The Prince’s letter was less of a formal message and more of a quick note.
「To the amazing Ariadne.
Did you get home safely that day? The royal gardens are full of blooming hydrangeas, which reminded me of you, so I reached out. It would be nice if we had a reason to meet at the Royal Palace.
– A.」
It was quite romantic for a message sent by the Prince, even including the secret nickname they had settled on long ago. However, Ariadne, who was on the verge of entering her once-in-a-lifetime debutante ball with a fake cousin she felt nothing but disgust for, had no leisure to read between the lines. She hurriedly wrote a reply, focusing only on what needed to be said.
「To dear Alfonso.
I didn’t expect you to use your wish this soon. I need help. Will you be my debutante partner? I must be a debutante who enters with the Prince. I’ll tell you the details later.
– Ariadne.」
The reply arrived much faster than she had expected. Ariadne had sent her response by messenger late in the afternoon on the day Zanobi arrived, and the Prince’s courier reached her at seven the next morning. It was a speed that would have been impossible unless the Royal Palace had issued strict orders for priority dispatch.
「To dear Ariadne,
You don’t need to use a wish to become a debutante who debuts with a prince. Just tell me the date and the location.
– Alfonso.」
Ariadne stood dazed for a moment after reading Alfonso’s note. The first thing that struck her was the sharp contrast between her past life and her present. In her previous life, she hadn’t even been allowed to hold a debutante ball; she had spent her blooming youth treated as practically a married woman. Now, she was in a position to host an exclusive debutante ball, escorted by the Prince—the very thing every girl dreamed of.
‘This isn’t a dream, is it?’
She pinched the back of her hand lightly, and it stung.
The second thing that struck her was the unfamiliarity of the Prince’s unconditional favor. Since her mother passed away, no one had shown her such kindness. Even the few acquaintances she’d had in her past life only offered conditional favors; because she provided them with some benefit, or because she listened to their grievances with sincerity, they would occasionally soothe her feelings in return.
As for the people of Cesare and the De Mare family, they weren’t even worth mentioning—they took everything and gave nothing back. Love, affection, youth, trust, devotion, hard work, and loyalty; it had all been betrayed and exploited.
To Ariadne, accustomed only to such transactional cruelty, the Prince’s favor evoked a flicker of gratitude, a great deal of awkwardness, and a touch of fear.
While she stood there blankly, Sancha came running up and leaned in close.
“My Lady, what did the Prince say?”
Sancha, having snatched the note from Ariadne’s hand, exercised the reading skills she had been practicing. She stumbled through the content, then let out a shriek.
“Kya!!!! Is it really true, My Lady?!”
“Shh, shh, keep it down.”
“This is wonderful! That jerk Zanobi… no, let’s make sure we humble that young master!”
* * *
Although Ariadne’s debutante partner was decided, Ariadne and Alfonso agreed to keep the fact a secret until just before the ball.
For Ariadne, if it were officially announced that Prince Alfonso had agreed to be her partner, it would be a headache to spend weeks under the glare of Isabella and Lucrezia at home. Isabella would act out of pure jealousy, and Lucrezia would nag her incessantly because the opportunity to extract money from her niece as a “labor fee” would vanish.
1.
While not strictly codified law, a debutante’s partner was typically chosen through a parent’s connections unless he was a close relative; custom dictated that the parents held the final say. If Ariadne informed Lucrezia beforehand that she had replaced her partner with Alfonso, Lucrezia would likely collapse in a fit of nerves, protesting that “Mother cannot agree to this.” If that happened, there was a risk the Prince’s involvement would fall through.
Since Lucrezia was not a woman of quick wits, Ariadne doubted she could mount a counter-argument on the morning of the event, when the Prince would suddenly appear and claim his place. Ariadne decided to crush any opposition by combining the Prince’s authority with the element of surprise.
Furthermore, Isabella was the type of person who would inevitably resort to malice if things didn’t go her way. Ariadne couldn’t even guess what kind of mischief she might pull; the fewer variables, the better.
And then there was Zanobi. For the sake of his dignity, it would have been more proper to notify him in advance, but the man deserved a taste of his own medicine. A cold delight stirred in her at the thought of Zanobi trembling in fury when he discovered, on the morning of the ball, that he had been replaced by the Prince.
“Don’t you dare aim for me, you disgusting man.”
Keeping his role as her partner a secret was also a method of handling things that Alfonso found agreeable. In trivial terms, it was a matter of scheduling, but in larger terms, it was a diplomatic issue.
In principle, Prince Alfonso’s schedule was his own to manage, but until now, his mother, Queen Marguerite, had intervened in every detail. If he asked for permission, he might clear the hurdle, but his gut told him that Queen Marguerite and Leo III would never permit him to escort Ariadne.
“A marriage proposal with the Duchess of the Galico Kingdom is being discussed. You must carry yourself with even more dignity.”
This was what his mother had subtly hinted to him only a few days ago.
“I’m just… helping a friend who is in trouble.”
Alfonso was subconsciously deceiving himself, insisting that this had nothing to do with grand matters like marriage alliances. He checked his schedule with his secretary.
“Bernardino, do I have anything scheduled for the third Saturday of next month?”
“It is still empty, Your Highness.”
“Keep that day open. Do not schedule a single thing. That includes any summons from Her Majesty or His Majesty.”
“Is something the matter?”
Usually, he would have explained, ‘I am attending the debutante ball of the Cardinal’s second daughter,’ as a matter of routine. However, Alfonso stayed silent. He had not yet realized that his clandestine handling of the affair was what truly reflected the state of his heart.
“I have some personal business to attend to. Keep the entire day clear, from morning until late at night.”
* * *
It wasn’t just Zanobi and Prince Alfonso who were eyeing the spot for Ariadne’s debutante partner.
“That child is holding a separate debutante ball this time?”
“Yes, that is correct, Countess.”
At the maid’s report, Countess Rubina leaned back on a long velvet chair, watching the candlelight dance in the red wine that matched the color of her eyes.
“Who did they say the partner was?”
“I heard it is a nephew from Lucrezia De Rossi’s side of the family.”
A smile played on Countess Rubina’s lips.
“I suppose he’s nothing special. By any measure, my son is far better. Isn’t that right, son?”
She turned her gaze toward Cesare, who was sitting in the shadows of her drawing room.
“I heard that child revealed the Lastera statue to be a fake? The court is talking about nothing but her. They say she has found high standing among the commoners, haven’t they?”
“I know what you are about to say, Mother. Just stop there.”
Cesare was huddled in the corner of his mother’s drawing room, his life having been utterly shredded. Nothing went the way he wanted. The matter of the Republic of Porto merchants, which he had investigated with such great ambition, had ended in a complete bust. At first, he had thought that Venacio Del Gato, the Minister of Finance of the Republic of Porto, was using his nephew to smuggle assets out of the country.
Venacio Del Gato was a man of considerable influence within the Republic of Porto, frequently mentioned as a candidate for the next President. Confiscating the assets he had funneled into the Etruscan Kingdom would effectively put his political rivals in his debt. Or, conversely, I had hoped that after discovering his nephew had been murdered, I could capture the killer and put Venacio Del Gato in my debt—only to find out it was a simple murder committed over gambling. While that brat Alfonso was busy kicking a ball around, I wanted to show off my own political prowess to gain my father’s favor, but it was all for nothing. It was all a complete waste of time.
“Cesare, stop being stubborn and listen to your mother. To become King, you need high popularity, and a spouse with a high reputation will help with that—.”
“I told you to stop right there!”
Cesare flared up in anger.
“I have my own thoughts on this, too!”
Even if things weren’t going well.
“She’s not even a princess with a right to succession; do you really think the throne will just fall into my lap if I marry her? Please, try thinking logically!”
Deep wrinkles formed on Countess Rubina’s brow at her son’s defiance.
“And that little brat has a temperament that is no joke!”
Countess Rubina was not one to give in.
“If a fifteen-year-old girl in the throes of puberty had a gentle personality, that would be the miracle! If you can’t even melt the heart of one young girl and come here whining to me, doesn’t that just prove you’re incompetent?”
Annoyance and fury filled Cesare’s blue eyes.
“Just stop it! You’re telling me to ask her to be my debutante partner, aren’t you? I won’t do it even if I die!”
And what he couldn’t bring himself to say to his mother was this: *It’s obvious I’ll be rejected even if I ask.* But a mother is a mother, after all; Countess Rubina saw right through her son’s inner thoughts as if she were a ghost.
“To be so terrified that you can’t even attempt it—you are truly nothing but a loser.”
“Oh, seriously!”
At Countess Rubina’s sarcasm, Cesare grabbed the cloak he had thrown on a chair and stormed out of his mother’s parlor.
*Slam!*
“That boy, that boy! His temper is just foul!”
Countess Rubina fumed as she watched the back of the son who looked just like her.
“He refuses to listen to a word I say! Does he think I can’t have my way just because he acts like that?”
In her agitation, her grip on the wine glass tightened, and red wine splashed over the rim onto the velvet chair. The Countess’s maid quickly stepped forward to wipe the stain away, pouring another glass at her signal.
“Countess, do you have a clever plan?”
Countess Rubina’s reddish-brown eyes gleamed sinisterly at the maid’s question.
“I certainly do. In all my life, there has never been a single thing I set my mind to that I failed to achieve.”
* * *
While the villain of the Royal Palace was aiming to hitch a free ride on Ariadne’s glory, the villain of the De Mare mansion was more honestly scheming to chip away at it.
“Is it true that she decided to have her dress made at Ragione?”
“Yes, I heard that Madame Marini from Ragione Tailoring paid a visit.”
“Where on earth does she get the confidence?”
Beauty was a craft bought with coin; the more wealth poured into its mold, the more refined the result. To Isabella, it was incomprehensible that a girl who lacked even a glimmer of remarkable beauty would dare commission a debutante dress from a mere tailoring shop instead of a proper studio.
“My Lady, you will be the most beautiful of them all.”
Isabella’s dress, currently being stitched at Collezioni Tailoring, was fashioned from organza—a textile sourced from the Moor Empire and imported through Porto merchants. As the sericulture industry in the Etruscan Kingdom remained undeveloped, this thin, luminous, and ethereal silk was a rare luxury.
“I think so, too.”
Despite the reassurance, Isabella gnawed at her fingernails, a prickle of unease under her skin.
“Is there no way to ensure I outshine her entirely?”
At her mistress’s prodding, Maletta offered a solution: simple, crude, but undeniably effective.
“Should I spill some wine on her dress the day of?”
Isabella snapped in annoyance at the maid’s short-sightedness.
“Then it would be far too obvious who was responsible! It would only make her look pitiful, not disgraced.”
After scolding Maletta, a more devious thought struck her. Her eyes lit up.
“Tell me, you mentioned that you suspect Ariadne uses a ‘breast pad,’ didn’t you?”
“I am certain of it, my lady. I have seen that girl Sancha regularly washing broadcloth. If she isn’t using it for padding, why else would she require so much?”
Isabella herself frequently relied on ‘breast pads’ and broadcloth imported from the Moor Empire to cultivate the illusion of a fuller figure; it was her most guarded secret and her greatest complex.
“If her ‘breast pad’ were to slip out during the ball… that would be quite a spectacle, wouldn’t it?”
Isabella’s amethyst eyes narrowed. Maletta eagerly chimed in.
“If the stitching were to unravel, the cotton stuffing would spill right out. It would be utterly hideous! And once the rumors spread through high society that she wears such lewd contraptions, she would never be able to show her face in public again.”
In the high society of San Carlo, a lady’s beauty was celebrated only when it appeared effortless and natural. Heavily applied makeup or artificial padding were looked down upon, often inciting whispers that a woman was no better than a courtesan from Carampane. For a noblewoman, such a scandal would be a fatal blow to her reputation.
The ‘breast pad’ remained a secret, known only to a select few and imported covertly from the Moor Empire. If Ariadne were caught using one, her virtue would be forfeit. For Isabella, who had been struggling to keep her half-sister—whose star was rising even before her official debut—in check, this was the perfect opportunity.
Isabella’s narrowed eyes glimmered with malice.