Ariadne pondered what to do with this very small piece of parchment.
Giving the paper to Cesare was the most foolish thing she's ever done. If it ever fell into Rubina's hands, she'd burn it immediately.
Even if she was holding it well, the Cesare she knew might have resisted the temptation to offer something like this out of pride and beg for his life.
Ariadne had a hunch. Giving this to Cesare would only block her escape route.
However, she couldn't reveal the existence of this paper to Alfonso. It wasn't because she didn't trust him.
If the existence of this paper becomes known to Alfonso's entourage, those among them who wish to eliminate Duke Pisano will undoubtedly plan their actions with the existence of this paper in mind.
It's unclear whether Ariadne will be present to share the fruits of victory if the undertaking succeeds, but even if she were present, she might not be able to protect Cesare. After all, the madness of victory consumes everything.
Ariadne was eliminated after her last victory. She wasn't overconfident in her own abilities. She might be too focused on protecting herself.
'For now, I'll keep it safe. If I leave San Carlo before I use this... I'll think about it then.'
There must be a trustworthy hand somewhere. The thought of leaving suddenly made her feel uneasy.
'I had to leave anyway. Was I too firm with Cesare?'
If she was going to leave everything behind, there was no reason not to grant Cesare's wish.
If, after she leaves on the Day of Judgment, those close to her suffer misfortune and misfortune befalls Alfonso, Ariadne will not be able to bear the guilt.
But it didn't seem like it would be that bad a thing for Cesare to be the target.
There was another person who was not sorry: Cardinal de Mare.
Should she marry Cesare and go to live with her father, and then the three of them go to hell together?
Ariadne chuckled. It was a ridiculous thought.
Although she didn't have much time left, she was going to live it to the fullest.
She will struggle with all her might until the very end, and then collapse.
'I can't waste all that precious time and effort on a man I can't love with all my heart.'
The idea of a fixed end was a bad thing, except for the advantage of being able to plan for the future. Being resolute in the face of impending death isn't something you can easily get used to. Suddenly, a chill ran through her body as she thought of the approaching "end." This was a burden she would have to carry until the moment of her death.
Unlike her, Cesare had no set future. He could do anything, be anything.
'So, you are the one who should leave.'
It was her last pity for the person she loved in her past life.
Get away. From Leo III and Rubina.
If possible, even from the Etruscan kingdom. Far, far away.
Grand Duke Cesare, who spent his first night at the villa awake, left his quarters early in the morning, closer to dawn than in the morning.
As he headed towards the stables, shivering in the dry, dark chill of Taranto before the sun rose, the black horse, Leopoldo, spotted Cesare first and greeted his master with a loud welcome.
Heehee!
Cesare smiled and stroked his horse's black nose, covered in short, smooth hair. Thinking he was being offered a carrot, Leopoldo twisted his neck and stuck out his tongue, trying to swallow Cesare's hand.
“You’re a horse, but you don’t have a good sense of smell? I'm empty-handed, empty-handed.”
In fact, he was dressed simply. He had left the villa impulsively, not even carrying his wallet.
Cesare jumped onto the back of the black horse. He had to leave this extremely dangerous building immediately.
His destination was the metal workshop where he traded whenever he came to Taranto. After a night of anxiety, he finally, somewhat impulsively, decided to lock his room.
'Should I hang it on the window too?'
Guatieri's second villa was a single-story building, with too many possible intrusion routes from the outside.
It feels like a long time ago now, but to the eyes of a former professional intruder who used to serenade countless women and find his way into their bedrooms, every hole was visible at a glance.
'It's my fate.'
How did the world-renowned Count Cesare end up like this? Is this the karma of his past debauchery returning?
He called himself "Count" when muttering to himself. The overly grand title of Grand Duke, let alone the title of Duke inherent in the Pisano estate, didn't sit well with him. Even after all these years, it still felt uncomfortable, like wearing someone else's clothes.
He longed for the days when he could just wander the capital, idly idly. He could seduce women he didn't care about, and when he was feeling down, he drank sparkling wine and got so drunk that he wouldn't even recognize his parents.
Everyone was a bit of a nerd, but that was all. Cesare was Cesare. The King's illegitimate son was living happily. Isn't that his natural duty? He liked that past, when no one paid him any serious attention.
The heavy titles of Duke, Grand Duke, and successor to the throne were too much for him.
The only reason he was willing to bear this cross was because he believed it might lead him to Ariadne. The Duke, the Grand Duke, the Etruscan kingdom—they all meant nothing but Ariadne.
But this lofty title, the slight possibility of bearing the weight of the crown, thrusts him into the position next to an unlikely foreign Princess.
Overwhelmed by unresolved worries, he surrendered himself to Leopoldo, and before he knew it, he was in front of the workshop. The clever Leopoldo knew exactly where he needed to go.
The metal workshop was bustling with activity from early morning, with craftsmen striking hammers while apprentices were working on the bellows.
“Your Excellency, the Grand Duke!”
The senior craftsman in the metal workshop recognized Cesare, dropped his hammer, and ran out. The craftsmen, who had been so amazed by the quiet whispers filtering through the noisy hammering, stopped their work one after another to bow to the handsome, red-haired young Grand Duke.
Cesare waved his hand vaguely, interrupting their formal greeting. What stood out was the genuine lack of respect.
“I came to look at the lock.”
“A lock?”
The senior craftsman merely blinked. This young Grand Duke, who looked like a parasitic brother, came to the workshop to commission a woman's jewelry setting, as was his image. But sometimes, he would come to the workshop to request improvements to unusual clockwork mechanisms that didn't suit him.
But she's never come to see something as mundane and practical as a lock.
“Your Excellency? What are you going to use it for?”
“...”
It's self-defense. To protect his chastity. A woman is trying to eat him. He can't fight her off when she attacks. It's so damn hard to politely and respectfully reject a woman who likes him.
But the downside of fame was that he couldn't tell others what was on his mind.
Cesare remained silent for a moment, then went straight to listing the things he needed.
If he does this, people will say he's arrogant and unintelligent, but there's nothing he can do about it.
“...One for the door and two for the windows.”
Fortunately, the unfriendliness of someone in such a position was tolerated by others. The familiar father-in-law didn't take Cesare's response as an insult and ushered him inside.
“All the locks that Your Excellency can see are here.”
The high-end products, which were not cheap mass-produced products that could be opened with a hairpin but had sophisticated mechanical devices inside, were all stored separately in a small room inside the store.
The senior craftsman, who led Cesare to a room reserved exclusively for VIPs, searched through the chests containing the items.
“This is the only thing I can hang on the wooden door inside right now.”
The craftsman placed the overly large lock on the counter with a groan.
There was a reason the sturdy blacksmith had such a hard time lifting it. The lock wasn't for a door, but for the exterior iron gate of a mansion, which required four men to open with a pulley.
“You’ll have to custom-order anything that can fit on the window.”
The craftsman rummaged through other chests behind him and showed Cesare samples of unfinished products.
“It will probably be about this size, and the material will be brass.”
As expected, it was too big and fat. It was the size of two adult male fists put together. If it were hung on a window, it would collapse the wooden frame. Cesare began to worry.
'Should I put a shutter outside the window and hang it there?'
His thoughts continued one after another.
"No, I'm spending my own money to renovate someone else's villa. How am I supposed to pay for it when I leave?"
The craftsman's words at that time decisively dampened his desire to buy.
“If you place an order, it will probably take about three months.”
Three months! By then, the royal family would have departed for San Carlo again. Cesare shook his head.
“The lock is done.”
He briefly considered buying a door lock, but his perfectionist nature held him back. He couldn't lock a window, which could easily be knocked open by a woman, and his defeatist instincts reared their heads, wondering what the point of locking a door was.
And he was also concerned that he hadn't brought his wallet with him because he was in a hurry to leave in the morning. Cesare should have left it on credit.
Cesare didn't mind his regular workshop in San Carlo, which he frequented almost as if it were his own, but he still had a somewhat estranged relationship with the Taranto workshop. He couldn't bring himself to say he'd pay later.
“Then come back later...”
“Oh my, you’re not going to buy anything today?”
Cesare stopped there. It was also embarrassing to return empty-handed.
But he didn't bring his wallet...
Then, suddenly, Cesare remembered the ornament in his bosom.
“Can you repair existing items?”
If it's for repairs, you can just pay when you get it. The craftsman readily agreed.
"Sure."
“Come to think of it, there’s one piece of jewelry I’d like to have repaired.”
He stroked the wall-mounted box in his bosom over his clothes. It was a jewelry box containing the "Swan of Linville."
Rubina kept making eye contact with Cesare every time she encountered him on the way down to Taranto. She demanded that he soon present the "Swan of Linville" to Princess Julia Helena to win her favor.
Oh, Mother. Just that.
For some time now, Cesare has always carried the "Swan of Linville" in his arms. It was probably after that early summer day when the rain poured down like torrential rain.
'...The day I stood in the study of the de Mare family and confessed my affair with Isabella.'
He repeated like a wind-up doll.
"If I had given her The Swan of Linville a little earlier, would Ariadne have forgiven me?"
This was a regret he had been mulling over every day for the past three and a half years.
'If only I had just handed over the diamond brooch with this ridiculous legend hanging from it a little sooner, perhaps Ariadne might have been by my side right now.'
Of course, it was an irrational regret. But the man, who could do nothing but regret, licked his lips over everything from that day.
With 'The Swan of Linville', he could have shown her his heart.
Actually, he could have just cut open his chest and taken out his heart and shown it to her. What kind of brooch is that?
Important things are ruined by petty worries.
On that day, when the rain poured down like a hole in the sky, Cesare stood for twelve hours in front of the iron gate of the de Mare family.
Everything he was carrying was soaked, so even the silk chest containing the 'Swan of Linville' could not have been unharmed.
'I couldn't hand it over because I was afraid it would get wet and mess up.'
He smiled faintly.
Lies. All lies.
He just didn't dare to take it out and get rejected at that moment.
But the lies he repeatedly whispered to himself were sweet. The belief that he could buy love by sacrificing material things was incredibly tempting.
Cesare's first few months of confinement at Pisano's estate were a complete loss of consciousness. Months, no, years, of this uneventful routine, with nothing but various hangovers, passed by one day.
He went to work in the studio.
In a room where no one was present, sitting at a spacious work table, he held a piece of wood the size of two fists. It was a wall-wood, said to ward off evil spirits. He then began to silently dig into the wood, its flaming reddish-brown color matching his own hair.
It was a jewel box just for Linville's swans.
Giving the paper to Cesare was the most foolish thing she's ever done. If it ever fell into Rubina's hands, she'd burn it immediately.
Even if she was holding it well, the Cesare she knew might have resisted the temptation to offer something like this out of pride and beg for his life.
Ariadne had a hunch. Giving this to Cesare would only block her escape route.
However, she couldn't reveal the existence of this paper to Alfonso. It wasn't because she didn't trust him.
If the existence of this paper becomes known to Alfonso's entourage, those among them who wish to eliminate Duke Pisano will undoubtedly plan their actions with the existence of this paper in mind.
It's unclear whether Ariadne will be present to share the fruits of victory if the undertaking succeeds, but even if she were present, she might not be able to protect Cesare. After all, the madness of victory consumes everything.
Ariadne was eliminated after her last victory. She wasn't overconfident in her own abilities. She might be too focused on protecting herself.
'For now, I'll keep it safe. If I leave San Carlo before I use this... I'll think about it then.'
There must be a trustworthy hand somewhere. The thought of leaving suddenly made her feel uneasy.
'I had to leave anyway. Was I too firm with Cesare?'
If she was going to leave everything behind, there was no reason not to grant Cesare's wish.
If, after she leaves on the Day of Judgment, those close to her suffer misfortune and misfortune befalls Alfonso, Ariadne will not be able to bear the guilt.
But it didn't seem like it would be that bad a thing for Cesare to be the target.
There was another person who was not sorry: Cardinal de Mare.
Should she marry Cesare and go to live with her father, and then the three of them go to hell together?
Ariadne chuckled. It was a ridiculous thought.
Although she didn't have much time left, she was going to live it to the fullest.
She will struggle with all her might until the very end, and then collapse.
'I can't waste all that precious time and effort on a man I can't love with all my heart.'
The idea of a fixed end was a bad thing, except for the advantage of being able to plan for the future. Being resolute in the face of impending death isn't something you can easily get used to. Suddenly, a chill ran through her body as she thought of the approaching "end." This was a burden she would have to carry until the moment of her death.
Unlike her, Cesare had no set future. He could do anything, be anything.
'So, you are the one who should leave.'
It was her last pity for the person she loved in her past life.
Get away. From Leo III and Rubina.
If possible, even from the Etruscan kingdom. Far, far away.
***
Grand Duke Cesare, who spent his first night at the villa awake, left his quarters early in the morning, closer to dawn than in the morning.
As he headed towards the stables, shivering in the dry, dark chill of Taranto before the sun rose, the black horse, Leopoldo, spotted Cesare first and greeted his master with a loud welcome.
Heehee!
Cesare smiled and stroked his horse's black nose, covered in short, smooth hair. Thinking he was being offered a carrot, Leopoldo twisted his neck and stuck out his tongue, trying to swallow Cesare's hand.
“You’re a horse, but you don’t have a good sense of smell? I'm empty-handed, empty-handed.”
In fact, he was dressed simply. He had left the villa impulsively, not even carrying his wallet.
Cesare jumped onto the back of the black horse. He had to leave this extremely dangerous building immediately.
His destination was the metal workshop where he traded whenever he came to Taranto. After a night of anxiety, he finally, somewhat impulsively, decided to lock his room.
'Should I hang it on the window too?'
Guatieri's second villa was a single-story building, with too many possible intrusion routes from the outside.
It feels like a long time ago now, but to the eyes of a former professional intruder who used to serenade countless women and find his way into their bedrooms, every hole was visible at a glance.
'It's my fate.'
How did the world-renowned Count Cesare end up like this? Is this the karma of his past debauchery returning?
He called himself "Count" when muttering to himself. The overly grand title of Grand Duke, let alone the title of Duke inherent in the Pisano estate, didn't sit well with him. Even after all these years, it still felt uncomfortable, like wearing someone else's clothes.
He longed for the days when he could just wander the capital, idly idly. He could seduce women he didn't care about, and when he was feeling down, he drank sparkling wine and got so drunk that he wouldn't even recognize his parents.
Everyone was a bit of a nerd, but that was all. Cesare was Cesare. The King's illegitimate son was living happily. Isn't that his natural duty? He liked that past, when no one paid him any serious attention.
The heavy titles of Duke, Grand Duke, and successor to the throne were too much for him.
The only reason he was willing to bear this cross was because he believed it might lead him to Ariadne. The Duke, the Grand Duke, the Etruscan kingdom—they all meant nothing but Ariadne.
But this lofty title, the slight possibility of bearing the weight of the crown, thrusts him into the position next to an unlikely foreign Princess.
Overwhelmed by unresolved worries, he surrendered himself to Leopoldo, and before he knew it, he was in front of the workshop. The clever Leopoldo knew exactly where he needed to go.
The metal workshop was bustling with activity from early morning, with craftsmen striking hammers while apprentices were working on the bellows.
“Your Excellency, the Grand Duke!”
The senior craftsman in the metal workshop recognized Cesare, dropped his hammer, and ran out. The craftsmen, who had been so amazed by the quiet whispers filtering through the noisy hammering, stopped their work one after another to bow to the handsome, red-haired young Grand Duke.
Cesare waved his hand vaguely, interrupting their formal greeting. What stood out was the genuine lack of respect.
“I came to look at the lock.”
“A lock?”
The senior craftsman merely blinked. This young Grand Duke, who looked like a parasitic brother, came to the workshop to commission a woman's jewelry setting, as was his image. But sometimes, he would come to the workshop to request improvements to unusual clockwork mechanisms that didn't suit him.
But she's never come to see something as mundane and practical as a lock.
“Your Excellency? What are you going to use it for?”
“...”
It's self-defense. To protect his chastity. A woman is trying to eat him. He can't fight her off when she attacks. It's so damn hard to politely and respectfully reject a woman who likes him.
But the downside of fame was that he couldn't tell others what was on his mind.
Cesare remained silent for a moment, then went straight to listing the things he needed.
If he does this, people will say he's arrogant and unintelligent, but there's nothing he can do about it.
“...One for the door and two for the windows.”
Fortunately, the unfriendliness of someone in such a position was tolerated by others. The familiar father-in-law didn't take Cesare's response as an insult and ushered him inside.
“All the locks that Your Excellency can see are here.”
The high-end products, which were not cheap mass-produced products that could be opened with a hairpin but had sophisticated mechanical devices inside, were all stored separately in a small room inside the store.
The senior craftsman, who led Cesare to a room reserved exclusively for VIPs, searched through the chests containing the items.
“This is the only thing I can hang on the wooden door inside right now.”
The craftsman placed the overly large lock on the counter with a groan.
There was a reason the sturdy blacksmith had such a hard time lifting it. The lock wasn't for a door, but for the exterior iron gate of a mansion, which required four men to open with a pulley.
“You’ll have to custom-order anything that can fit on the window.”
The craftsman rummaged through other chests behind him and showed Cesare samples of unfinished products.
“It will probably be about this size, and the material will be brass.”
As expected, it was too big and fat. It was the size of two adult male fists put together. If it were hung on a window, it would collapse the wooden frame. Cesare began to worry.
'Should I put a shutter outside the window and hang it there?'
His thoughts continued one after another.
"No, I'm spending my own money to renovate someone else's villa. How am I supposed to pay for it when I leave?"
The craftsman's words at that time decisively dampened his desire to buy.
“If you place an order, it will probably take about three months.”
Three months! By then, the royal family would have departed for San Carlo again. Cesare shook his head.
“The lock is done.”
He briefly considered buying a door lock, but his perfectionist nature held him back. He couldn't lock a window, which could easily be knocked open by a woman, and his defeatist instincts reared their heads, wondering what the point of locking a door was.
And he was also concerned that he hadn't brought his wallet with him because he was in a hurry to leave in the morning. Cesare should have left it on credit.
Cesare didn't mind his regular workshop in San Carlo, which he frequented almost as if it were his own, but he still had a somewhat estranged relationship with the Taranto workshop. He couldn't bring himself to say he'd pay later.
“Then come back later...”
“Oh my, you’re not going to buy anything today?”
Cesare stopped there. It was also embarrassing to return empty-handed.
But he didn't bring his wallet...
Then, suddenly, Cesare remembered the ornament in his bosom.
“Can you repair existing items?”
If it's for repairs, you can just pay when you get it. The craftsman readily agreed.
"Sure."
“Come to think of it, there’s one piece of jewelry I’d like to have repaired.”
He stroked the wall-mounted box in his bosom over his clothes. It was a jewelry box containing the "Swan of Linville."
Rubina kept making eye contact with Cesare every time she encountered him on the way down to Taranto. She demanded that he soon present the "Swan of Linville" to Princess Julia Helena to win her favor.
Oh, Mother. Just that.
For some time now, Cesare has always carried the "Swan of Linville" in his arms. It was probably after that early summer day when the rain poured down like torrential rain.
'...The day I stood in the study of the de Mare family and confessed my affair with Isabella.'
He repeated like a wind-up doll.
"If I had given her The Swan of Linville a little earlier, would Ariadne have forgiven me?"
This was a regret he had been mulling over every day for the past three and a half years.
'If only I had just handed over the diamond brooch with this ridiculous legend hanging from it a little sooner, perhaps Ariadne might have been by my side right now.'
Of course, it was an irrational regret. But the man, who could do nothing but regret, licked his lips over everything from that day.
With 'The Swan of Linville', he could have shown her his heart.
Actually, he could have just cut open his chest and taken out his heart and shown it to her. What kind of brooch is that?
Important things are ruined by petty worries.
On that day, when the rain poured down like a hole in the sky, Cesare stood for twelve hours in front of the iron gate of the de Mare family.
Everything he was carrying was soaked, so even the silk chest containing the 'Swan of Linville' could not have been unharmed.
'I couldn't hand it over because I was afraid it would get wet and mess up.'
He smiled faintly.
Lies. All lies.
He just didn't dare to take it out and get rejected at that moment.
But the lies he repeatedly whispered to himself were sweet. The belief that he could buy love by sacrificing material things was incredibly tempting.
Cesare's first few months of confinement at Pisano's estate were a complete loss of consciousness. Months, no, years, of this uneventful routine, with nothing but various hangovers, passed by one day.
He went to work in the studio.
In a room where no one was present, sitting at a spacious work table, he held a piece of wood the size of two fists. It was a wall-wood, said to ward off evil spirits. He then began to silently dig into the wood, its flaming reddish-brown color matching his own hair.
It was a jewel box just for Linville's swans.
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