Madam Romani had readily agreed to act as Ariadne’s chaperone.
Thanks to her involvement, Ariadne had enjoyed two precious outings that late summer, including a visit to the Rambouillet Relief Center.
The day she had promised to attend the art salon at the Cibo estate arrived all too quickly. Now, Ariadne sat in a carriage, rattling toward the residence.
“My Lady, the Prince is coming!”
Sancha, seated across from her, chattered with mounting excitement. “You should have dressed even prettier than this today!”
Ariadne was wearing the lovely yellow gown she had commissioned from Ragione Tailoring, accented by topaz earrings set in gold—the very pieces Isabella had coveted so deeply some time ago. The richness of the jewelry against her refined attire served as an indisputable mark of her status as a young lady of a noble house.
“The jewelry bestowed by Her Majesty is stunning, but My Lady truly needs more gowns to match. Could we place another order with Ragione Tailoring soon?”
Ariadne smiled at Sancha’s fussing. “Let’s wait and see.”
Her determination to attend the salon, however, had nothing to do with the Prince. Today’s gathering was, in truth, a practical art auction presented by merchants from the Republic of Porto.
Ariadne remembered the event vividly; in her previous life, it had caused a significant stir throughout the Etruscan Kingdom—and not for any noble reason.
The highlight of the auction was a collection of ancient Hellenian-era statues, supposedly excavated from newly discovered ruins in the northern city of Lastra.
The centerpiece was a statue of Nike, the goddess of victory. The historian and writer Halicardotus had famously praised it in his *Travels in Hellenia* as “a work that embodies the human will to soar toward the heavens, as strong and steadfast as can be.”
While sculpture techniques in the Central Continent were evolving rapidly—bolstered by the noble patronage system, individual apprenticeships, and the national artists’ guilds—demand for relics from the ancient Hellenian and subsequent Latin Empire eras remained sky-high. They were prized for research, possession, and pure, unadulterated ostentation.
Yet, the greatest drawback of these ancient marbles was their state of preservation; having been buried for centuries, they were almost always found in ruinous condition.
The fate of the *Vittoria Nike* was particularly tragic. Halicardotus had lamented that “her delicate wings were already damaged by the destruction wrought by the Moorish army during the Celesphon War, and the restoration…” The rest of the passage was lost, as the original manuscript of *Travels in Hellenia* was incomplete.
The merchants from the Republic of Porto were buzzing, calling this the “resurrection of the *Vittoria Nike*.” They whipped the crowd into a frenzy, asserting that such an intact specimen could not be found anywhere else on earth. And, in their boldest claim, they were telling the truth.
An influential nobleman of San Carlo, swayed by the statue’s prestige, purchased the *Vittoria Nike* for the highest price in history and completely gutted his mansion’s front courtyard to install it. The massive project—tearing up the centerpiece fountain at the entrance of a grand estate near the city’s heart—became the talk of the town. Once the clamor of construction faded, the family unveiled the *Vittoria Nike* in its new home, a beacon of their status. That was when the problem arose: the lost latter portion of the *Travels in Hellenia* was discovered.
「…her delicate wings have already been damaged by a one-time destruction, and the restoration…」
That was the original fragment. The newly found continuation concluded as follows:
「…became impossible, so she was being displayed with one wing missing. Her head and left arm had also disappeared somewhere, but the people of Tibos, saying that the sight of the *Vittoria Nike* overcoming the ravages of the Celesphon War was also a facet of victory, venerated the broken goddess as she was. It was a scene that highlighted the mature historical consciousness of the Tibos people.」
It turned out the statue had not been “displayed after a restoration,” as previously assumed.
In truth, correcting the academic interpretation of the travelogue was trivial—a mere matter of updating a few lines in textbooks.
The real problem was that the *Vittoria Nike* occupying the center of the nobleman’s garden stood with both wings held tall and proud.
The recovered *Travels in Hellenia* stated unequivocally that the statue was broken and restoration was impossible, yet this *Vittoria Nike* possessed an intact head and two perfectly formed arms.
Furthermore, the ancient city of Tibos lay at the eastern edge of the Central Continent, meaning its people belonged to a distinct race; yet this statue’s face was, unmistakably, modeled after an Etruscan woman. The revelation left everyone speechless.
All of San Carlo was turned upside down as the authenticity of the statue came under fire. Ariadne vividly remembered how the incident had gripped the city, turning the scandal into a month-long obsession for its residents.
“We are here to make some purchases.”
Ariadne instructed Sancha. She had no intention of buying the *Vittoria Nike*, of course; there was no reason to, and she lacked the funds regardless.
Ariadne’s target today was a collection of paintings slated for auction. Whether she could secure them depended on her budget, but the rising artist behind these works was destined for greatness. By next year, his value would skyrocket, and within five or six years, he would become the premier painter of the Holy See, defining the era.
“We have arrived!”
Following the coachman’s announcement, Ariadne disembarked with Sancha’s help. A servant from the Cibo family stood ready to guide them.
Ariadne walked slowly toward the main building of the Cibo estate, shadowed by the parasol Sancha held for her, when a noisy carriage procession echoed from behind.
– “Giddy up! Giddy up!”
– Clatter, clatter.
The carriage, drawn by four white horses bedecked in gold, did not slow down as it approached the entrance where other nobles were disembarking. It bypassed the walking guests, pulling up sharply to the front steps of the Cibo estate.
“His Highness, Prince Alfonso, has arrived!”
“Has Your Highness the Prince arrived?”
“It is an infinite honor to have you visit our humble home; please, step inside.”
Though the rest of the conversation blurred into a faint, distant hum, the prince’s attendant possessed a voice that boomed through the air. The three syllables of the prince’s name struck Ariadne’s ears with jarring clarity.
“It seems the Prince has arrived.”
Sancha, who should have been bursting with excitement, stood inexplicably indifferent.
“What’s wrong, Sancha? You were so eager earlier, telling me how much you wanted to see him.”
Ariadne’s question drew a sulky response.
“It’s just… we all have to get off way back there and walk, yet the Prince gets to pull right up to the front door and slip inside. You’re the one wearing high heels, My Lady, and you’re the more frail of the two! If anyone should be allowed to pull their carriage up to the entrance, it ought to be you, not the Prince.”
Ariadne tapped Sancha’s pouting lips with her finger.
“Hush! Do you want us to get dragged off?”
Ariadne stole a glance at the Cibo family servants. They didn’t seem to be paying any mind to their chatter. She lowered her voice, leaning toward Sancha.
“A good monarch protects their people from foreign threats in war and cares for the weak in peace. The authority they wield is merely a tool to facilitate that. A monarch without authority cannot exert power when it is truly needed.”
She searched her memory for a moment before adding,
“I believe Prince Alfonso is fully endowed with the qualities of a good monarch.”
“And what of the current King?”
“He is a saintly monarch, of course!”
Ariadne answered loudly enough for those around to hear, while surreptitiously showing Sancha her hand, index and middle fingers crossed beneath the hem of her sleeve. According to the teachings of the Holy Scriptures, one is punished for lying; this gesture was a plea for God to look the other way just this once, when a lie was unavoidable.
Sancha burst into laughter, and the two walked into the main building of the Marchioness Cibo’s estate, their spirits light.
* * *
“The younger Lady De Mare has arrived!”
The servant’s announcement cut through the room. The murmurs of the guests ceased in an instant.
It was not the heavy, reverent silence that signaled the arrival of Prince Alfonso or other figures of immense power, but a brief, sharp hush born of curiosity. Everyone wanted to see the Cardinal’s second daughter—the girl who had become famous overnight due to the incident with the Apostle of Acereto. Once they had confirmed her appearance with their own eyes, the conversations that had paused erupted once more.
— “She isn’t nearly as beautiful as her sister.”
— “Well, she’s cute enough, I suppose. Is it true they only share half their blood?”
— “Lucrezia isn’t even that much of a beauty, so how is the eldest daughter so stunning?”
Everyone was discussing Ariadne, yet no one approached to greet her. Only Marchioness Cibo, the hostess who had sent the invitation, hurried across the hall.
“Lady De Mare, thank you for gracing us with your presence today. Was your journey comfortable?”
“I arrived in comfort, thanks to you. Where is Madam Romani?”
“She is currently in the powder room, suffering from the heat. She will be out shortly. Do enjoy looking around!”
As the hostess, Marchioness Cibo could not linger by Ariadne’s side. Furthermore, given that today’s gathering was an art auction, the hall was filled with mature nobles and their wives; there were few peers here for Ariadne. She stood out, a lone figure in a sea of strangers. She decided to wander the hall with her hands clasped behind her back, waiting for Madam Romani to emerge.
Just then, she spotted Prince Alfonso in the distance, hemmed in by a dense crowd. Before their eyes could meet, Ariadne bowed her head low and turned away, retreating into the shadows of a corner.
For some reason, she did not want him to see her alone.
‘Why, all of a sudden…?’
Ariadne sifted through her own mind, trying to rationalize her sudden surge of unease. She had always prided herself on being comfortable in her own company—eating alone, taking solitary walks, and locking herself away in the study. Yet, clearly, those moments had bothered her more than she cared to admit. It was that buried discomfort that made her want to avoid the Prince at all costs.
Just then, the golden-haired boy, who had been swept up in the press of the crowd, spotted her.
Unable to call her name aloud in such a congested space, Alfonso fixed his eyes on Ariadne and raised his right hand high.
Ariadne had been on the verge of turning on her heel to abandon the party, but she found herself unable to tear her gaze away. The black-haired girl, who had intended to cast one final look before departing, caught sight of the Prince and stopped dead in her tracks, a laugh bubbling up from her chest.