Sister, In This Life I’ll Become Queen
Thud.
The blond Crown Prince collapsed to the floor, his strength instantly deserting him. Only moments ago, he had trusted Ariadne De Mare, taking a generous bite of the Sanguinaccio Dolce she offered—a confection enriched with calf’s blood. It was the price of his misplaced faith.
Ariadne offered a slight nod, signaling the soldiers waiting in the shadows to take Alfonso into custody.
Just like that, the ownership of the kingdom shifted with haunting ease.
“I am sorry, Your Highness.”
Ariadne murmured the words to herself. She understood all too well that her actions were a stain upon her soul, but there was someone she had to protect.
She strode through the royal palace as if it were her own home, heading straight for the King’s bedchamber. No one dared to obstruct her path through the gilded halls.
Inside the bedchamber, he was waiting. The object of her blind devotion and worship, her perfect fiancé: Cesare De Como.
The King’s illegitimate son—the man who could never be a prince—cried out in a sharp, impatient voice.
“Is it done?!”
“…I have successfully secured Alfonso. I handed him over to the soldiers of Duke Cesare Pisano.”
At those words, the tension vanished from Cesare’s sculpted face, replaced by a radiant smile.
It was as if every candle in the room had been lit at once; the light sharpened, and a sudden, intoxicating warmth flooded the air.
Yes. This was enough.
Cesare hopped down from the throne where he had been perched and clasped Ariadne’s hands. The heat radiating from his skin made her tremble, as if his sudden joy were a contagion she could not resist.
“Well done. Once I take his life, I will make you the noblest woman in this kingdom.”
“Cesare…”
“Father is on his deathbed. It wouldn’t be strange if he breathed his last at any moment.”
With the old King failing and Alfonso deposed, there was no one left to bar the path of Cesare De Como.
“With this, our era begins.”
She had no interest in a new era. If he was happy, and if she could remain by his side, that was enough for her.
* * *
Cesare De Como, the Margrave of the Etruscan Kingdom and the ‘cousin’ of Alfonso, had seized the royal castle by mobilizing border troops the moment King Leo III fell ill. His pretext was that Alfonso had attempted to poison the monarch.
No one truly believed the claim, but in the shadow of the private army that choked the palace, no one dared to voice a protest. Shortly thereafter, the corpse of Alfonso was hung from the city walls of San Carlo. The official announcement from Cesare’s camp stated that the prince had been apprehended at the border while attempting to defect to the Galico Kingdom.
“Behold! Alfonso is a treacherous villain who colluded with the enemy to poison His Majesty in a bid for the throne!
I, Cesare De Como—no, Cesare De Carlo—shall ascend as Regent to protect the Etruscan Kingdom and safeguard our King. You, the people, must trust and follow me!”
* * *
Even after his coup succeeded and he was named Regent, Cesare spent nine years consolidating his power.
During that time, he required a woman by his side to manage the palace. Since King Leo III’s queen had long since passed, the highest-ranking woman in the realm was his fiancée, Ariadne.
When she had first entered the royal palace, Ariadne’s reputation in high society was abysmal.
“Isn’t she only twenty-two?”
“I heard she grew up on a farm. She has no refinement.”
“I saw her at a party; she couldn’t even manage the proper attire. It is the result of being raised without any breeding.”
Ariadne De Mare was the embodiment of everything unjust—a mistress to the King’s illegitimate son, the woman who had helped oust the rightful heir. Her own origins were no better, born the bastard daughter of Cardinal De Mare. She was not even officially wed to the Regent Cesare De Carlo, and her lack of refinement was a common subject of mockery.
She poured every ounce of her devotion into Cesare, yet for her efforts, she was ridiculed as a woman who clung to a man because she possessed nothing else. Naturally, the scorn directed at the Regent grew in tandem with the disdain for her.
One day, as the irreverent atmosphere reached its peak, a scandal erupted at a formal tea party she hosted.
A countess of advanced age, hailing from an ancient, prestigious family, began to gossip loudly about the secret of Cesare De Carlo’s birth. While the rumor was an open secret among the central court nobles, it was still a clandestine whisper to the provincial nobles who had only recently arrived from the border.
“Is it true that Duke Cesare is not the Prince’s cousin, but an illegitimate son of Leo III?”
The central nobles had never favored Ariadne or Cesare. However, to discuss his lineage with such boisterous disregard while Ariadne sat at the head of the table was a blatant crossing of the line.
Ariadne’s grip tightened around her fan.
“Is it true?”
“I have heard the same.”
“An illegitimate child is the product of an unholy union, unblessed by the Heavenly God…”
The women had turned their backs entirely on the head of the table. From her seat, Ariadne saw only the rigid lines of their silk gowns. They had formed a circle around the countess, treating Ariadne as if she were a ghost.
Their posture spoke volumes: *We don’t care for you, and what are you going to do about it, you half-baked noble? You, the Cardinal’s bastard, leaning on this unholy power.*
“Surely it cannot be. If that were true, how could we serve such a person as King?”
“But the rumors are credible… especially concerning his mother…”
Ariadne bit her lip. Cesare was her life’s purpose and the object of her worship. He was noble, strong, and long-suffering. She could endure personal insults, but she would not tolerate a single word of slander against him.
“Birth records must be scrutinized to determine royal legitimacy. Duke Cesare possesses a tainted origin that renders him unfit for the throne.”
The countess, having stirred the hornet’s nest, delivered her conclusion with the gravity of a Chief Justice. Her cold, resolute commentary echoed through the reception room.
Snap.
Ariadne felt the thin thread of her patience finally fray and break. In that instant, she lunged across the table like a wild beast and seized the countess by her hair.
“Take it back!”
Ariadne growled, her hands tangling deep into the woman’s coiffure, shaking her with primal ferocity.
“You know nothing! You have no proof!”
There surely existed ways to outmaneuver these seasoned noblewomen using their own refined, venomous methods. But Ariadne, only in her early twenties and lacking a formal upbringing, having spent her youth among the maids of a country estate, knew only one language.
She had to act. She could not stand by while her beloved Cesare was reduced to a laughingstock for these pretentious husks of humanity.
“Take back the nonsense you’ve spewed about Cesare!”
“Argh!”
The countess let out a piercing scream as her elaborate hairstyle disintegrated. Dessert trays and silver spoons clattered to the floor. The other noblewomen, delicate as hothouse flowers, froze in stunned silence.
Ariadne shook the countess by her hair, her eyes wide and wild.
“Just because you have mouths, does that give you the right to say anything? Rectify your words and apologize this instant!”
“You uncultured—! You uncultured—!”
The shrieks of the two women pierced the ceiling, but otherwise, a glacial silence smothered the room.
1. Betrayal, Hair-Pulling, Obsession, Affection, And Meaningless Promises
Such a situation was unprecedented. The noblewomen were too stunned to even think of intervening in the brawl erupting at the heart of the royal palace’s social scene.
At that moment, the heavy cadence of military boots echoed through the room.
Stomp. Stomp.
The ceremonial guards marched into the parlor with disciplined precision and came to a halt. Behind them, a man of striking, lethal beauty dressed in a crisp uniform strolled in and stopped.
Tall and slender, carrying a languid, sensuous grace in every movement, Cesare was a man whose presence commanded the room; even in a crowd of ten thousand, he would inevitably draw every gaze.
“Cesare!”
A smile spread across Ariadne De Mare’s face. It felt as though a mighty army had arrived to her rescue.
*He came to save me from this mess.*
It was perfect timing. She imagined her flawless, heaven-sent prince scolding her enemies on behalf of the fragile woman who had devoted her life to him. She envisioned him bringing the hammer of justice down upon the wretches who had dared to insult them both.
Releasing the Countess’s hair, which she had been gripping tightly, she scrambled up like a squirrel and scurried to stand behind Cesare.
“They were…!”
Cesare swept his auburn hair back and turned to look at Ariadne De Mare.
“What on earth is going on here?”
His voice was infinitely gentle and languid. But his lips were cold, and there was no affection in his eyes—only a hint of weariness.
“Ariadne De Mare. Tell me. What is this commotion about?”
“That is, they were… to you!”
He seemed entirely unwilling to engage in conversation with Ariadne De Mare. The Countess, still splayed on the floor, offered the perfect excuse to ignore her.
“Good heavens. Count Marquez!”
Cesare did not hide his surprise as he reached out a hand, urgently yet tenderly.
“Countess, take my hand and rise.”
Even the Countess, who had just been dragged by the hair, seemed shocked that the Regent would take her side. She did not let the windfall slip away. After sweeping a glance over Ariadne De Mare, she grasped Cesare’s hand a beat late.
“Unlike that woman, it seems the Regent’s manners were indeed learned at the palace.”
Once on her feet, the Countess brushed off the spot on her dress where Ariadne De Mare’s hand had touched her, immediately shaking off Cesare’s hand. Then, she glared straight at Ariadne De Mare and let out a sharp, audible scoff.
“Hmph!”
Other central nobles swarmed around the Countess, clamoring to check on her well-being.
“Countess Marquez, are you alright?”
“Are you hurt anywhere?”
“The Regent’s fiancée has truly crossed the line!”
Ariadne De Mare wanted to fire back, *Who is the one who really crossed the line!* but she bit her tongue, suppressing the words under the weight of Cesare’s irritation—or rather, his burning, unspoken rage.
Sure enough, Cesare gritted his teeth and hissed at her in a low voice.
“What do you think you’re doing to a central noble?”
He tried his best to keep his voice modulated, but he could not hide the annoyance dancing within his fury.
“Don’t you know I need a political base? To lay a hand on someone from the House of Count Marquez—have you lost your mind?”
*Fawning over people who treat you poorly doesn’t make them your friends, Cesare.*
Ariadne De Mare’s thoughts remained unspoken. She merely lowered her head, cowed by his intensity. She knew that if she dared to talk back, he would surely fly into a rage.
Ariadne De Mare never wanted to be seen arguing with Cesare in front of all the ladies of the capital—or worse, being treated with such blatant contempt. Yet, he ruthlessly trampled on her hopes.
“That woman is far more useful to me than someone like you.”
His voice, low and grinding through gritted teeth, cut through the noise of the parlor. Every word was heard clearly by everyone in the room.