Despite being the wife of the kingdom's only legitimate Prince, Ariadne's title was merely that of a Countess.
If you were to suggest that it was because she was a woman that she could become the Prince's wife, well, that seems reasonable at first glance. It was true that there were highways open only to women.
But the end of that road is not the highest point.
If someone with this level of initiative and understanding of society, and who knew all the events that would occur in the next 15 years, had complete freedom of movement, would their achievements have ended at this level?
Instead of becoming the Prince's unauthorized consort and living in the palace, wouldn't she have established her own country?
The Grand Duke of Yuldenburg, who benefited from the butterfly effect caused by Ariadne, also became the new King of the restored Kingdom of Yesak after a thousand years.
“For a woman to keep her name is like walking a tightrope; she never knows when she will fall.”
The late Queen Marguerite, who had been ostracized as a foreigner during her lifetime, was revered as a wise mother by all after her death. It was Rubina who filled Marguerite's shoes, and it was only natural that everyone would desperately miss the late Queen's fairness and justness.
But what if it were revealed that the former Queen had raised a military fund for Prince Alfonso? What if the world learned that the gold should have gone to the Rambouillet Relief Home to feed the people?
The late Queen's reputation will be slammed into the ground, just like Rubina and Isabella.
Clearly, what Queen Marguerite did was not a moral act. It was indeed a wicked act. She killed another's child to save her own son.
However, the money became Prince Alfonso's military fund and returned to the Etruscan kingdom in the form of a huge, tangible benefit: the Order of the Black Helmets. The "awakened ones" of the Etruscan kingdom desperately desired the one key to preventing the kingdom's downfall.
In the distant future, when the Moorish Empire has landed on the coastline of the Etruscan kingdom, if you were to sacrifice the poor of the past almshouses to save the present people from the slaughter of the imperial army, which would you choose? People would give different answers.
Those who lived at the time of the invasion would cry out that the poor of the past did not matter, and those who were interned in the Rambouillet relief home at the time would risk their lives in protest.
Humanists will argue that human life cannot be measured in dollars and cents, and theologians will range from those who would let nature take its course and let God's will be done to those who argue that the extermination of the Moorish pagans was God's will and therefore justified even at much greater cost.
And those who actually move and record history—politicians and writers—would coldly calculate the numbers and assess the gains and losses. If that were the task of weighing the King's merits and demerits, that is.
But in the Queen's case, the mere fact that embezzlement had occurred would inevitably lead to a new reputation, one filled with harsh criticism, being added to her already well-known reputation in the history books.
Because a woman who commits immoral acts must be immediately brought down to the bottom. A woman who fails to uphold her feminine virtues becomes a danger, no matter what her accomplishments.
So, the first virtue expected of women is ‘not to break the existing order.’
Leo III, who daily committed even more heinous acts for personal pleasure, that is, squandered the national defense budget on alchemists researching immortality, was unquestioned by anyone and remained in good standing, but the Queen had to be innocent.
Ariadne gazed intently at the 'Madonna of Urbino'.
“Bianca. Someday, rename that painting.”
When the day comes that Bianca becomes the proud Duke of Taranto, not just the Princess of Taranto, and the true leader of the southern Etruscan kingdom, no one will dare to complain that the 'Virgin of the Castle of Urbino' has been transformed into 'the young Catherine gazing lovingly at the daughter she holds in her arms.'
“Become the proud Duke of Taranto, the ruler of the fertile south, and restore your mother to power.”
Ariadne saw hope the day Bianca came in carrying Ippolito's half-rotted severed head in a dirty, thick burlap sack.
“Don’t let anyone hide your name behind your back.”
Bianca's future was set: she would lose the Carlo dynasty's surname to Ippolito de Mare, Duke of Taranto, and become Bianca de Mare, Duchess of Taranto. It was then that she personally beheaded Ippolito.
“The future can be different.”
Before the loving smile of her mother on the large canvas, Bianca of Taranto, a woman who changed her own destiny, nodded trustingly.
If you were to suggest that it was because she was a woman that she could become the Prince's wife, well, that seems reasonable at first glance. It was true that there were highways open only to women.
But the end of that road is not the highest point.
If someone with this level of initiative and understanding of society, and who knew all the events that would occur in the next 15 years, had complete freedom of movement, would their achievements have ended at this level?
Instead of becoming the Prince's unauthorized consort and living in the palace, wouldn't she have established her own country?
The Grand Duke of Yuldenburg, who benefited from the butterfly effect caused by Ariadne, also became the new King of the restored Kingdom of Yesak after a thousand years.
“For a woman to keep her name is like walking a tightrope; she never knows when she will fall.”
The late Queen Marguerite, who had been ostracized as a foreigner during her lifetime, was revered as a wise mother by all after her death. It was Rubina who filled Marguerite's shoes, and it was only natural that everyone would desperately miss the late Queen's fairness and justness.
But what if it were revealed that the former Queen had raised a military fund for Prince Alfonso? What if the world learned that the gold should have gone to the Rambouillet Relief Home to feed the people?
The late Queen's reputation will be slammed into the ground, just like Rubina and Isabella.
Clearly, what Queen Marguerite did was not a moral act. It was indeed a wicked act. She killed another's child to save her own son.
However, the money became Prince Alfonso's military fund and returned to the Etruscan kingdom in the form of a huge, tangible benefit: the Order of the Black Helmets. The "awakened ones" of the Etruscan kingdom desperately desired the one key to preventing the kingdom's downfall.
In the distant future, when the Moorish Empire has landed on the coastline of the Etruscan kingdom, if you were to sacrifice the poor of the past almshouses to save the present people from the slaughter of the imperial army, which would you choose? People would give different answers.
Those who lived at the time of the invasion would cry out that the poor of the past did not matter, and those who were interned in the Rambouillet relief home at the time would risk their lives in protest.
Humanists will argue that human life cannot be measured in dollars and cents, and theologians will range from those who would let nature take its course and let God's will be done to those who argue that the extermination of the Moorish pagans was God's will and therefore justified even at much greater cost.
And those who actually move and record history—politicians and writers—would coldly calculate the numbers and assess the gains and losses. If that were the task of weighing the King's merits and demerits, that is.
But in the Queen's case, the mere fact that embezzlement had occurred would inevitably lead to a new reputation, one filled with harsh criticism, being added to her already well-known reputation in the history books.
Because a woman who commits immoral acts must be immediately brought down to the bottom. A woman who fails to uphold her feminine virtues becomes a danger, no matter what her accomplishments.
So, the first virtue expected of women is ‘not to break the existing order.’
Leo III, who daily committed even more heinous acts for personal pleasure, that is, squandered the national defense budget on alchemists researching immortality, was unquestioned by anyone and remained in good standing, but the Queen had to be innocent.
Ariadne gazed intently at the 'Madonna of Urbino'.
“Bianca. Someday, rename that painting.”
When the day comes that Bianca becomes the proud Duke of Taranto, not just the Princess of Taranto, and the true leader of the southern Etruscan kingdom, no one will dare to complain that the 'Virgin of the Castle of Urbino' has been transformed into 'the young Catherine gazing lovingly at the daughter she holds in her arms.'
“Become the proud Duke of Taranto, the ruler of the fertile south, and restore your mother to power.”
Ariadne saw hope the day Bianca came in carrying Ippolito's half-rotted severed head in a dirty, thick burlap sack.
“Don’t let anyone hide your name behind your back.”
Bianca's future was set: she would lose the Carlo dynasty's surname to Ippolito de Mare, Duke of Taranto, and become Bianca de Mare, Duchess of Taranto. It was then that she personally beheaded Ippolito.
“The future can be different.”
Before the loving smile of her mother on the large canvas, Bianca of Taranto, a woman who changed her own destiny, nodded trustingly.
***
“Yes, lead the way— go!”
Pwh—whoosh. A battle horn, a rare sound in the Etruscan kingdom, rang out.
Now, that battle horn is purely ceremonial. It once sounded the fervent call of warriors as they charged into battle.
Now it was merely a signal, blown by the guards as the King and his court descended to their winter palace in Taranto. This single horn epitomized the wildness the entire nation had lost.
“Come on! Let’s go!”
A very long procession of carriages slowly left the main gate of the palace, accompanied by the shouts and cracks of whips from the coachmen heard here and there.
It was a minister.
The six-horse carriage carrying the King himself stopped first.
Behind them followed a four-horse carriage carrying the Grand Duke of Pisano, the Grand Duchess, the Princess of Manchike, and the King's official government.
Next in line was a massive convoy of two-horse carriages carrying various important figures of San Carlo, including the great nobles. This group formed the leading group.
The royal carriages followed. Seventy carriages, each loaded with luggage, were drawn by two horses, not a single oxcart. It was a procession that displayed the might of the Etruscan kingdom.
Sir Manfredi muttered.
"Hey, you're talking a lot even though you didn't rip us off. Why are you asking us to hand it over when you already have it?"
Next came a procession of San Carlo nobles who had not been included in the government. They were Barons, Viscounts, and others who would have been embarrassed to be invited to a court party.
Among these, there were often families whose entire families rode in a single-horse carriage. It was a purely ascetic journey.
Whether they were high-ranking nobles or low-ranking nobles, they had to rush off to get the King's stamp of approval at the sudden announcement from the royal family.
The high-ranking nobles who had come up to the capital, the court nobles with connections only to the capital, and the lower-ranking nobles who had come up from the provinces and were about to return, all followed the King's, or more precisely, Rubina's, orders and hurried on their way, carrying luxuries and necessities for the winter.
However, there was a distinct economic gap between them. The carts of the great nobles were drawn by two horses, but among the carts of the court nobles, some were drawn by a single horse. They struggled to keep up, trying to juggle the carts.
The lower-class nobles, who often saw single-horse carriages transporting people, knew their place from the start. Among their wagons, oxcarts were also mixed in. These oxcarts, so fast they spread out wide on either side to avoid interfering with the two-horse carriages of the lower-class nobles.
This southern march showcases the political influence and economic affluence of each nation at a glance. For some, it will be a day of sky-high pride, while for others, it will be a shameful march that makes them want to hide in a hole. There will undoubtedly be those among them, oblivious to the order of things.
Ariadne looked at the never-ending procession and thought.
'Sister, you must be happy.'
Finally, for the first time in her life, Isabella took the lead in the southbound group and felt like she owned the world for a day.
'Isn't it? I guess they're going to go up because they're behind Grand Duchess Rubina.'
Ariadne knew Isabella well. She had guessed right. But Isabella's true nature was beyond anyone's imagination.
Among the leading group, Isabella, who was riding comfortably south on a four-horse carriage alone, was actually disbanding because her seat was further back than that of the state guest, Princess Julia Helena.
As Ariadne gazed blankly at the procession, oblivious to Isabella's absurd ambitions, something warm touched her cheek. It was Alfonso's cheek.
He bent down and whispered to her, his face against hers.
"Sorry."
At the unexpected words, she turned her head and looked at Alfonso.
“What on earth?”
“I promised to show you the vines of the Taranto villa, but I couldn’t keep my promise this time either.”
...Ah.
It was a promise Alfonso made at a masquerade ball long ago. It was probably the ball where the Princess of Lariesa first appeared.
He promised her that they would go grape picking together in the gardens of the Winter Palace in Taranto, but he never sent her an invitation.
Ariadne smiled as if nothing had happened.
“Oh, that? You still remember that?”
Alfonso answered seriously.
“I have to keep my promises.”
Alfonso himself was so serious that no one would have suspected that he had staked both his father and his family on that promise.
“Just before the branches of that old tree bend under the weight and fall, you have to feed them freshly picked grapes.”
Her first smile was a fake one. Her first life with Cesare had come to an end, but her habit of holding back never went away.
She suppressed her frustration, not wanting to become a burden. Just because he was Alfonso, it didn't mean he always gave the right answers.
There were times when he displayed insensitive words and actions, seemingly oblivious to a woman's heart, even if she was trying to eat him to death. While his consideration was appreciated, there were also many times when it was completely useless.
He never celebrated anniversaries, and he never bought gifts out of the blue.
Even in peacetime, to not lose the sharpness honed in war, he would sweat all day long in the training ground from early morning until dusk, and when he returned in the evening, his tired face was only given a kiss on the forehead.
But Ariadne never uttered a single word of complaint, even when something unpleasant happened.
'...I'm leaving.'
She swallowed it all, mulling it over. There was no need to waste her energy on something that would become meaningless once she left. For the sake of both of them, for the sake of each other.
But this time Ariadne really laughed.
She'd forgotten about the vines in the Taranto villa, but the day she waited all day for Alfonso's never-ending invitation still lived vividly in her heart. It hurt, it ached. No one had ever put a bandage on that heart, until today.
The fact that Alfonso remembered even such a trivial thing that happened so long ago somehow warmed her heart from the bottom of her heart.
“...Alfonso.”
She didn't know it herself, but it was a relief. She felt that their relationship had lasted so long, that they had accumulated so many memories, and that the other person cherished her, too.
Ariadne finally became really curious about the grapes on the old tree.
“How delicious must it be for you to boast like this?”
“Don’t be surprised if I put it in your mouth.”
For a moment, she completely forgot that she had planned to leave Alfonso. She imagined herself beside him, lazily stretching out in a hammock hung from a tree, savoring the sweet flesh bursting in her mouth.
It will be a taste like nothing you've ever experienced before. It will be a life like nothing you've ever experienced before.
Pwh—whoosh. A battle horn, a rare sound in the Etruscan kingdom, rang out.
Now, that battle horn is purely ceremonial. It once sounded the fervent call of warriors as they charged into battle.
Now it was merely a signal, blown by the guards as the King and his court descended to their winter palace in Taranto. This single horn epitomized the wildness the entire nation had lost.
“Come on! Let’s go!”
A very long procession of carriages slowly left the main gate of the palace, accompanied by the shouts and cracks of whips from the coachmen heard here and there.
It was a minister.
The six-horse carriage carrying the King himself stopped first.
Behind them followed a four-horse carriage carrying the Grand Duke of Pisano, the Grand Duchess, the Princess of Manchike, and the King's official government.
Next in line was a massive convoy of two-horse carriages carrying various important figures of San Carlo, including the great nobles. This group formed the leading group.
The royal carriages followed. Seventy carriages, each loaded with luggage, were drawn by two horses, not a single oxcart. It was a procession that displayed the might of the Etruscan kingdom.
Sir Manfredi muttered.
"Hey, you're talking a lot even though you didn't rip us off. Why are you asking us to hand it over when you already have it?"
Next came a procession of San Carlo nobles who had not been included in the government. They were Barons, Viscounts, and others who would have been embarrassed to be invited to a court party.
Among these, there were often families whose entire families rode in a single-horse carriage. It was a purely ascetic journey.
Whether they were high-ranking nobles or low-ranking nobles, they had to rush off to get the King's stamp of approval at the sudden announcement from the royal family.
The high-ranking nobles who had come up to the capital, the court nobles with connections only to the capital, and the lower-ranking nobles who had come up from the provinces and were about to return, all followed the King's, or more precisely, Rubina's, orders and hurried on their way, carrying luxuries and necessities for the winter.
However, there was a distinct economic gap between them. The carts of the great nobles were drawn by two horses, but among the carts of the court nobles, some were drawn by a single horse. They struggled to keep up, trying to juggle the carts.
The lower-class nobles, who often saw single-horse carriages transporting people, knew their place from the start. Among their wagons, oxcarts were also mixed in. These oxcarts, so fast they spread out wide on either side to avoid interfering with the two-horse carriages of the lower-class nobles.
This southern march showcases the political influence and economic affluence of each nation at a glance. For some, it will be a day of sky-high pride, while for others, it will be a shameful march that makes them want to hide in a hole. There will undoubtedly be those among them, oblivious to the order of things.
Ariadne looked at the never-ending procession and thought.
'Sister, you must be happy.'
Finally, for the first time in her life, Isabella took the lead in the southbound group and felt like she owned the world for a day.
'Isn't it? I guess they're going to go up because they're behind Grand Duchess Rubina.'
Ariadne knew Isabella well. She had guessed right. But Isabella's true nature was beyond anyone's imagination.
Among the leading group, Isabella, who was riding comfortably south on a four-horse carriage alone, was actually disbanding because her seat was further back than that of the state guest, Princess Julia Helena.
As Ariadne gazed blankly at the procession, oblivious to Isabella's absurd ambitions, something warm touched her cheek. It was Alfonso's cheek.
He bent down and whispered to her, his face against hers.
"Sorry."
At the unexpected words, she turned her head and looked at Alfonso.
“What on earth?”
“I promised to show you the vines of the Taranto villa, but I couldn’t keep my promise this time either.”
...Ah.
It was a promise Alfonso made at a masquerade ball long ago. It was probably the ball where the Princess of Lariesa first appeared.
He promised her that they would go grape picking together in the gardens of the Winter Palace in Taranto, but he never sent her an invitation.
Ariadne smiled as if nothing had happened.
“Oh, that? You still remember that?”
Alfonso answered seriously.
“I have to keep my promises.”
Alfonso himself was so serious that no one would have suspected that he had staked both his father and his family on that promise.
“Just before the branches of that old tree bend under the weight and fall, you have to feed them freshly picked grapes.”
Her first smile was a fake one. Her first life with Cesare had come to an end, but her habit of holding back never went away.
She suppressed her frustration, not wanting to become a burden. Just because he was Alfonso, it didn't mean he always gave the right answers.
There were times when he displayed insensitive words and actions, seemingly oblivious to a woman's heart, even if she was trying to eat him to death. While his consideration was appreciated, there were also many times when it was completely useless.
He never celebrated anniversaries, and he never bought gifts out of the blue.
Even in peacetime, to not lose the sharpness honed in war, he would sweat all day long in the training ground from early morning until dusk, and when he returned in the evening, his tired face was only given a kiss on the forehead.
But Ariadne never uttered a single word of complaint, even when something unpleasant happened.
'...I'm leaving.'
She swallowed it all, mulling it over. There was no need to waste her energy on something that would become meaningless once she left. For the sake of both of them, for the sake of each other.
But this time Ariadne really laughed.
She'd forgotten about the vines in the Taranto villa, but the day she waited all day for Alfonso's never-ending invitation still lived vividly in her heart. It hurt, it ached. No one had ever put a bandage on that heart, until today.
The fact that Alfonso remembered even such a trivial thing that happened so long ago somehow warmed her heart from the bottom of her heart.
“...Alfonso.”
She didn't know it herself, but it was a relief. She felt that their relationship had lasted so long, that they had accumulated so many memories, and that the other person cherished her, too.
Ariadne finally became really curious about the grapes on the old tree.
“How delicious must it be for you to boast like this?”
“Don’t be surprised if I put it in your mouth.”
For a moment, she completely forgot that she had planned to leave Alfonso. She imagined herself beside him, lazily stretching out in a hammock hung from a tree, savoring the sweet flesh bursting in her mouth.
It will be a taste like nothing you've ever experienced before. It will be a life like nothing you've ever experienced before.
Thank you very much
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