Those with heavy butts don't come unless they have business.
Of all the men who could be called great men, the one who came with the best intentions was Count Marquez.
He took advantage of the darkness and carefully sought out the Prince's quarters so as not to be noticed by anyone.
"Your Highness!"
“Marquez!”
Prince Alfonso welcomed Count Marquez with a strong embrace. Although he had not seen him for some time, the trust he held in him was still strong.
Count Marquez has been hit hard by the weight of the times in recent years.
The person who looked like he was in his late 30s or early 40s was now obviously a middle-aged man suffering from fatigue.
“You must have had a hard time.”
“Will only the Prince do it?”
Count Marquez, despite his joy, was as reserved as possible in his comments about the current situation.
It was only natural that he would be put in danger, and if the Prince was made of royal material, he would choose his own transmission route.
There were many ways to hear it. For the past three years, the Palazzo San Carlo had been in shambles, as anyone could see.
Leo III became more and more creative in harassing the nobles with each passing day.
Even the great Barons who insisted that the oath of allegiance to the King should be faithfully kept, like the old Marquis of Montefeltro, expressed their disappointment.
Excluding the Marquis Baldessar, who had little contact with the old nobility based on the great estates and was based in the capital, the other two, Count Marquez, who ruled from the outside, and Count Contarini, who ruled from the inside, were on the verge of losing their hair.
Although they were in a position to cooperate with the King, the nobles who were their background extremely hated the King.
The situation was such that the two people who were carrying out the King's work were beginning to be talked about as traitors to the noble class.
“Count Contarini is also not in good health... Many of the people he used to be with are no longer there or have changed.”
“..It was a battlefield, except for the swords.”
“The court is always like that.”
It was a world that the young Prince Alfonso had never known. But now it was a world that he had to embrace with his whole body.
“Thank you for your concern.”
Alfonso was confident. He answered firmly to the wet eyes of Count Marquez.
“I’ve changed a lot too.”
This is not the kind of battlefield he fights best on.
But those who are good at one thing tend to be good at everything else. Prince Alfonso was a warrior of reversals.
***
"What?!"
In the Palazzo Carlo, the audience room, Leo III burst into rage. For the past few days, he had been sitting on the throne in the audience room for an unusually long time.
Even people who could have been met briefly in the King's office were called to the audience room to meet.
His insecurity about his authority took many forms.
“What the hell is going on with that guy Alfonso?! Say it again!”
“...The people are putting crowns of laurel leaves on the offerings and presenting them to Prince Alfonso. At first, there were only one or two, but now...”
The laurel is the symbol of the House of Charles, and crowns made of laurel leaves have been tributes to victorious generals since the ancient Latin Empire.
Naturally, the laurel wreath was the perfect item for commoners to show their respect and love for the Prince without spending a lot of money.
There was nothing wrong with a Prince receiving the royal coat of arms or a victorious general receiving the insignia of a victorious general.
However, the laurel wreath was used as the Emperor's crown since the end of the Latin Empire.
When all these symbols are combined, the laurel crown given to Prince Alfonso has implications that appalled Leo III.
The King of San Carlo returned victorious.
“Isn’t that a crown dedicated to the Emperor?”
Rubina, who had no authority to attend the event but had appeared under the pretense of caring for the aging Leo III, raised her voice.
“How dare the people do such seditious things in the presence of His Majesty the King! We cannot leave it alone!”
“How can you make it stop?”
Count Marquez replied sarcastically. Rubina had been acting like this so often that he no longer had the energy to control his expression.
“Shall we surround His Highness the Crown Prince with a guard to prevent him from approaching?”
His headache was getting worse. This is what happens when you have a long conversation with someone you don't understand.
“There is already much talk about why His Royal Highness the Crown Prince is not entering the castle and instead staying outside. If we add to this and prevent the people from even approaching the Prince, it will certainly be said that Palazio Carlo is mistreating his successor.”
“You can just say it’s for the Prince’s protection!”
The Prince is a general who returned victorious from the Yesak War.
The knightly order he leads is probably the most powerful elite force in the entire Etruscan kingdom.
“Does that make sense? Unless the castle is emptied and everyone is dispatched, the Prince’s knights will be able to dispatch our guards in less than two hours.”
Rubina ground her teeth, speechless.
Count Contarini, who would have supported her with his logic despite her good spirit and lack of detail, was not here today. It seemed that the cough he had contracted last winter was lingering.
Marquis Baldessar, who could no longer stand to watch, made a proposal.
“Your Majesty, please bring His Royal Highness the Crown Prince into the castle.”
If Prince Alfonso entered the palace, the people would naturally stop paying tribute to the Prince. Leo III was furious.
“Didn’t I say he wasn’t coming in?”
“Aren’t the entry requirements... harsh?”
The King ordered all knights, including the Prince himself, to enter the castle of San Carlo unarmed.
“That’s something you do to prisoners.”
If they had to enter the castle disarmed, the knights would have to pass through the streets naked without any armor. It would be a disgrace.
When the King showed no sign of being persuaded and his expression remained sullen, Marquis Baldessar urged him again.
“Your Majesty, right now it is only the common people. However, if the great nobles start to contact the Prince, then the love between father and son could really be damaged.”
Leo III's expression hardened in shock, as he had not thought of that.
Count Marquez, who had already met the Prince, thought with a blank expression.
'Marquis Baldessar is not from a noble family with lands, so the news is slow. I'm not the only one who's been there.'
Sir Delpiano, who had been keeping his mouth shut behind him, cautiously advised.
“Your Majesty the King, we sympathize with the situation that concerns you.”
Sir Delpiano glanced at Duchess Rubina, but she avoided his gaze, pretending not to notice.
It was not Rubina's fault that Alfonso was covered in Cesare's shit. No, it was actually a good thing.
“How about allowing arms when entering the walls of San Carlo, but not swords when entering the palace?”
The Marquis Baldessar quickly agreed.
“Good idea! Just because you’re wearing armor and no sword in the palace doesn’t mean you can do anything with it.”
Duchess Rubina didn't seem to like that either.
“Isn’t that atmosphere itself a threat to the people of the palace!”
“Duchess.”
Count Marquez, who had a vague idea of who was responsible for the conditions for Prince Alfonso's entry into the palace in the first place, looked at her with a pitiful expression, not even thinking of hiding it.
“It is not wise to insult soldiers.”
Even the always-neutral Marquis Baldessar took the side of Count Marquez.
“This is the best way this time. Imagining threats that aren’t even real is just a waste of time.”
Duchess Rubina gritted her teeth.
'If only Count Contarini were here, he would have come up with some clever plan!'
She looked at Leo III as if pleading, but even the King was not on her side.
Leo III became anxious when he heard that the great nobles were lining up to the Prince.
“...Even the Prince cannot wield a sword in the palace. If you can accept that, then come in.”
The King added.
“Oh, and all the palace attendants should be replaced. Since this is a palace matter, Marquis Baldessar should let Rubina handle it herself.”
There was no way to stop it.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Marquis Baldessar bowed his head.
***
Feast of Saint George, the day when Prince Alfonso, the legitimate successor of the Etruscans, returns to San Carlo.
“Long live His Highness the Prince!”
“Your Highness! Stay healthy!”
“Long live His Highness Prince Alfonso, who exalted the name of the Etruscan kingdom!”
People of all ages and genders poured into the streets to welcome Prince Alfonso and the Knights of the Black Helmet.
“Alfonso Casco Nero!”
“Show me the Kaledbukh!”
Some on the streets were shouting for the glory of the nation, and others were praising Alfonso's personal exploits. Either way, the crowds were swarming.
A man appeared in the middle of it, splitting the sea like a miracle. It was Prince Alfonso, wearing pitch-black armor and riding a snow-white horse.
The presence of Alfonso Casco Nero was immense. It seemed as if the pitch-black spire was moving.
The black armor engulfed the surrounding space as if it were sucking in even the faint sunlight of spring.
Only the Prince's blond hair, slightly visible between the gaps in his helmet, sparkled dazzlingly in the spring sunlight.
And the cavalry covered with a sea of black iron followed in unison.
“A man among men! Look at his size!”
“Don’t he look like he's about 4 feet and a half tall (about 194 centimeters)?”
“Surely not. It has to be smaller than that. Doesn’t his body look bigger than it is because of his broad physique?”
“Anyone with a decent amount of skill can do it!”
While there were homosexual groups that praised Alfonso's majesty as a role model, there were also heterosexual groups that praised the same elements with a slightly different point.
“It’s really cool... Was the Prince’s original aura like that?”
“My sister saw the Prince up close before she got married, and she said he had a very handsome face.”
“He's such a man now! Who are he going to marry?”
“It’s not with you, so wake up.”
"Hey!"
An overwhelmingly victorious general, the pride of the Etruscans who had reclaimed the Holy Land, and the return of the future King.
“It would be really cool if the Prince ascended to the throne!”
“A nation led by a King who wins every war will never be looked down upon anywhere!”
“We will become a great power!”
The owner of the holy sword Kaledbukh, which was said to determine the next King, the sole legitimate Prince, and the owner of the Emperor's throne, walked confidently forward.
It was the job of others to praise him while looking behind his back.
And at the beginning of the crowd waiting for the Prince, a woman wearing long gloves and a simple cloak stood.
“If you stand here, you might run into him.”
Raphael said. Raphael and Ariadne, who came out to watch the procession, were lucky enough to get the best seats.
It is located right next to the entrance to Palagio Carlo.
Since it was the King's order that even the Prince must enter the palace on foot, Alfonso had to dismount here.
“Is there anything we can talk about?”
Alfonso's procession was getting closer and closer. Now, only about 70 piedi (about 30 meters) remained behind Alfonso's white horse in the lead.
Ariadne pulled the hat attached to her cloak down low.
“Go back, Raphael.”
“Yes? Right now?”
It would have been a natural question to have had if Ariadne had not known the contents of the letter she had received. She could not bring herself to tell Raphael what was written in Alfonso's letter.
It was a story too shameful to tell with her own mouth, especially since he had nothing wrong with it.
“Is it because it seems a bit odd to meet you here? Do you think it would be better to meet in private?”
“...”
Ariadne turned away from the Prince's procession.
“I just... I just wanted to look at him with my own eyes from afar at least once.”
“Is that okay? You should meet up!”
This is enough. This should be enough.
“...I want to go back.”
Ariadne fell back to hide in the crowd.
She began to slip away from the crowd at a brisk pace. Raphael hurriedly followed her so as not to lose sight of Ariadne.
'...Really, you're back.'
Tears welled up in Ariadne's eyes as she walked among the people. They were tears of joy, sadness, regret, sorrow, and resentment.
'You look healthy.'
Tears flowed down her face as she walked. She lowered her head so that no one around her could see her crying. But she could not fool Raphael’s eyes.
“Ari? Are you crying?”
Raphael looked at her with his eyes wide open.
Ariadne bowed her head and waved her hands, but was pushed by a large man who was trying to approach the procession of Prince Alfonso and his party and stumbled.
“Ariadne!”
Raphael hurriedly wrapped his arms around Ariadne and saved her from falling.
The hat fell back on her head, and Ariadne's face, with her bright red rabbit eyes, was revealed to Raphael's unvarnished vision.
Ariadne had also changed a lot in the past three years. She was very tall for a woman. She was only about 1 ditto short of 4 piedi (about 170 cm).
Her almond-shaped, dark green eyes gained more depth over the years, and the line connecting her nose, philtrum, and lips, which had been cute with her protruding rabbit teeth and plump upper lip during her girlhood, now exuded a mature charm with her high nose bridge and voluminous lips.
It was the first time in three years that tears had formed in her eyes. Raphael took a deep breath.
He wanted to take a handkerchief out of his pocket and hand it over, but the crowd was so tight that there was no room to do so.
In fact, the crowd was so dense that it was difficult to just protect Ariadne from touching it.
“It’s rough, but I’ll endure it.”
Instead of asking what was wrong, Raphael wiped Ariadne's face with his left sleeve.
He worked as a teacher at the Scuola di Greta, and these days he wears only rough cotton outerwear.
There must have been something wrong. After all, it was that letter that was the problem. Raphael frowned.
If Ariadne herself had no intention of meeting Alfonso, someone else could ask him. Raphael decided to ask Alfonso himself about the letter.
***
The Prince in Black Armor, Casco Nero Alfonso, walked forward all the time. There was no little Prince who looked around and gave warm smiles to the people.
Alfonso was very aware that many eyes were now watching his procession.
The King's snitches will dissect this triumphal procession today, piece by piece, and add all sorts of vicious propaganda to tattle on Leo III.
If Prince Alfonso smiled and waved to the people, he would be presented on a silver platter with the King's knife as an ambitious man who would pander to his popularity and overthrow his father.
So he walked forward, looking straight ahead as if he had no interest in the crowd. His gaze drifted to the side only for a moment.
As he approached the main entrance of Palagio Carlo, an all too familiar silhouette caught his eye.
She was a silhouette that could be recognized at a glance, whether she was among a few hundred guests in the Marchioness's salon, or at a spring festival ball where nearly a thousand nobles were all dancing the same dance in their equally beautiful dresses, or even when she was alone on the ramparts a few miglios away.
'...You promised to eat well.'
When he met her after four years, she was much taller than when he last saw her, and just as slender as when he last saw her. She looked like she would break if he hit her.
Even though he knew he had to look straight ahead, he couldn't take his eyes off her.
At that moment, a woman wearing a brown cloak turned around with her hat pulled down and slipped through the crowd as if she did not want to see him.
And then there was someone who followed right behind her.
He was a delicate young man with silver hair that shone so brightly that it shattered the light. He ran over and hugged the woman from behind.
“Everyone, attention!”
“Salute!”
“Salute!”
The ceremonial march of the King's Guard began. The sound of ceremonial swords clashing to welcome him rang out in his ears.
“Alfonso Casco Nero!”
“Nostro Principe Alfonso!” (Our Prince Alfonso!)
Titles that would have horrified Leo III burst out from his guard.
But the person who should have been happy to hear that was glaring for a completely different reason.
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