Ariadne knew that look on Cesare’s face all too well. It was the expression he wore when a person of no consequence piqued his fleeting interest.
An indescribable surge of shame and fury welled up from deep within her. It settled in her chest, hardening into a fierce determination: she must obtain the *Madonna of the Daffodils* at any cost.
“Ten ducats! Any further bids?”
Perhaps it was the effect of Ariadne’s death-defying glare, but Cesare did not raise the bid. He simply shrugged and lowered his hand.
“Five, four, three, two, one…!”
The auctioneer pointed to the *Madonna of the Daffodils*, which sat neatly on the table, and slammed a large, brown seal onto the parchment with a dramatic, almost violent flair.
“Sold to Lady De Mare!”
Only then did Ariadne release a shaky breath, covering her face with her hands.
The next piece was also by Bernardo of Urbino. When Ariadne placed a bid at the starting price of five ducats, Cesare immediately followed suit.
His voice rang out, smooth and pleasant.
“Ten ducats!”
This time, Ariadne turned to him and delivered a chilling glare. She did not raise her hand again.
“Ten ducats! Sold to Count De Como!”
With the rhythmic thud of the seal, the second piece went to Cesare.
The third and final piece was one Ariadne could not concede. There were three paintings by Bernardo of Urbino in today’s auction. While she had approached the first two as mere financial investments, this last piece was intended as a gift—or perhaps a bribe. To forge a connection with a specific person, this painting was essential.
“This new artist’s work is quite popular! Good, very good! Next is the final piece of the day from his collection: the *Madonna of the Urbino Fortress*!”
The painting was modeled after Catarina, the late Duchess of Taranto and mother of Bianca of Taranto.
Bernardo of Urbino had never once left his home city, but the previous Duchess of Taranto had stayed there for several months while visiting her cousin, the Marchioness of Urbino. It was then that a young, starstruck Bernardo, having caught sight of the noble lady from afar, drew the inspiration that birthed the *Madonna of the Urbino Fortress*.
However, as a mere artist and not an official court painter, Bernardo had no means to name the work after a noblewoman, nor could he openly boast that she was his muse. If asked how he had seen her, he would have had no answer—and to speak of it would only have invited scandal.
So, he named it after the place where he had glimpsed her and presented it as a religious piece. The true identity of the model would only emerge through hushed whispers years later.
Ariadne had never had any contact with Bianca of Taranto, neither in her past life nor her present, but she was determined to make her acquaintance. A portrait of her late mother, rendered by the hand of a man destined to become a master of the art world, would be the perfect offering.
“Any ladies or gentlemen who wish to bid? We start at five ducats!”
“Fifteen ducats!”
Ariadne’s husky, low voice cut through the air, silencing the salon of the House of Marquis Cibo.
“He’s a complete newcomer; is it really worth investing that much?”
“Did she lose her nerve because of Count De Como?”
“She’s certainly brave…”
The audience seemed weary of the bidding war. Even Cesare seemed to hesitate for a moment. Fifteen ducats—a significant fortune—was an excessive sum for a young artist who had not yet shed his student air.
Cesare shrugged and did not bid. After all, he already owned one of the artist’s works.
1.
“Five, four, three, two, one…! Sold to Lady De Mare!”
*Thud!*
The strike of the seal was cheerful.
*There was an interloper, but I’ve achieved everything I came here for today.*
Ariadne let out a breath and slumped into her chair. Now, she could watch with peace of mind. It had been a light outing, but it was far more exhausting than she had anticipated.
Following the works of Bernardo of Urbino, several other artists’ pieces were put up for auction. One or two went unsold as no one bid, while others sparked fierce competition between nobles, their prices far exceeding the starting mark. Some sold for a pittance, while others commanded absurd fortunes.
Finally, the highlight of the day, the *Vittoria Nike*, was brought onto the dais.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Behold, the *Vittoria Nike*!”
The nobles held their breath, their gazes fixed on the statue.
Carried on a wheeled pedestal and moved with effort by eight laborers, the marble statue possessed a subtle, pinkish hue—the color of human skin, flush with warmth. It depicted a young woman with her hair tied back, wearing a wreath woven from olive branches, stepping forward with her arms spread in a dynamic pose.
“Oh, it’s incredible…!”
“I’ve never seen an ancient excavation in such pristine condition!”
“Usually, Hellenian marble sculptures are a dull gray, but this… this is a truly lovely pink.”
The merchant from Porto looked confident.
“If we are speaking of the *Vittoria Nike*, there is nothing left to be said! A masterpiece of the Hellenian era, recently unearthed from the ruins of the northern city of Lastera! The very statue mentioned in the historian Halicardotus’s *Travels in Hellenia*! Let us begin immediately!”
The Porto merchant announced the start of the auction with high spirits.
“The starting price is 1,200 ducats!”
The crowd buzzed. Both those with the capital to buy and those who had come merely to gawk were piqued with interest.
“Wait, the starting price is lower than I expected?”
“Right? Why start so low for such a well-preserved piece?”
“If one could win the bid, wouldn’t it be a real score? I wonder who will take it home.”
Ariadne intended to simply sit back and watch. Her memory was hazy, but she recalled the House of Marquis De Baldessar winning the bid.
*No, was it the House of Count Marquez?*
Ariadne tilted her head and picked up another cookie. She hadn’t seen anyone from the House of Marquis De Baldessar in the crowd today. The scandal had been sensational enough that she remembered the event, but as so much time had passed, the details were fraying at the edges.
“Is there no one else?”
At the merchant’s shout, the man sitting in the very front, center of the hall, raised a hand.
“I shall bid.”
It was Prince Alfonso, his golden hair catching the light, his shoulders draped in the purple cloak that symbolized the royal family.
Ariadne almost spat out the cookie she was eating.
*Why are you here!*
Oblivious to Ariadne’s mounting anxiety, the Prince calmly kept his hand raised, and the auctioneer happily proceeded with the count.
“We have an opening bid! However, would it not be a pity to let such a precious item sell for the starting price without giving others a chance? Any other ladies or gentlemen?”
The crowd murmured, but no one else stepped forward.
“Starting the count!”
“Five!”
“Four!”
“Three!”
“Two!”
“1,300 ducats!”
A hand rose from the corner of the hall, and a middle-aged man’s voice called out the bid.
“Who might that be! ……Oh, it is Count Marcello! 1,300 ducats!”
*Ah, that was a close one.*
Ariadne exhaled, the tension finally leaving her frame. It was a massive relief that someone else had placed a bid. But she remained utterly confused. While the House of Count Marcello was a storied, old family in the capital, they were certainly not the ones who had won the *Vittoria Nike* in her memory.
“Was it De Baldessar? Or was it Count Marquez? I don’t care who it is, but where on earth are they?”
Ariadne scanned the hall, but there was no sign of anyone from the House of Raphael De Baldessar or the House of Count Marquez.
She had steeled herself for the fact that the causal chain would shift due to her actions. For instance, she had considered it entirely possible that the power structure within the Holy See would change because she had stopped the Apostle of Acereto.
The butterfly effect—where a bishop slated for promotion to Cardinal falls from grace, his family loses influence, their rival family gains prominence, and changes ripple out into completely unrelated corners—was something Ariadne had calculated and prepared for.
However, she had not expected the deviation to occur at such an early stage, before the Holy See had even issued official appointments, and beginning from something so trivial.
Ariadne could not have imagined in her wildest dreams that her morning stroll in the garden with Prince Alfonso had so stirred the Prince’s heart, leading him to place an impulsive bid.
Unaware of Ariadne’s internal turmoil, Prince Alfonso matched Count Marcello’s bid with another of his own.
“1500 ducats!”
“1500 ducats! Is there anyone else—?”
The Porto merchant’s shrill cry filled the hall. Spectators who had no interest in the sculpture watched with bated breath, thoroughly entertained.
“1600!”
“1700!”
The race for *Vittoria Nike* between Prince Alfonso and Count Marcello was intense. Neither seemed willing to yield.
Alfonso shouted boldly.
“2000 ducats!”
Just then, in the eyes of Ariadne, who had been anxiously searching the hall throughout the bidding, the figures of Count Marquez and Countess Marquez finally appeared. The Countess was clinging to her husband, physically restraining him from making a bid he clearly intended to place.
‘Right, Countess Marquez is the closest confidante of Queen Marguerite…!’
A missing piece of the puzzle clicked into place, and her memories aligned. It was indeed the House of Count Marquez that had purchased the sculpture in her past life. She even remembered the unnecessarily grand pedestal they had built after tearing down the fountain in front of the main gate.
In this life, the blunder was Prince Alfonso unexpectedly bidding for *Vittoria Nike*. It seemed that the Countess, loyal to the Queen, was persuading her husband to withdraw so that Prince Alfonso, the son of Queen Marguerite, could win the prize. It was a delicate display of loyalty, but Ariadne could not allow it.
“No, the House of Count Marquez must be the one to buy it.”
Just as Ariadne was about to slip away to intervene, a voice cut through her thoughts.
“Why shouldn’t the Prince buy that sculpture, little lady?”
Count Cesare, who had been watching the auction with his hat pulled low, spoke from the seat next to hers. Ariadne glared at him and turned her head.
Before she could utter a word of reprimand, Count Cesare raised his voice, shouting loudly enough to echo throughout the hall.
“This little lady here says that this is a sculpture that shouldn’t be bought. What do you think, Vincenzio Del Gato from the Republic of Porto?”