Sancha insisted with arrogance that she should pretend to be pitiful, but even pretending to be pitiful could be met with applause.
When Countess de Mare's awakening was announced, countless requests for audiences poured into the palace. The authority to grant these requests rested with the palace's master, and the meticulous Alfonso granted priority to Ariadne's maidenly friends.
“Ari...!”
Julia, who arrived first, strode briskly, a gait perfectly conformed to etiquette, yet with the speed of a knight; it was a wonder, and she grabbed both of Ariadne's hands. But she didn't say a word after that.
Her mind seemed to freeze as she struggled to find the words to say. She struggled for a moment before finally speaking.
“This is... the pickled jujubes my mother made.”
The Marchioness of Baldessar insisted on bringing her pickled dates, saying they purify the blood and are good to eat immediately after losing a baby. Normally, the Marchioness wouldn't venture near the kitchen, but she rolled up her sleeves herself. She insisted it was a secret recipe passed down from her family, and she couldn't leave it to the chef.
She gave Julia a jar full of pickled dates and gave her a strong order.
"It's good when you have a miscarriage and the bleeding hasn't stopped yet! Take one spoonful a day for a month, but before the bleeding stops, take three spoonfuls!"
It was a rare firmness, a characteristic of a mother who was always kind and gentle. But Julia couldn't bring herself to utter the word "miscarriage." She pondered for a long time, finally speaking just as the silence was about to turn somber.
“...It’s good for your body.”
Ariadne also noticed this awkward atmosphere.
“...Thank you, Julia.”
The same was true of Cornelia, the daughter of Count Rinaldi, who had followed immediately after Julia. She stood awkwardly behind Julia and then handed her the gift she had brought.
“Ari, here’s my gift. It’s a water bottle for winter.”
Cornelia held out a water bag made from a pig's bladder. It was made from a large sow, its bladder stripped of fat, specially tanned, and fitted with a sturdy lid. Opening the metal lid allowed the water to be filled, and then covered with fur, allowing the water to be snuggled up like a warm hearth.
This, too, Countess Rinaldi had told a woman who had lost a child to take it with her, as her lower abdomen should not become cold. However, Cornelia was unable to grasp its purpose directly.
“...It’s gotten cold these days.”
And then, for a long time, no one said anything. Julia, finding the silence burdensome, awkwardly changed the subject.
“...The weather is really nice, isn’t it?”
“Oh! It’s gotten cold and the air is clear!”
And then silence again. They were at a loss for words. It felt strange to tell Ariadne that her face looked good, or to tell her that it looked bad. Even if they tried to share social news, it was all about Ariadne and Isabella, so they had nothing to say about that either.
Ariadne felt uncomfortable with her friends treating her like a glass artifact. But despite the discomfort, she felt an overflow of consideration, so she couldn't say anything. What's the use of feigning pity? Only those with the means would do that. Ariadne felt suffocated by the silence.
While everyone was enduring this awkward moment, it was Camellia who arrived a little late and broke the deadlock.
“Hey you guys!”
She didn't know if it was the problem of being a merchant's wife or the problem of being a married woman herself, but Camellia had definitely become more rugged since marrying CEO Caruso.
She placed the bundle she had brought on the side table with a thud. Camellia crossed her arms and shouted proudly.
“What happened just now? Did someone die?”
Julia and Cornelia, wondering if the person was truly dead, simply looked at each other. Or not? If they hadn't been baptized, they weren't still human. When did they become human?
While her friends were engrossed in their unanswered questions, Camellia unwrapped the bundle she had brought with her and took out its contents.
“I bought some snacks! Let’s eat them!”
The bundle was filled with panna cotta filled with lemon cream, marzipan shaped into various cute fruit shapes, and sfogliatelle covered in snow-white sugar.
Everyone was momentarily awestruck by the colorful spectacle. Every popular dessert in San Carlo was gathered here.
Camellia picked up a piece of marzipan and stuffed it into Ariadne's mouth without warning.
“Oops!”
Ariadne choked and gasped. Camellia patted Ariadne's back and said,
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, it’s nothing.”
“Cough, cough!”
“It’s okay.”
“Cough, cough, cough!”
“Hey, over there! Water!”
Camellia shouted loudly, but no one came running. Alfonso had already shooed everyone away, insisting that Ariadne must remain in perfect composure. Despite her status as the Marquis' daughter, Julia came running, panting and holding water.
Camellia took the cup of water with a sly smile and used her skilled hands to make Ariadne drink.
"Oh, really. I told you it wasn't a big deal. Isn't it more important that a grown woman almost choked to death?"
Cornelia asked bluntly.
“Was it an assassination attempt?!”
"How was it? It was pretty good, wasn't it? I think you'll succeed next time."
Ariadne, barely able to swallow the candy that had been stuck in her throat thanks to Camellia's teasing, glared at her with eyes filled with resentment. A giant crumb clung to the corner of Ariadne's mouth, like a deliberately drawn smile. The crumb was so funny that everyone in the group burst into laughter.
Camellia giggled and flopped onto the edge of Ariadne's bed. She pretended to be nonchalant, but in reality, it was a heartfelt, heartfelt joke.
Camellia actually wanted to kill Isabella.
Unlike Ariadne, Camellia lost her child to Isabella after the baby had grown considerably. Losing a child who had a name and even felt movements was a devastating blow.
Camellia had every reason to make a big deal out of Ariadne's loss, calling it a devastating tragedy. This wasn't just any child, but the offspring of a Prince who would solidify Ariadne's marriage and her position at court. Ariadne had suffered a profound loss at the hands of Isabella.
So, she asked her to stand at the forefront of the Great Isabella Front and exact her revenge. The old Camellia would have certainly done so.
But living with CEO Caruso had made Camellia very comfortable. Her husband was not only well-off but also generous.
He always repeated, almost like a mantra, that they shouldn't exploit others' misfortunes and use them as opportunities. Of course, he didn't always follow this principle himself, but he was saying that's how they should live.
But for the young wife, who had always received nothing but care from her loving husband, those words struck a chord. She forcefully suppressed the urge to use Ariadne's misfortune as a tool for revenge.
Then she saw a friend who must have been suffering greatly. Thinking about how much she must have been blaming herself made her feel more sorry than anything else.
“At first, everyone sheds a lot of tears. No one says anything, but I did the same thing.”
Ariadne, Julia, and Cornelia's eyes widened at the news they'd never heard before. As the mood seemed to be sinking uncontrollably into melancholy once again, Camellia picked up another piece of marzipan and waved it in the air.
“Don’t be so sad. You’ll get even more depressed!”
That marzipan was a murder weapon. Julia and Cornelia quickly fled. Camellia thrust the marzipan at Ariadne, who was lying in bed and unable to escape.
“You too, don’t just lie down!”
A viciously crumbled piece of marzipan darted menacingly toward Ariadne's mouth. She unconsciously rolled to the side, avoiding the sweets, which had been touched by Camellia's hands. Camellia swung the sweets across the bedsheets and shouted.
“Go out! Walk! Meet some people! Yes?”
Despite the messy marzipan look, she could feel the thoughtfulness. The sheets were a mess, but whatever.
"Your husband already sent me all the fabric to make the sheets. Feel free to sprinkle some snacks on them."
“Oh? Am I qualified to have a snowball fight with candy?”
Julia interjected and asked.
“How many yards did you send?”
“300 pieces!”
Her friends also admitted it.
“You deserve it! Spread it all out!”
Camelia shattered the marzipan and scattered it across the bedsheets. Cornelia screamed. Julia giggled and picked up the panna cotta, and Ariadne's face paled at the thought of the cream spilling everywhere. At Camelia's warm, sticky care, Ariadne's face broke into a genuine smile for the first time since this incident.
The next group of guests found it much easier to portray the victim. It was difficult to fake her feelings in front of friends who genuinely cared for her. Ariadne felt disgusted with herself.
But in front of the ladies of society, oh. It was as natural as breathing. These people weren't friends to begin with. Yesterday's enemies could become today's friends. There was no sense of duty to uphold in the first place.
“I express my deepest condolences to Countess de Mare.”
The Marchioness of Montefeltro, who had entered as the representative of the ladies, bowed to Ariadne. Her vulgar, scrutinizing gaze was palpable even behind her lowered head. The other ladies then joined in, one after another.
“You must be very heartbroken.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I offer my condolences.”
Although proper etiquette was followed, there was not a shred of consideration. Ariadne, too, bowed her head without the slightest hint of remorse.
“Are you feeling better?”
The Marchioness de Cibo asked excitedly. The Cibo family had recently returned to the capital from their northern territory. The Marquis de Cibo's health was deteriorating, and he was planning to accompany the royal family to Taranto to recuperate south.
The Marchioness, though a bit of a slacker, wasn't a bad person. Pushing aside a slight sense of guilt, Ariadne smiled faintly without answering. Her expression was filled with sorrow.
“Miss, that angle won’t do! It looks like you’re smiling too genuinely!”
Sancha trained Ariadne rigorously.
“Raise the corners of your mouth just a little more! Lower your head a little more! That’s right, that’s right! A single teardrop in the corner of your eye would be perfect, but it’s okay if there isn’t one!”
Ariadne's smile now was a perfectly calculated work of art. The artist was Sancha. And Sancha was quite talented. The Countess Marquez, completely taken in by the seemingly drawn smile, pleaded with a pitiful expression.
"I know it's hard to feel at ease, but your health comes first. Your child will come back again someday."
This guy wasn't a bad guy, either. She did grab her hair and slap her in a past life, though. Still, this was the cue she'd been waiting for. Ariadne couldn't let this opportunity slip away.
Ariadne turned her head and looked at Countess Marquez.
“Countess Marquez.”
He was looking at the Countess, but his gaze was empty, as if she were looking at a distant mountain.
“Is that... the same kid?”
"Oh my."
The easily moved Marchioness de Cibo lifted her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. What a pity, a grieving young mother!
This time, the faithful Countess Baljo, known to be faithful and enjoying that reputation, sternly rebuked Ariadne.
"You've successfully joined the cycle of reincarnation, so may the heavens protect you and bring you back, Countess. We can only believe and pray for that."
Ariadne looked back at Countess Baljo with hazy eyes.
“Can a child who has not been baptized also join the cycle of reincarnation?”
This time, the Marchioness de Cibo and the Countess de Baljo simultaneously held handkerchiefs to their eyes.
When Countess de Mare's awakening was announced, countless requests for audiences poured into the palace. The authority to grant these requests rested with the palace's master, and the meticulous Alfonso granted priority to Ariadne's maidenly friends.
“Ari...!”
Julia, who arrived first, strode briskly, a gait perfectly conformed to etiquette, yet with the speed of a knight; it was a wonder, and she grabbed both of Ariadne's hands. But she didn't say a word after that.
Her mind seemed to freeze as she struggled to find the words to say. She struggled for a moment before finally speaking.
“This is... the pickled jujubes my mother made.”
The Marchioness of Baldessar insisted on bringing her pickled dates, saying they purify the blood and are good to eat immediately after losing a baby. Normally, the Marchioness wouldn't venture near the kitchen, but she rolled up her sleeves herself. She insisted it was a secret recipe passed down from her family, and she couldn't leave it to the chef.
She gave Julia a jar full of pickled dates and gave her a strong order.
"It's good when you have a miscarriage and the bleeding hasn't stopped yet! Take one spoonful a day for a month, but before the bleeding stops, take three spoonfuls!"
It was a rare firmness, a characteristic of a mother who was always kind and gentle. But Julia couldn't bring herself to utter the word "miscarriage." She pondered for a long time, finally speaking just as the silence was about to turn somber.
“...It’s good for your body.”
Ariadne also noticed this awkward atmosphere.
“...Thank you, Julia.”
The same was true of Cornelia, the daughter of Count Rinaldi, who had followed immediately after Julia. She stood awkwardly behind Julia and then handed her the gift she had brought.
“Ari, here’s my gift. It’s a water bottle for winter.”
Cornelia held out a water bag made from a pig's bladder. It was made from a large sow, its bladder stripped of fat, specially tanned, and fitted with a sturdy lid. Opening the metal lid allowed the water to be filled, and then covered with fur, allowing the water to be snuggled up like a warm hearth.
This, too, Countess Rinaldi had told a woman who had lost a child to take it with her, as her lower abdomen should not become cold. However, Cornelia was unable to grasp its purpose directly.
“...It’s gotten cold these days.”
And then, for a long time, no one said anything. Julia, finding the silence burdensome, awkwardly changed the subject.
“...The weather is really nice, isn’t it?”
“Oh! It’s gotten cold and the air is clear!”
And then silence again. They were at a loss for words. It felt strange to tell Ariadne that her face looked good, or to tell her that it looked bad. Even if they tried to share social news, it was all about Ariadne and Isabella, so they had nothing to say about that either.
Ariadne felt uncomfortable with her friends treating her like a glass artifact. But despite the discomfort, she felt an overflow of consideration, so she couldn't say anything. What's the use of feigning pity? Only those with the means would do that. Ariadne felt suffocated by the silence.
While everyone was enduring this awkward moment, it was Camellia who arrived a little late and broke the deadlock.
“Hey you guys!”
She didn't know if it was the problem of being a merchant's wife or the problem of being a married woman herself, but Camellia had definitely become more rugged since marrying CEO Caruso.
She placed the bundle she had brought on the side table with a thud. Camellia crossed her arms and shouted proudly.
“What happened just now? Did someone die?”
Julia and Cornelia, wondering if the person was truly dead, simply looked at each other. Or not? If they hadn't been baptized, they weren't still human. When did they become human?
While her friends were engrossed in their unanswered questions, Camellia unwrapped the bundle she had brought with her and took out its contents.
“I bought some snacks! Let’s eat them!”
The bundle was filled with panna cotta filled with lemon cream, marzipan shaped into various cute fruit shapes, and sfogliatelle covered in snow-white sugar.
Everyone was momentarily awestruck by the colorful spectacle. Every popular dessert in San Carlo was gathered here.
Camellia picked up a piece of marzipan and stuffed it into Ariadne's mouth without warning.
“Oops!”
Ariadne choked and gasped. Camellia patted Ariadne's back and said,
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, it’s nothing.”
“Cough, cough!”
“It’s okay.”
“Cough, cough, cough!”
“Hey, over there! Water!”
Camellia shouted loudly, but no one came running. Alfonso had already shooed everyone away, insisting that Ariadne must remain in perfect composure. Despite her status as the Marquis' daughter, Julia came running, panting and holding water.
Camellia took the cup of water with a sly smile and used her skilled hands to make Ariadne drink.
"Oh, really. I told you it wasn't a big deal. Isn't it more important that a grown woman almost choked to death?"
Cornelia asked bluntly.
“Was it an assassination attempt?!”
"How was it? It was pretty good, wasn't it? I think you'll succeed next time."
Ariadne, barely able to swallow the candy that had been stuck in her throat thanks to Camellia's teasing, glared at her with eyes filled with resentment. A giant crumb clung to the corner of Ariadne's mouth, like a deliberately drawn smile. The crumb was so funny that everyone in the group burst into laughter.
Camellia giggled and flopped onto the edge of Ariadne's bed. She pretended to be nonchalant, but in reality, it was a heartfelt, heartfelt joke.
Camellia actually wanted to kill Isabella.
Unlike Ariadne, Camellia lost her child to Isabella after the baby had grown considerably. Losing a child who had a name and even felt movements was a devastating blow.
Camellia had every reason to make a big deal out of Ariadne's loss, calling it a devastating tragedy. This wasn't just any child, but the offspring of a Prince who would solidify Ariadne's marriage and her position at court. Ariadne had suffered a profound loss at the hands of Isabella.
So, she asked her to stand at the forefront of the Great Isabella Front and exact her revenge. The old Camellia would have certainly done so.
But living with CEO Caruso had made Camellia very comfortable. Her husband was not only well-off but also generous.
He always repeated, almost like a mantra, that they shouldn't exploit others' misfortunes and use them as opportunities. Of course, he didn't always follow this principle himself, but he was saying that's how they should live.
But for the young wife, who had always received nothing but care from her loving husband, those words struck a chord. She forcefully suppressed the urge to use Ariadne's misfortune as a tool for revenge.
Then she saw a friend who must have been suffering greatly. Thinking about how much she must have been blaming herself made her feel more sorry than anything else.
“At first, everyone sheds a lot of tears. No one says anything, but I did the same thing.”
Ariadne, Julia, and Cornelia's eyes widened at the news they'd never heard before. As the mood seemed to be sinking uncontrollably into melancholy once again, Camellia picked up another piece of marzipan and waved it in the air.
“Don’t be so sad. You’ll get even more depressed!”
That marzipan was a murder weapon. Julia and Cornelia quickly fled. Camellia thrust the marzipan at Ariadne, who was lying in bed and unable to escape.
“You too, don’t just lie down!”
A viciously crumbled piece of marzipan darted menacingly toward Ariadne's mouth. She unconsciously rolled to the side, avoiding the sweets, which had been touched by Camellia's hands. Camellia swung the sweets across the bedsheets and shouted.
“Go out! Walk! Meet some people! Yes?”
Despite the messy marzipan look, she could feel the thoughtfulness. The sheets were a mess, but whatever.
"Your husband already sent me all the fabric to make the sheets. Feel free to sprinkle some snacks on them."
“Oh? Am I qualified to have a snowball fight with candy?”
Julia interjected and asked.
“How many yards did you send?”
“300 pieces!”
Her friends also admitted it.
“You deserve it! Spread it all out!”
Camelia shattered the marzipan and scattered it across the bedsheets. Cornelia screamed. Julia giggled and picked up the panna cotta, and Ariadne's face paled at the thought of the cream spilling everywhere. At Camelia's warm, sticky care, Ariadne's face broke into a genuine smile for the first time since this incident.
***
The next group of guests found it much easier to portray the victim. It was difficult to fake her feelings in front of friends who genuinely cared for her. Ariadne felt disgusted with herself.
But in front of the ladies of society, oh. It was as natural as breathing. These people weren't friends to begin with. Yesterday's enemies could become today's friends. There was no sense of duty to uphold in the first place.
“I express my deepest condolences to Countess de Mare.”
The Marchioness of Montefeltro, who had entered as the representative of the ladies, bowed to Ariadne. Her vulgar, scrutinizing gaze was palpable even behind her lowered head. The other ladies then joined in, one after another.
“You must be very heartbroken.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I offer my condolences.”
Although proper etiquette was followed, there was not a shred of consideration. Ariadne, too, bowed her head without the slightest hint of remorse.
“Are you feeling better?”
The Marchioness de Cibo asked excitedly. The Cibo family had recently returned to the capital from their northern territory. The Marquis de Cibo's health was deteriorating, and he was planning to accompany the royal family to Taranto to recuperate south.
The Marchioness, though a bit of a slacker, wasn't a bad person. Pushing aside a slight sense of guilt, Ariadne smiled faintly without answering. Her expression was filled with sorrow.
“Miss, that angle won’t do! It looks like you’re smiling too genuinely!”
Sancha trained Ariadne rigorously.
“Raise the corners of your mouth just a little more! Lower your head a little more! That’s right, that’s right! A single teardrop in the corner of your eye would be perfect, but it’s okay if there isn’t one!”
Ariadne's smile now was a perfectly calculated work of art. The artist was Sancha. And Sancha was quite talented. The Countess Marquez, completely taken in by the seemingly drawn smile, pleaded with a pitiful expression.
"I know it's hard to feel at ease, but your health comes first. Your child will come back again someday."
This guy wasn't a bad guy, either. She did grab her hair and slap her in a past life, though. Still, this was the cue she'd been waiting for. Ariadne couldn't let this opportunity slip away.
Ariadne turned her head and looked at Countess Marquez.
“Countess Marquez.”
He was looking at the Countess, but his gaze was empty, as if she were looking at a distant mountain.
“Is that... the same kid?”
"Oh my."
The easily moved Marchioness de Cibo lifted her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. What a pity, a grieving young mother!
This time, the faithful Countess Baljo, known to be faithful and enjoying that reputation, sternly rebuked Ariadne.
"You've successfully joined the cycle of reincarnation, so may the heavens protect you and bring you back, Countess. We can only believe and pray for that."
Ariadne looked back at Countess Baljo with hazy eyes.
“Can a child who has not been baptized also join the cycle of reincarnation?”
This time, the Marchioness de Cibo and the Countess de Baljo simultaneously held handkerchiefs to their eyes.
"My goodness, you were so worried! In this corrupt world where everyone thinks and lives as they please, who would have thought such a young man could still exist?"
However, the Countess Marquez, who was incredibly picky, was a hidden threat. She had always been displeased with the Countess Baljo's meddlesomeness despite her lack of understanding of doctrine, so she responded according to principle.
“It’s true that if you don’t get baptized, you can’t enter the cycle of reincarnation. It says so in the Meditation Record...”
Ariadne's eyes welled up with tears as she heard those words. These tears were genuine. She hadn't really thought of anything, but hearing it as if it were a declaration that "we'll never see each other again" felt strange.
The startled Marchioness de Cibo poked her friend in the ribs. Then she thought, "How could such a faithful young woman have taken her precious child away from her! How cruel the heavens are!"
Amid this chaos, Countess Baljo asked slyly.
“Have you heard from your sister since then?”
The old Marchioness of Montefeltro's eyes also sparkled with curiosity. Tears fell from Ariadne's eyes. This was entirely an act. To be precise, they were tears of rage, shedding the desire to keep Isabella quiet but unable to find a way to stop her. Sancha had merely taught her how to lower her eyes and cry beautifully.
“Stop it, stop it! The Countess de Mare is crying!”
The Marchioness de Cibo stopped the Countess of Baljo. The Countess muttered an excuse.
“No, of course I thought he would apologize, so...”
But Countess Baljo was secretly pleased. She had confirmed that the two had not reconciled.
The Marchioness de Cibo and the Countess of Baljo were, of all people, two of the most influential figures in high society. Their respective circles of contact were distinct, making them ideal for spreading rumors through their two powerful veins.
One side adored Ariadne, the other detested Isabella. Either way, it was a moment when the loudspeakers of the social circles protecting the Prince's palace were loudly raised.
However, the Countess Marquez, who was incredibly picky, was a hidden threat. She had always been displeased with the Countess Baljo's meddlesomeness despite her lack of understanding of doctrine, so she responded according to principle.
“It’s true that if you don’t get baptized, you can’t enter the cycle of reincarnation. It says so in the Meditation Record...”
Ariadne's eyes welled up with tears as she heard those words. These tears were genuine. She hadn't really thought of anything, but hearing it as if it were a declaration that "we'll never see each other again" felt strange.
The startled Marchioness de Cibo poked her friend in the ribs. Then she thought, "How could such a faithful young woman have taken her precious child away from her! How cruel the heavens are!"
Amid this chaos, Countess Baljo asked slyly.
“Have you heard from your sister since then?”
The old Marchioness of Montefeltro's eyes also sparkled with curiosity. Tears fell from Ariadne's eyes. This was entirely an act. To be precise, they were tears of rage, shedding the desire to keep Isabella quiet but unable to find a way to stop her. Sancha had merely taught her how to lower her eyes and cry beautifully.
“Stop it, stop it! The Countess de Mare is crying!”
The Marchioness de Cibo stopped the Countess of Baljo. The Countess muttered an excuse.
“No, of course I thought he would apologize, so...”
But Countess Baljo was secretly pleased. She had confirmed that the two had not reconciled.
The Marchioness de Cibo and the Countess of Baljo were, of all people, two of the most influential figures in high society. Their respective circles of contact were distinct, making them ideal for spreading rumors through their two powerful veins.
One side adored Ariadne, the other detested Isabella. Either way, it was a moment when the loudspeakers of the social circles protecting the Prince's palace were loudly raised.
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