“You might have caught a foul disease, so you are not to enter until it is confirmed that you are clean!”
– Clatter.
Lucrezia and Isabella followed through on their spite with ruthless efficiency. Using quarantine as an excuse, they locked Ariadne in the stable outside the mansion the moment she returned from the Rambouillet Relief Center.
The absurdity of it was that while they sequestered Ariadne under the guise of disease, they immediately ushered Maletta and Sancha inside.
“Who is this child?”
Lucrezia’s sharp voice rang out the moment she caught sight of Sancha in the corridor. Ariadne replied with practiced calm.
“She is a child I brought from the relief center.”
“Have you lost your senses? What right do you have to pick up strays from the streets as you please?”
Lucrezia looked genuinely revolted.
“You are truly brazen. Your mouth speaks of repentance and remorse, yet every step you take is fueled by self-will.”
She gestured toward Sancha, who stood with her head bowed low, and shrieked, “I will not have this beggar here. Who knows what vermin she carries? Get her out at once!”
As the servants moved to drag Sancha away, Ariadne pulled a handkerchief from her bodice and offered it toward Lucrezia.
“Mother, please look at this.”
“What is this?”
Lucrezia eyed the item with suspicion, refusing to touch it. The fabric was fine cotton gauze, trimmed with delicate lace—far too luxurious for anything Ariadne usually carried.
“Don’t tell me you stole this.”
“Of course not!”
When Lucrezia refused to take it, Ariadne turned the cloth to reveal the gold-thread embroidery: ‘AFC’.
“It belongs to Prince Alfonso De Carlo.”
Lucrezia’s eyebrows shot up. Isabella’s gaze sharpened, her focus locking onto the fabric.
“I met the Prince by chance at the relief center. I only intended to nurse this child while I was there, but His Highness praised the virtues of Cardinal Del Mare for his charity toward the impoverished.”
Ariadne watched Lucrezia’s reaction, pressing her advantage.
“Prince Alfonso was under the impression that I had taken this child in to provide her with employment. I could not bring myself to contradict him… Would that not smear the name of His Eminence the Cardinal?”
Whether it was the weight of the Prince’s name or the Cardinal’s reputation, Lucrezia had no appetite for further complications caused by Ariadne.
Cardinal Del Mare was already scrutinizing the household ledgers due to Lucrezia’s habit of siphoning funds under the pretense of hiring tutors. The mere thought of having to explain unnecessary expenses to the Cardinal—and facing his subsequent wrath—brought on a migraine and a sharp spike of irritation.
“All you do is talk! You’ve become quite the silver-tongued brat, haven’t you? Both of you, get out! Go hold hands and scurry back to the relief center! Who do you think you are to act so willfully in my house?”
What ultimately broke the tension of Lucrezia’s explosion, however, was Isabella’s greed.
“Prince Alfonso…? How did you meet him?”
Isabella’s violet eyes gleamed with avarice. Ariadne chose her words with calculated precision, careful not to ignite Isabella’s jealousy too soon.
“Since the Rambouillet Relief Center is an institution managed by Her Majesty the Queen, I presume he was conducting an inspection. Prince Alfonso was there, distributing meals to the poor.”
Upon hearing this, Isabella turned to Lucrezia, her expression desperate.
“Mother! I want to go to the Rambouillet Relief Center next week, too!”
“Isabella! Do you have any idea what kind of place that is?”
Lucrezia swatted Isabella’s shoulder.
“If you want to see the Prince, there is High Mass and the upcoming tea parties! You are not going to a wretched relief center!”
Isabella seemed slightly annoyed, but after a long, stabilizing breath, she composed her expression and offered a sweet smile to Lucrezia.
“Mother, if I am not allowed to visit the relief center, then please take that beggar child in instead.”
“Now even you are acting as you please? Do you think your mother is a pushover?!”
“Oh, come on, Mother. If I am to see the Prince at a tea party, I need something to talk about, don’t I?”
Isabella scolded Lucrezia, feigning offense.
“Since Father refuses to bridge the gap between us and Prince Alfonso, I am the one putting in the effort! The least you could do is help me.”
While Lucrezia remained taken aback by Isabella’s brazen, unreasonable demands, Isabella approached Ariadne and snatched the handkerchief.
“I’ll hold onto this.”
Ariadne subconsciously tightened her grip on the handkerchief, a surge of revulsion rising in her chest. Yet, finding no way to refuse, she relented after a brief, tense struggle.
Isabella stared at Ariadne, smiling brightly as she clutched Prince Alfonso’s handkerchief. Her amber hair swayed, and her delicate features glowed with an ethereal, fairy-like charm.
“Well done.”
Ariadne bit her lip, forcing her expression into a mask of indifference as she processed the condescending tone—a tone Isabella used as if bossing around a mere subordinate. Serving as Isabella’s handmaiden; it remained the same in this life as it had in the past.
“It is nothing, Sister.”
Lucrezia ordered that Ariadne be taken to the stables, then turned to head inside with Isabella and the rest of the household. Maletta and Sancha followed at the tail end of the group, looking profoundly awkward.
As the crowd grew busy with Lucrezia leading the way, Sancha seized the chance to approach Ariadne for a fleeting moment.
The small, thin girl whispered quietly.
“Thank you so much for saving me, My Lady. I will definitely repay this debt.”
* * *
On a sunny day transitioning from spring to summer, while living in the stables—surrounded by crude boards and sleeping on a mattress of straw—Ariadne received an unexpected message.
“Lady Ariadne, my lady says for you to come out, wash up, and get ready.”
Maletta had brought the still-apprentice Sancha to announce the end of her confinement.
It was the tenth day of her imprisonment.
*I had prepared myself for a month; what could have happened?*
Before Maletta could answer, the sharp-witted Sancha spoke up first.
“A carriage from the Royal Palace has arrived! They say it was sent specifically to fetch Lady Ariadne!”
Ariadne smiled broadly. It was an opportunity she had not expected, a chance to repay Lucrezia for those ten days in the stable.
Ariadne followed the maids up to her room on the third floor.
In the small attic, a neat ivory silk dress and a pure white chemise lay waiting. It wasn’t an especially expensive gown, but it was the most beautiful thing she had touched since her regression.
Instead of craving the fine fabric, however, Ariadne turned to look at Sancha with a faint smile.
“Child, let’s play a game of swapping clothes.”
“Yes?”
“The chemise. You wear that one. I will wear the one you are wearing now.”
The maids were shocked. Maletta’s expression twisted as Ariadne gestured toward Sancha instead of herself. Because it was the young lady’s command, Sancha bewilderedly removed her own clothes and handed them to Ariadne.
Ariadne swapped her chemise for the maid’s, then donned the dress provided by the De Mare household over it. Where the delicate white lace of a proper chemise should have been visible, yellowed, coarse cotton peeked out instead.
Ariadne combed her hair neatly, arranged just enough of an appearance for an outing, and headed downstairs.
* * *
“Mother, Mother! Why would Queen Marguerite suddenly invite us to Mass?”
“She must have heard the name of our beautiful Isabella and become curious to see your face!”
Inside the carriage, the mother and daughter were in the midst of a delusional parade of self-importance.
“The Prince will be there, won’t he? Just in case, I even brought a handkerchief.”
1. The First Invitation To The Royal Palace
Isabella fluttered a handkerchief embroidered with the initials AFC. She had kept it meticulously laundered and scented with perfume.
Isabella herself was groomed to look like a porcelain figurine. She had applied rouge to her rosy, lovely skin to deepen the flush, and her eyelashes were thickened and darkened with soot mixed into oil. Her flaxen hair was styled in the half-up, half-down fashion currently trending in the Republic Of Porto, with the rest falling in soft waves. The ivory-colored outdoor dress she wore was the same model as Ariadne De Mare’s, yet the level of luxury was incomparable.
As the already beautiful girl had put such heart and soul into her appearance, it seemed as though all the light in the surroundings had been extinguished, leaving Isabella to shine alone.
According to the customs of the Etruscan Kingdom, young ladies who had not yet had their debutante ball were not permitted to wear makeup. The bare-faced and bedraggled Ariadne kept her mouth shut like a clam, sitting as far into the corner of the carriage as possible. She tried to avoid being compared to Isabella, enduring the stifling presence of that maddening mother and daughter.
*Neigh!*
With a sharp snort from the horses, the carriage arrived at Palazzo Carlo, located in the heart of San Carlo. After passing the palace’s outer gate, they alighted at the main inner entrance, where a palace official greeted the affectionate mother and daughter, and Ariadne, who followed silently behind them.
“Welcome, family of Cardinal Del Mare.”
The official skillfully avoided calling Lucrezia “Madame” or using the term “family” in reference to a clergyman.
Instead, with impeccable court etiquette, he escorted the three to an outer reception room used for Queen Marguerite’s private masses. It was a small, austere, yet noble chapel.
At the altar of the private chapel, a priest in white vestments was just beginning to speak, and a graceful woman of about forty, wearing a chapel veil, was bowing her head devoutly in the front row. Behind her, a couple of ladies-in-waiting prepared to join in the prayer.
The priest was conducting the mass in the language of the Galico Kingdom.
*‘It’s Queen Marguerite.’*
Although Ariadne had never actually seen Queen Marguerite in her previous life, she recognized her at a glance from her portraits.
In truth, even without a portrait, she would have known instantly. By the Queen’s aura and attire, it was immediately apparent that she was royalty.
“W-what should we do?”
Lucrezia, who had zero experience in royal audiences, was flustered and whispered to Isabella, clearly not knowing how to act.
It was only proper to offer greetings first upon an audience with Her Majesty the Queen. However, it would be a grave discourtesy to interrupt the Queen while she was praying. Isabella was just as clueless as her mother.
Ariadne glanced at the two floundering women, then calmly sat down in a back row, three or four lines away from Queen Marguerite, and began to pray as well.
“Mother!”
Isabella was indeed quick-witted. She poked Lucrezia in the side to make her look toward Ariadne, then quickly sat down next to her and began to pray along.
She rolled her eyes, annoyed that Ariadne had snagged the tactical spot first, but for now, this was the best course of action.
Once the eldest daughter had taken her seat, Lucrezia also awkwardly sat down beside them and began to pray.
“-And therefore the Gon of Yesak sacrificed himself and saved the sinners, for they are imperfect yet still his children.”
The priest’s prayer was reaching its end.
“We can only ponder what went through the Gon of Yesak’s mind when he sacrificed himself for the immoral, selfish, dundering ones under his wings. The noble, rich, witful, or spiritual ones must care for the others first before saving themselves in order to replicate the Gon of Yesak’s way of living. Amen.”
“Amen.”
The voices of the women in the small chapel rang out in unison.
Isabella’s “Amen”—a desperate bid for the Queen’s notice—rang out with jarring clarity. Had she even understood a word of the mass? Ariadne felt a flicker of instinctive disdain, but she caught herself, smoothing the faint lines of irritation from her brow with practiced grace.
It was a foolish display, a pathetic scramble for attention. The Isabella she knew from ten years hence would never have stooped to such a clumsy performance.
But this cruel rival, who had spent a lifetime weaving traps for Ariadne before finally casting her into the western tower, was currently nothing more than a seventeen-year-old girl in the throes of adolescence.
At the abrupt, echoing “Amen,” the noblewoman in the chapel veil turned. Her hair was a brilliant, shimmering blonde—the mirror image of her son’s. Sunlight filtered through the stained glass, washing over her features and lending them a gentle glow.
Yet, behind that benevolent expression, the Queen’s blue-gray eyes remained chillingly hollow.
Her gaze settled squarely on Isabella.
Ariadne, seated beside her sister, offered a polite, secondary bow, keeping her expression perfectly composed.
Isabella, emboldened by the weight of Queen Marguerite’s attention, felt the familiar pull of a desperate, hungry instinct. She opened her mouth.
“Oh, my heavens…!”
The entire chapel went silent, every pair of eyes snapping toward her.