"Your Highness!"
Sir Delpiano threw himself in front of Prince Alfonso, who was walking along with a Khaledbuch in his hand.
“If you want to kill Countess Contarini, kill me first!”
But the Prince's footsteps were steady. Not a single ripple was heard. There was only about 15 feet of space between the Prince and the Countess.
"Your Highness!"
The Prince's footsteps brushed past Sir Delpiano. The tip of the sword, which had been pointing at the floor, rose to a 45-degree angle, dancing. It was a brisk rhythm, making it hard to believe that what was originally a two-handed greatsword was being wielded one-handed.
Isabella's eyes finally filled with fear that went beyond 'I can't believe it' as she saw the sparkle of the sword's tip with her own eyes.
“You cannot kill a Christian like this, Your Highness!”
The tip of Alfonso's Khaledbuch wobbled ever so slightly. However, the overall trajectory remained intact. The ancient steel greatsword, forged from a meteorite that fell from space, pierced the sky diagonally to the right.
“Let us make Yesak repent just as he suffered!”
The holy sword stopped, slicing through the air. Sir Delpiano, finally finding a point of persuasion, shouted desperately.
"On the hill of Kranion, the Lord Jesus Christ bore the cross and made atonement for the poor Lamb! If any mere mortal could undergo the same suffering, he would repent of his sins."
A sharp scream rang out.
"It's crazy!"
It was Isabella who was supposed to be the one to atone.
“You might as well kill me!”
This was a perfectly reasonable response. The words were an atonement, but what Yesak had endured on Cranion Hill was something no ordinary person could have done.
Yesak's Gon was severely whipped. The instrument of corporal punishment used on the crucifixion victim was a whip made of 39 braided animal bones soaked in water, creating heavy, irregular wounds.
After sixty-six lashes, the saint, his skin torn, his muscles eroded, and his bones exposed, climbed Cranium Hill, carrying the cross on his back. Isabella groaned. The tip of Prince Alfonso's sword fell to the ground, but there was no joy.
“Whose side are you on?! If you do something like that, I’ll die anyway!”
Sir Delpiano looked at Isabella with as much contempt as he could muster.
“I am not on anyone’s side.”
He knew he shouldn't stand against a government favored by the King, but he couldn't hide the disgust he felt at that moment. Sir Delpiano looked at the Prince again and bowed deeply. He knelt on the marble floor.
"Please, I beg you, your faith. Prince Alfonso was the Lamb of God who followed the teachings of the Divine more than anyone else. Grant me, the fallen one who has strayed from the Divine guidance, a chance to atone."
The true intentions of Sir Delpiano were revealed in the last appeal.
“Do not soil your hands with such things.”
Alfonso made no reply. Sir Delpiano, taking this brief silence as a sign of approval, shouted urgently.
“Bring the priest in charge of the prayer of repentance!”
He pondered for a moment. Perhaps Isabella's corporal punishment was within the purview of the Duchess Rubina, or perhaps even the former Grand Duchess. But the image of the King's previous government beating the current official government was too bleak.
Moreover, if Rubina were to refuse corporal punishment to avoid Leo III's censure and to blame Prince Alfonso for Countess Contarini's removal, everything would be lost. It would have been better to entrust the matter to the church.
“...!”
Isabella, realizing she might actually be whipped, took a slow step backward, then turned around and started running. But her resistance was short-lived. The Prince's knights, who had arrived before she knew it, had bound her arms and pinned her to the ground.
“Let go of this!!!”
Isabella struggled.
“How dare you lay a hand on the King’s woman!!!”
The men who held her on either side were Sir Manfredi and Sir Rothschild, the Prince's closest associates.
Sir Rothschild, a foreigner, remained expressionless despite Isabella's threats, almost as if he couldn't understand Etruscan. Sir Manfredi, unlike his usual rambunctious self, ignored Isabella's outburst with perfect composure. He was a warrior who had triumphed on the battlefield.
When her threats failed to resonate with her captors, Isabella changed her target. She called upon Sir Delpiano.
"Sir Delpiano! Save me! You can't leave me like this! Let go of my hand right now!"
The King's secretary answered with a stern face.
“Madam, this is the best I can do.”
When the seeds didn't work here either, Isabella shouted to the surrounding knights.
"The Prince is trying to harm the King's woman! If you have any loyalty left to His Majesty the King, save me now!!!"
However, not a single member of the guard had the guts to charge at the Prince and his knights, who were holding the holy sword and looking fierce.
Tears poured down Isabella's pretty face like a waterfall as she gradually realized that she could not turn the situation around.
“No, no, this can’t be happening!”
The threat of physical violence, something she'd never experienced before, left her feeling almost out of her mind. Kneeling before Agosto had been the most humiliating experience of her life, but at least it had been voluntary. Being forcibly seized and beaten in front of everyone was on a whole other level.
And the whip! The whip, which hurts more than a club when struck! The anticipated physical pain was truly terrifying.
Thud!
“You are here!”
Sir Delpiano threw himself in front of Prince Alfonso, who was walking along with a Khaledbuch in his hand.
“If you want to kill Countess Contarini, kill me first!”
But the Prince's footsteps were steady. Not a single ripple was heard. There was only about 15 feet of space between the Prince and the Countess.
"Your Highness!"
The Prince's footsteps brushed past Sir Delpiano. The tip of the sword, which had been pointing at the floor, rose to a 45-degree angle, dancing. It was a brisk rhythm, making it hard to believe that what was originally a two-handed greatsword was being wielded one-handed.
Isabella's eyes finally filled with fear that went beyond 'I can't believe it' as she saw the sparkle of the sword's tip with her own eyes.
“You cannot kill a Christian like this, Your Highness!”
The tip of Alfonso's Khaledbuch wobbled ever so slightly. However, the overall trajectory remained intact. The ancient steel greatsword, forged from a meteorite that fell from space, pierced the sky diagonally to the right.
“Let us make Yesak repent just as he suffered!”
The holy sword stopped, slicing through the air. Sir Delpiano, finally finding a point of persuasion, shouted desperately.
"On the hill of Kranion, the Lord Jesus Christ bore the cross and made atonement for the poor Lamb! If any mere mortal could undergo the same suffering, he would repent of his sins."
A sharp scream rang out.
"It's crazy!"
It was Isabella who was supposed to be the one to atone.
“You might as well kill me!”
This was a perfectly reasonable response. The words were an atonement, but what Yesak had endured on Cranion Hill was something no ordinary person could have done.
Yesak's Gon was severely whipped. The instrument of corporal punishment used on the crucifixion victim was a whip made of 39 braided animal bones soaked in water, creating heavy, irregular wounds.
After sixty-six lashes, the saint, his skin torn, his muscles eroded, and his bones exposed, climbed Cranium Hill, carrying the cross on his back. Isabella groaned. The tip of Prince Alfonso's sword fell to the ground, but there was no joy.
“Whose side are you on?! If you do something like that, I’ll die anyway!”
Sir Delpiano looked at Isabella with as much contempt as he could muster.
“I am not on anyone’s side.”
He knew he shouldn't stand against a government favored by the King, but he couldn't hide the disgust he felt at that moment. Sir Delpiano looked at the Prince again and bowed deeply. He knelt on the marble floor.
"Please, I beg you, your faith. Prince Alfonso was the Lamb of God who followed the teachings of the Divine more than anyone else. Grant me, the fallen one who has strayed from the Divine guidance, a chance to atone."
The true intentions of Sir Delpiano were revealed in the last appeal.
“Do not soil your hands with such things.”
Alfonso made no reply. Sir Delpiano, taking this brief silence as a sign of approval, shouted urgently.
“Bring the priest in charge of the prayer of repentance!”
He pondered for a moment. Perhaps Isabella's corporal punishment was within the purview of the Duchess Rubina, or perhaps even the former Grand Duchess. But the image of the King's previous government beating the current official government was too bleak.
Moreover, if Rubina were to refuse corporal punishment to avoid Leo III's censure and to blame Prince Alfonso for Countess Contarini's removal, everything would be lost. It would have been better to entrust the matter to the church.
“...!”
Isabella, realizing she might actually be whipped, took a slow step backward, then turned around and started running. But her resistance was short-lived. The Prince's knights, who had arrived before she knew it, had bound her arms and pinned her to the ground.
“Let go of this!!!”
Isabella struggled.
“How dare you lay a hand on the King’s woman!!!”
The men who held her on either side were Sir Manfredi and Sir Rothschild, the Prince's closest associates.
Sir Rothschild, a foreigner, remained expressionless despite Isabella's threats, almost as if he couldn't understand Etruscan. Sir Manfredi, unlike his usual rambunctious self, ignored Isabella's outburst with perfect composure. He was a warrior who had triumphed on the battlefield.
When her threats failed to resonate with her captors, Isabella changed her target. She called upon Sir Delpiano.
"Sir Delpiano! Save me! You can't leave me like this! Let go of my hand right now!"
The King's secretary answered with a stern face.
“Madam, this is the best I can do.”
When the seeds didn't work here either, Isabella shouted to the surrounding knights.
"The Prince is trying to harm the King's woman! If you have any loyalty left to His Majesty the King, save me now!!!"
However, not a single member of the guard had the guts to charge at the Prince and his knights, who were holding the holy sword and looking fierce.
Tears poured down Isabella's pretty face like a waterfall as she gradually realized that she could not turn the situation around.
“No, no, this can’t be happening!”
The threat of physical violence, something she'd never experienced before, left her feeling almost out of her mind. Kneeling before Agosto had been the most humiliating experience of her life, but at least it had been voluntary. Being forcibly seized and beaten in front of everyone was on a whole other level.
And the whip! The whip, which hurts more than a club when struck! The anticipated physical pain was truly terrifying.
Thud!
“You are here!”
The resident priest at Palagio Carlo, responsible for hearing the confessions of the King and Queen, had been at the palace for a very long time. He had primarily been in charge of the late Queen Marguerite's confessions. Leo III and Rubina, who succeeded the late Queen, despite her dubious status as a collateral royal, had no interest in such matters.
The old priest, who had been closed for the past few years, appeared with two nuns who had also served the late Queen.
“Sister.”
The confessor called out to an elderly nun who had entered carrying a whip. Instead of handing the whip to the priest, the nun briefly meditated and then picked up the whip herself.
She was a nun from an ascetic monastery. Without a word, the old nun swung her whip before Isabella could even sense it.
Ouch!
A chilling sound came first, followed by a fiery pain.
“Ah!”
Isabella's scream rang out belatedly. The knotted whip pierced her back, and blood seeped through the satin dress she was wearing.
Ouch!
A second whip flew. Isabella clenched her teeth in shame and held her position, but the moment the second blow struck, she collapsed. The pain was so intense that she turned around.
"Ah!"
The knights' grips on her arms remained motionless. As her senses sharpened, her forearms, too, felt as if they had been burned.
Ouch!
The third whip struck. While people surrounded her, watching, someone rushed to Ariadne's aid. Tears, sorrow, and anger surged for only a moment.
Ouch!
The fourth lash struck Isabella's lower back. Now there was no scream. The old nun scolded her in a solemn voice.
"The ascetic monk, through physical suffering, realizes that everything in the world is false and meaningless, except for the teachings of the Blessed One. Stop craving for vain things!"
The whip certainly had that quality. Facing the whip's rhythmic strike, nothing mattered except the desire to avoid pain. The chattering palace attendants were hardly noticeable. It was fair to say there was no time to worry.
But the silhouette of Ariadne, who was being carried away with the utmost care, did not disappear.
What should have been a private dinner at the Grande Sala da Franzo to celebrate her success turned into a public display of shame and agony.
***
“Oh my goodness, did I miss that great view?”
Rubina, the Grand Duchess, held her stomach and laughed.
“Did that woman really get her limbs grabbed and whipped by the Prince’s knights?”
“He said that two men, each as tall as a house, grabbed her and practically lifted her into the air!”
Rubina's maid, Deborah, excitedly relayed the story she'd heard to the court. While the muscular Sir Rothschild might have been a different story, the slender Sir Manfredi certainly wasn't as impressive as the house. However, as it was said, it was a spicy and exaggerated version.
"The whip was exactly the kind used by nuns during their penances, so the aftermath of the beating was truly atrocious! It wasn't just bruises; the skin was torn, and the muscles were bruised, so scars were inevitable!"
“You said her face was hurt, too?”
“Yeah, they say that's pretty retirement for the government!”
“You look like shit right out of the gate, hahaha!”
From Leo III's perspective, it was like returning a newly acquired toy without even opening the lid. Next to him, the Marquise de Cepinelli, the new chief maid of honor to the late Grand Duchess, added her remarks.
“But, it seems that there is also sympathy in social circles.”
"What?"
Rubina asked back, her expression absurd.
"Do they have any sympathy left to share with a worthless thing like Isabella? Were they all that kind?"
“It was too much.”
The young Countess Contarini was beaten in public, leaving her disfigured. After relaying what witnesses had said to the doctor, she was told that the damage was likely permanent.
“She’s a young woman with nothing...”
All Isabella had was her striking beauty, and if that had been damaged, then she truly had nothing left.
"The son beat his father's woman. Rumors spread among the older nobles that His Royal Highness the Prince was a bit excessive."
“That’s all useless.”
Rubina smiled brightly.
“Aristocratic society does not remember the poor.”
If Isabella were banished by Leo III and made a non-existent presence in the Palazzo Carlo, all that petty sympathy would vanish in three weeks. It would take a similar amount of time for the Countess Contarini herself to vanish from public memory.
“I wonder if her face is badly injured? I’m dying to know.”
It was only by the manners she had learned from thirty years of palace life that Rubina did not mention how much she anticipated Isabella's appearance would be ruined.
“Deborah. What day is it today?”
“It’s Wednesday.”
Rubina, who knew Leo III's schedule, smiled like a devil.
“Oh my. Today is the day His Majesty returns.”
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