The Porto merchant, beet-red moments ago, turned deathly pale. His eyes darted in panic, and without another word, he bolted toward the nearest exit.
– “Grab him!”
– “Don’t let him get away!”
Several people lunged for the fleeing merchant, but a man running for his life is not easily caught.
– *Thud!*
The one who finally brought the merchant down was Prince Alfonso. Tall and powerfully built, his physical prowess was truly unparalleled.
He had been seated in the center of the guest section when *Vittoria Nike* collapsed, and after escorting the noblewomen to safety, he had kept his eyes on the hall. He spotted the merchant bolting for the exit, moved with feline grace, and slammed his shoulder into the man’s torso, pinning him to the floor in one fluid motion.
With the merchant subdued and his hands forced behind his back, Prince Alfonso barked an order to his subordinates.
“Bind this man and cast him into the royal prison!”
“Yes, Your Highness!”
“Also, have the remaining pieces appraised. If they are forgeries, void the transactions. If they are genuine, ensure the proceeds reach the original owners, not this scoundrel!”
“As you command!”
* * *
The residence of the House of Marquis Cibo was in chaos, as if it had been razed by war. A fake marble statue lay shattered through the floorboards of the ballroom, royal guards swarmed the property to interrogate the merchant’s associates alongside the Marquis and Marchioness Cibo, and the cacophony of gossip was loud enough to shake the foundations of San Carlo.
– “The second daughter of the De Mare family was impressive during the Apostle of Acereto incident, but today? She is a prodigy.”
– “Is such scholarship truly possible for a girl of fifteen?”
– “Theology, art, history… her reach is boundless. It feels less like she studied these things and more like she possesses an eye that sees through to the very truth of them.”
The moniker, “The Girl Who Sees Through Truth,” had been pinned onto Ariadne.
Yet, the person who was the very “eye that sees through truth” stood in the backyard of the House of Marquis Cibo, locked in a heated debate with a man whose thoughts—whether in her past life or her present—remained an impenetrable abyss.
“Count De Como, what on earth are you thinking?!”
She addressed him as “Count De Como,” pointedly avoiding the familiarity of “Count Cesare.” By standard etiquette, a title should be followed by a surname, not a given name. However, in the high society of San Carlo, no one applied such formalities to Cesare or his mother, Countess Rubina.
Using a surname after the title was an acknowledgment of a family’s standing, and everyone knew that the late “Count De Como”—the man Cesare supposedly inherited his title from—was a ghost. Insisting on the formal title was a deliberate jab at his genealogical fragility.
But for the enraged Ariadne, the political nuance mattered little.
“You offloaded your lies onto someone else without a thought for the aftermath? What kind of behavior is that?”
Cesare merely shrugged.
“Look here, little lady. It all ended well, didn’t it?”
“Use formal speech! Are we friends? I am the daughter of Cardinal Del Mare!”
“Whoa, whoa. Easy now.”
Cesare pressed his index finger firmly against Ariadne’s forehead.
“You haven’t even had your debutante ball yet. That makes you a child. Since when does a child tell an adult how to speak?”
Cesare scanned Ariadne from head to toe, a smirk playing on his lips.
“Look at you. Wearing a yellow chick dress that makes you look like a complete infant.”
Ariadne shivered, unable to contain her indignation. Cesare continued his taunting.
“Once you become a lady, I’ll use formal speech as much as you like.”
“I will never exchange words with an irresponsible person like you again!”
Cesare finally began his own defense.
“I’m not the irresponsible person you think I am, little lady. I didn’t act without clues. I knew for a fact that the real Vincenzio Del Gato had surfaced in the Tiber River three months ago.”
The investigation he had conducted was far more extensive than that, but he did not feel the need to reveal everything to Ariadne.
“Then you should have handled it yourself! Why push it onto me?”
“You know my situation.”
Cesare put on a pitiful expression. With features more sculpted than any statue, the addition of a desolate look made him an undeniably striking beauty.
“The King’s illegitimate son, the abandoned child. If someone like me appeared to be coveting power, I’d be disposed of in a heartbeat.”
He drew his hand across his throat.
“In my position, how could I come forward and say, ‘That merchant’s background is shady, let’s use administrative and military power to dig into him’?”
“Then you should have stayed still!”
“But it all worked out, didn’t it? Perhaps you and I are a perfect match. Aren’t we a decent duo? The noble Count who digs up dirt and sets the stage, and the clergyman’s daughter who solves the mystery at the front!”
Cesare’s slick, charming demeanor was one she had seen a few times when she was younger. This was a mask he wore when he was in a particularly good mood, or, more often, a display of charm he used to extract favors from others.
A princess from a neighboring kingdom, an ambassador, or perhaps Isabella. In the regular tea parties Ariadne hosted, she would watch him shower the beautiful widow Isabella with hospitality, jokes, and playfulness. Back then, she had naively thought he was simply being kind to her sister out of respect; that past had ended with her goodwill being repaid by a fatal betrayal.
The way Cesare flirted was certainly charming, but seeing him direct it toward her now felt surreal.
It would be a lie to say she didn’t feel a petty sense of triumph—*you, who treated me so coldly, are now wagging your tail because you want to win my favor.*
But she had defied death to return. If she were to fall for her former fiancé—the man who had discarded and killed her—just because he flirted, she would be less than a person; she would have the memory span of a sea anemone. He remained incredibly attractive, and while his presence was tempting, she had no intention of falling for it.
“Aren’t you a villain who dumps all the responsibility onto a girl who hasn’t even had her debutante and is effectively a stranger? Don’t you dare go around saying you’re in a ‘duo’ with me. I’m afraid it might haunt my dreams.”
“I’m telling you, I’m not that bad. Let’s just say it was a manifestation of my sense of justice—it was too heart-wrenching to watch a con artist use fake replicas to swindle 2,000 ducats from my dear sister. Friendship? Familial love? Courage?”
“Ha.”
Judging that there was no point in exchanging further words, Ariadne turned to leave, but Cesare reached out and abruptly grabbed her wrist.
“Wait. I came all the way here today specifically to see you because I had business. I had to sneak in because the House of Marquis Cibo didn’t even send me an invitation, so spare me a moment. Let’s talk.”
Ariadne pulled her wrist back, brushing off his touch.
She didn’t say a word, but seeing the faint look of displeasure on her face, Cesare raised both hands in a gesture of surrender.
It was a minute change in expression that most would never notice, but Cesare was uncannily adept at reading such shifts.
“Sorry, sorry. My apologies. To think I’d dare grab a lady’s wrist. I was wrong. I am a gentleman. You don’t need to be tense. The business is simple.”
Cesare looked at Ariadne De Mare with the air of a man about to suggest something immensely favorable.
“Let’s make a deal, like the lady and gentleman we are.”
“I have no business to transact with you.”
“Don’t be like that. Just hear me out.”
He leaned toward her, his posture disarmingly friendly. A sudden gust of wind carried the fragrance of roses, frankincense, and sandalwood—the distinct, heavy scent Count Cesare favored—tickling the tip of her nose.
He had often approached her this way, beckoning her into a world of curated beauty, dismantling her defenses one by one. If she reached out to take the hand he offered, she could abandon her burdens and sail into his realm of fantastic adventures. Cesare De Como opened his mouth to deliver his proposal.
“Won’t you sell me the ‘Heart Of The Blue Deep’? I’ll pay a proper price for it.”
“……Ah.”
Ariadne heard the sound of her own heart shattering. A sharp, stabbing pain blossomed in her chest; she realized, with mounting bitterness, that she had harbored a shred of expectation after all. In the wake of the pain came an overwhelming shame that flushed her skin, followed closely by a cold, white-hot rage.
He began listing the items he would provide in exchange for the ‘Heart Of The Blue Deep.’
“Have you heard of the ‘Swan Of Linville’? It is a diamond that stands as one of the most valuable pieces in my entire collection.”
Ariadne knew the ‘Swan Of Linville’ all too well. It was a 15-carat, flawless, high-color diamond cut into a teardrop shape and set with pearls as a brooch. It was a treasure kept at the mansion in San Carlo—a gift King Leo III had bestowed upon Cesare when he turned thirteen. The jewel carried a specific epithet: it was destined to be given to the woman one truly loved.
In her past life, Ariadne had desperately craved the ‘Swan Of Linville.’ She hadn’t wanted it merely for its value; she had seen it as a symbol. Receiving a gem with such a title—a gift for a beloved woman—would have been the final, definitive confirmation that Cesare’s elusive heart was finally hers.
He had never given it to her during their engagement. When she had finally begged for it as a wedding gift, he had agreed with a readiness that had struck her as strange at the time. Now, she knew why: he had known she would never live long enough to receive it.
“In exchange for the ‘Heart Of The Blue Deep,’ I will give you the ‘Swan Of Linville,’ plus 6,000 ducats in gold coins and a collection of smaller jewels.”
But here was the young Cesare of this life, offering the ‘Swan Of Linville’ to an Ariadne who had done nothing for him.
The Ariadne of this life had not sacrificed her youth for him; she had not been complicit in his murders, nor had she fallen ill or risked her soul for his sake. She had done nothing but raise her own value. And yet, the ‘Swan Of Linville,’ which had remained forever out of reach despite her past devotion, was now being dangled before her with casual ease.
No, he wasn’t even giving it to her. He was trading it.
To Cesare, Ariadne De Mare was a business partner, a useful object—but never the woman worthy of a jewel bought with love.
She could not stop a hollow laugh from escaping. The anger threatened to reach the heavens, yet all that emerged was a bitter, jagged sound.
“Count Cesare De Como. You are truly an arrogant fool.”
“I am?”
*You lost the person who truly gave everything to you. You have suffered a loss you cannot even fathom.*
Ariadne’s lips, however, spoke words quite different from those settled deep in her heart. She could not speak the truth; it would only sound like the ravings of a madwoman.
“I know you’ve insulted His Majesty by playing the ‘son of the King’ and all, but let’s set that aside. I am merely the illegitimate daughter of a Cardinal; we are both in positions that are hardly reputable.”
It was a strike that pierced Cesare’s most vulnerable point like a needle.
“However, if one is the byproduct of a drop of the King’s blood, excluded from both politics and the military, and clinging to a tenuous life by the mere grace of the Holy See, shouldn’t one at least be properly mindful of His Majesty’s eyes?”
Cesare looked stunned by the unexpected strike. He had mustered all his charm to appear affable, and never before had anyone stabbed him so precisely with such unpleasant truths right in his smiling face.
“Do you think His Majesty gave me the ‘Heart Of The Blue Deep’ so that I could trade it for trinkets? If I sold it away as I pleased, do you think he would be the least bit pleased?”
“What?”
“If I sold it to the Galico Kingdom or the Republic Of Porto just because they offered a good price, do you think His Majesty would find that a lovely sight!”
Ariadne snapped back, her voice heated.
“The ‘Heart Of The Blue Deep’ is an object entrusted to me by His Majesty. I am the custodian, not the owner. This is not something that can be bought with money.”
This much was fact. But what followed was pure emotion.
“Even I recognize his holy intentions, yet you, calling yourself his son, appear without a single thought for that and tell me to sell the ‘Heart Of The Blue Deep’—it is truly pathetic! You cannot distinguish between right and wrong, good and bad, or what should be held and what should not, yet you harbor such grand dreams. Wake up.”
*In your past life, you truly couldn’t distinguish between the woman you should have had and the one you shouldn’t have. It is the same this time. Only the object has changed to a jewel.*
Ariadne turned to leave, intending to walk away then and there. Having lived through thick and thin with Cesare for fourteen years, she didn’t understand his heart, but she had memorized his patterns. At this moment, he would undoubtedly lose control and grow angry.
“You there! Stop!”
Sure enough, Count Cesare grabbed her wrist as she turned to leave with rapid strides. Ariadne shook him off more violently than before, but Cesare was clearly in earnest this time and did not budge. The bones of her wrist ached under the firm grip of an adult man.
“Let go of me!”
Above Ariadne’s sharp scream, a deeper, resonant voice overlapped.
“Release that hand, Count De Como.”
It was Prince Alfonso, one of the only two people in all of San Carlo who could rightfully call Cesare ‘Count De Como’ without fail.