Ariadne’s footsteps slowed at the shrill voice of Lucrezia leaking through the door crack.
“I can’t do it. It’s too difficult.”
It was undoubtedly about her. Ariadne stopped walking entirely.
To the restless maid, Ariadne spoke calmly.
“I’ve suddenly developed a terrible stomachache. I need to visit the lavatory, so go to the tutor and tell her the second young lady will be a little late.”
“But, my lady…!”
“Nothing will happen to you. Just go and tell her that.”
Ariadne unclasped one of the ugly pearl earrings she was wearing and slipped it into the maid’s apron pocket. It was the only pair she owned, but there were times when one had to be generous.
“And keep your mouth shut to your mistress about what you’ve seen and heard. Go on, quickly.”
The bewildered maid, perhaps tempted by the pearl earring, soon yielded and left as Ariadne had commanded.
Ariadne pressed her body against the pillar of the gallery and listened to the conversation spilling from the Cardinal Del Mare’s reception room.
“Honestly, why are you like this again? It was your idea to bring Ariadne in the first place.”
“That was then, and this is now! That girl is so brazen and stubborn, you have no idea how exhausting it is to wait on her!”
She could hear Cardinal Del Mare’s voice, sounding bewildered yet trying to soothe Lucrezia.
“Then what are you going to tell Count Cesare? Every time we meet at the High Mass, he keeps dropping hints.”
“He was the one who asked for Isabella in the first place, so do you think he’ll just back off if we offer him someone like Ariadne? You figure out a better way! You’re good at those things! I can’t live with her.”
“If you can’t live with her, then perhaps the solution is to marry her off to Count Cesare quickly.”
‘…!’
Just as she heard that much, there was a sudden stir of movement from the far end of the hallway. Startled, Ariadne darted away from the reception room door and pretended to be passing by casually.
The owners of the movement were maids passing by to clean. Whether they sensed nothing strange or not, they bowed to Ariadne and walked past, chattering amongst themselves.
‘Phew.’
That was a close call.
Marrying her off to Count Cesare in advance—the thought chilled her to the bone. Ariadne realized that simply keeping her head down and hiding was no strategy at all. If she just let herself be swept away by the current, the conclusion would be the same as her past life.
A life where she was dumped as a substitute onto a man who loved her sister more than his own life, forced to guard his side like a piece of worn-out furniture, serving his convenience, only to be miserably discarded when the time came.
She could not let that happen. Now was the time to act.
* * *
Ariadne instinctively understood that the interests of Cardinal Del Mare and Lucrezia were not perfectly aligned.
To Lucrezia, Isabella was her alter ego, a more perfect version of herself, her golden princess who must succeed at all costs. But to Cardinal Del Mare, Isabella was simply the finest ‘possession’ he owned.
Cardinal Del Mare certainly loved Isabella to an extent. He wished for her happiness and would even be willing to make minor sacrifices for her smiles and a peaceful daily life.
‘But only up to that point.’
Ariadne knew all too well just how cold Cardinal Del Mare could be. She shuddered as the memory of his past deeds brought a wave of frigid air over her. The fine hairs on her arms stood straight up.
Just as a horse of good lineage is raised to win races, and a hunting dog might get injured in the process of catching game, to him, the essence of a daughter was a commodity to be sold to serve the ‘House of De Mare,’ which was to endure for eternity.
Once she was taught, groomed, and pampered so she would sell well, the exchange of a beautiful, renowned daughter would bring titles, land, gold, and glory to the family. Who the daughter liked or disliked was merely a secondary detail.
The only reason Cardinal Del Mare refused to marry Isabella off to Cesare De Como was that Isabella’s value was too high to waste on a man like him.
“Oh, my beautiful daughter! Truly, you have our blood. It is because you have our blood that you are superior, and you are my daughter because you are talented.”
Cardinal Del Mare always lavished praise on Isabella’s appearance, her sharp wit, and her standing in society. Yet, even when Ariadne sifted through the memories of her past life, she could not recall a single instance where he praised the effort or character that had yielded those results.
Cardinal Del Mare loved Isabella because Isabella was an asset.
His eldest daughter sat at the top of the Cardinal’s ledger. To be precise, since his position as a Cardinal outranked her, she occupied the second spot. Below Isabella were listed the prized horse that had won the Royal Cup and the quail-egg-sized emerald set in the Cardinal’s ring; if one were to scroll down much further, Ariadne’s name would eventually appear.
He intended to secure a reward commensurate with his finest possession through a marriage to Prince Alfonso, the sole heir to the throne. That was all.
*If Father cherishes her and wants to make her the Crown Princess because Isabella’s value is higher than mine… then I simply need to make my value higher than hers.*
If she gained renown, refined her appearance, and became the most outstanding young lady in San Carlo, the maiden of the House of De Mare offered to Prince Alfonso would not be Isabella, but Ariadne.
*I don’t even need to be the most outstanding in all of San Carlo. I just need to be higher than Isabella. And if I cannot rise, then destroying Isabella’s value will be enough.*
“He said he dislikes large women. He said that whenever he held me, he imagined holding you instead. He said your breasts sagged like a milk cow’s. I am the one who will be Queen.”
Isabella’s bird-like voice rang in her ears, sharp as an auditory hallucination. Ariadne reflexively touched her own chest, which remained flat. She felt no guilt in plotting Isabella’s ruin.
First-place daughter to Prince Alfonso, or second-place daughter to Cesare De Como.
There was no third way. She could not suddenly become a trade genius, board a galley of the Republic Of Porto to import eastern spices, or bypass Ippolito—the eldest son and Lucrezia’s child—to inherit the title.
Even if she conceded that Lucrezia was merely a mistress and that the distinction between legitimate and illegitimate children might eventually blur, and even if she poisoned both Ippolito and Isabella, there was no hereditary title to inherit in this family. They were merely the children of a high-ranking cleric.
In the end, her only path was to leverage the power her father currently held, marry well, and secure a future of wealth and status. If there were only two outcomes—Alfonso or Cesare—and if the prize for the winner was a chance to escape the latter, this was a race she absolutely had to win.
Ariadne strode down the second-floor gallery and threw open the doors to the reception room. At her sudden arrival, Madame Romani, who was busy teaching Galico to Isabella and Arabella, looked toward the doorway.
Ariadne performed a perfect court-style curtsy.
“Good afternoon, Madame Romani.”
Her accent was a Galico inflection so smooth, one could hardly believe it came from an Etruscan speaker.
“Sorry to interrupt. Shall we continue?”
Arabella stared at Ariadne De Mare, her mouth hanging wide open.
“How are you so good at Galico?”
Ariadne replied with a faint smile.
“It’s nothing. I just picked it up on the side.”
Madame Romani, always gentle, looked at Ariadne in genuine surprise.
“Your accent is flawless. Where did you learn it?”
“I grew up with someone who knew how to speak Galico. I only knew how to speak it—I was unfamiliar with the grammar and proper expressions. But after studying with you, Teacher, it is all falling into place. It is all thanks to your guidance.”
Ariadne did not forget to subtly shift the credit to Madam Romani, carefully crafting an alibi in case she were ever pressed to reveal the true source of her knowledge.
Madam Romani was struck by her student’s rapid progress and took pride in her own teaching ability. For Arabella, this was a fresh realization of who Ariadne truly was, especially following Ariadne’s recent interference to shield her from Lucrezia De Rossi’s explosive outburst.
However, Isabella De Mare glared at Ariadne with smoldering eyes.
‘I am the protagonist. Why is she acting like that? I cannot tolerate her stealing the spotlight!’
***
Isabella gritted her teeth, applying herself to her studies to regain her position as Madam Romani’s favorite. But because her foundation was weak, she could not best Ariadne in any academic subject—not Galico, nor Latin, history, theology, or even court etiquette.
“Perfect!”
Madam Deluca, the instructor for court etiquette, gasped in admiration. The subject required memorizing over three hundred pages of parchment. Even then, the body had to internalize complex nuances: the precise depth of a bow, the exact speed for shifting one’s gaze, and a leisurely, graceful carriage. It was a discipline that typically only flourished once a young lady stepped into high society. No matter how much one memorized at home, one would inevitably stumble the following week.
“You haven’t even had your debut yet, have you?”
“Apart from one invitation to the Queen’s mass, I have never been out in high society.”
Madam Deluca could not help but marvel once more at her student’s brilliant capacity to learn.
“This is… pure talent!”
‘I apologize. It is experience.’
***
It was not as if Isabella were particularly gifted in the arts or athletics, either. Ariadne also lacked talent in those areas, leaving them evenly matched. However, it was young Arabella who showed outstanding ability in this field.
“Your lute playing is fantastic! You grasp the dynamics perfectly, and your rhythm is flawless!”
Ms. Mancini, the music teacher, praised Arabella effusively. Seeing Isabella glare at the triumphant younger girl, the kind-hearted Ms. Mancini offered a compliment she had to struggle to find, like squeezing water from a dry rag.
“Isabella seems to treat her mandola so preciously.”
‘Aaargh!’
It was the final straw. Unable to suppress her internal scream, Isabella hurled her “precious” mandola, stomped her feet, and slammed the door shut as she stormed out.
Even for an Isabella, there was an opportunity to showcase her talents to the fullest: the various social events and the Great Mass held once a month.
It was customary for the Great Mass at the Great Basilica of San Ercole—the largest basilica in the capital of San Carlo—to be officiated by Cardinal Del Mare. Unless there were special circumstances, everyone living in the capital gathered there to hear the sermon.
Only nobles were permitted to enter the inner sanctum of the Great Basilica; commoners waited in the square outside. Once the sermon for the nobility concluded, Cardinal Del Mare would offer them a few brief words before they dispersed.
The interior of the Great Basilica of San Ercole was a gallery of luxury, extravagance, and beauty. And there, Isabella was, by far, the most eye-catching jewel.
“Girls! Get ready! We must be in the carriage and leave the house by seven! We must absolutely not be late!”
The incident Ariadne knew of was to unfold today. The Council of Trevero had concluded the previous week, and with the verdict already cast, today’s Great Mass at San Carlo would serve as the public unveiling of its resolution.
It was time to reclaim the spotlight Isabella had monopolized at the Great Mass, and with it, the favor of their father.