too happy if she knew I was with you.”
Ariadne looked at Alfonso, faintly surprised. She had mistaken his carefree air for obliviousness, but the Prince viewed his own situation with startling clarity. It was immensely intriguing.
Alfonso hesitated before he spoke.
“Actually, there’s something I haven’t told you.”
*I have many things I haven’t told you, too. I knew you were a prince, and in my past life, I killed you with my own hands. You were married to my sister. Oh, and I’m a regressor,* Ariadne thought. But she kept it locked away, merely nodding as she urged him, “What is it?”
“My mother likely called you here today because of me.”
Ariadne offered a thin smile. The situation was as clear to her as the lines on her own palm.
“You told her about me, didn’t you? After we met at the relief center.”
She continued without hesitation.
“She must have been curious to see what kind of girl her son’s new friend was.”
“How did you know?”
Alfonso could not mask his astonishment. He had never encountered someone who seemed to have crawled into his mind and emerged with all his secrets.
It was almost like the behavior of a stifling mother-in-law, summoning a girl just because her son had met her, solely to scrutinize her family background and character. But observing the seventeen-year-old Prince Alfonso through the eyes of a thirty-year-old woman, she supposed it made sense.
Prince Alfonso was a perfect prince—handsome enough to have stepped out of ancient mythology with his deep blue eyes, sharp nose, and defined jawline.
If the Ariadne of the past had a son like this, she would have set his curfew for four in the afternoon, forbidden maids from entering his quarters, and employed only male servants.
“But Mother didn’t tell me she had invited you. I just came to find you because I had a feeling she might have.”
She hadn’t taken the Queen for that type, but it seemed Queen Marguerite was capable of being a suffocatingly possessive mother.
Ariadne pondered how to respond. In the rigid etiquette of high society, when someone complained about their mother, the standard response was unconditional praise. But a teenage boy was confiding in her, a girl he had barely met. To respond with, “Your mother must have had her reasons,” would be the equivalent of saying, “I am a stuffy old soul, so please do not bother me again.”
For Ariadne, who had spent nine years at the very peak of high society, these social calculations were finished in an instant.
“You aren’t free, are you?”
Ariadne took a step closer and tucked a lock of Alfonso’s hair behind his ear.
“It must be stifling.”
Her hand brushed against his smooth hair. The boy froze, staring with wide eyes at the girl who had breached his space so suddenly.
She was someone who understood him, someone he could actually talk to, and she smelled of something wonderful.
Her green eyes, straight nose, and red lips entered his vision, one by one. He had always thought eyes were just organs of sight, but within those green irises, framed by dark lashes, he could read countless stories.
Until yesterday, Alfonso De Carlo had been nothing more than a child. He had no particular interest in others, especially women, preferring the company of peers who shared his interests. He had been concerned with future events, games, and his studies—not people.
Only now, in this moment, did he feel he had become a man. His heart thundered, his gaze anchored to her green eyes. After tracing the spark in them, the curve of her smile, and the flutter of her lashes, his attention drifted to the bridge of her nose, and finally, to her lips.
It was the first time the features of another person were meaningfully imprinted upon his mind.