Although it was against the rules of etiquette for a perfect lady, the instincts of the old Marchioness of Montefeltro, who had endured for over forty years in society, cried out loudly.
Now is the time to sacrifice face and make a fuss to please the other person.
Besides, it was really surprising.
“Oh my goodness, look at this beauty!”
The languid sunlight of Taranto cast a glowing glow on Isabella's smooth skin. She slowly tossed her golden hair, which shimmered in the light, over her shoulder and gazed at the Marchioness.
The old Marchioness's white hair, bathed in the same sunlight, was no different from any other day's white hair. However, when the light met Isabella today, a mysterious harmony unfolded, captivating no one.
The terrified Countess of Gaeta hid in the crowd and whispered to the Marchioness of Colonna next to her.
“Don’t you think she looks younger?”
The Marchioness of Colonna tilted her head, unable to agree with that statement.
Isabella's cheeks were plump and plump, like freshly peeled eggs. Her lips were slightly plumper, and the tip of her nose was slightly upturned, like it had been in her childhood. The fat in her eyelids, which had been receding, was once again taut, like when her beauty was just beginning to blossom.
But simply saying she looked younger than before didn't quite fit the situation.
Isabella exuded a strangely cerebral aura. Perfectly polished, yet somehow dangerous.
“I think she’s gotten prettier... I don’t know if she’s gotten younger. I should say she’s prettier in a more mature way than before.”
“Can a person change like that in just a few days?”
“Well...”
They weren't the only ones chattering. The Marquis and Marchioness of Cibo, who were strolling with the couple, the Baron and Baroness of D'Apiani, the Marquis and Marchioness of Salvati, the Countess of Baljo, and other socialites were all gathered here.
Amidst the chatter of the affluent guests gathered in the winter palace about Isabella's healed wounds, a higher-pitched voice rose. It was a mixture of three spoons of curiosity and one spoon of fear.
'Oh my, look over there!'
'Oh my god!'
'The person from the rumors...?'
'What rumor?'
A stranger with pitch-black skin strolled through the red sandstone corridors of the Winter Palace. There was not a single sound of footsteps.
However, it ended up being a noisy appearance thanks to the terrified wives and the high society aristocrats who brazenly blocked their wives' path.
It was Agosto, a Moor who was rumored to be the government's servant.
'I'm scared...!'
'Honey, come behind me...'
Agosto had no intention of attacking, and it was a farce, considering that if a giant, nearly 5 feet tall, were to attack, the lanky old men would have no way of protecting their wives.
But given his grim expression, it was an inevitable reaction.
Fortunately, the blindfold he had worn before was gone.
When he first met Isabella on the docks of San Carlo, his right eye glowed with a strange red light.
Now, his eyes had returned to their normal black color, the color they had been since the day Akirilou's seal was released. Instead, a bright red teardrop had appeared under his right eye.
However, just by adding a dot to the evil expression and removing the blindfold, it was not possible to immediately change it into that of a desirable member of society.
That was the case even though Agosto was dressed in the prescribed attire like a common courtier.
Agosto, his crescent sword slung diagonally across his waist, took up a position near Isabella. His arms crossed and his upper body raised, a posture typical of a guard.
This was quite threatening. Some unspoken threats can silence the other person.
But this time, the danger that Isabella had brought to the Taranto villa did not so much quell the whispers of the surroundings as amplify them.
'I guess His Majesty has permitted her to keep that Moor as her escort!'
'I heard that he is definitely a skin care professional...'
"Carrying a sword? In a palace where you could be in the presence of the King at any moment?"
“It looks like she has a new skin care professional.”
The old Marchioness of Montefeltro asked. She had been talking to Isabella just before the Moorish escort entered. It was clearly a normal question.
But the moment Isabella raised her head and looked at her intently, the old Marchioness began to feel that she had asked a very bad question.
“That, that, it’s so rare for foreigners to be allowed into the palace...!”
The old Marchioness of Montefeltro began to babble and make excuses without realizing it.
It was different from the Isabella of old. But she couldn't tell whether this feeling of intimidation was due to the foreigner standing behind her with a sword, or whether something had changed within her.
Suddenly, she thought that it would be nice if her husband, who was still in the territory and with whom she was not on good terms, were by her side right now.
Isabella smiled strangely at the sight of the weeping Marchioness of Montefeltro.
“Don’t be afraid, Maxima.”
Isabella openly called the old Marchioness of Montefeltro by her name. The old Marchioness was taken aback.
On the surface, it was a sign of friendliness, but now it was a way of saying that she didn't like the fact that her called her by her name earlier.
The old Marchioness of Montefeltro understood. She would never again refer to Isabella by name.
Isabella took a step closer and whispered affectionately.
“Agosto doesn’t swing his sword carelessly.”
It was as if her dog didn't bite people. Agosto, the person involved, remained unmoved by Isabella's insulting words.
The old Marchioness of Montefeltro, seeing Isabella completely controlling Agosto like her own puppet, grew even more fearful and rolled her shoulders forward. It felt as if something was pressing down on her from above.
Isabella merely regained her beauty. That didn't mean the King's favor had returned, or that she had regained power.
But she couldn't resist her overwhelming beauty. Or was beauty the problem? In her youth, Rubina boasted a beauty as unrivaled as Isabella's, yet she lacked this awe.
So the old Marchioness of Montefeltro could not ask a single question about the curiosity that was boiling in her lungs: what was the identity of the Moor, whether the wearing of the crescent sword had been authorized by Leo III, or what magic had been used to so quickly and neatly restore the scar on Isabella's face.
She barely managed to throw out some praise.
“The new esthetician seems to be very good.”
Isabella's face contorted. She didn't want to be asked any questions about Agosto.
The Marchioness of Montefeltro felt like slapping herself in the mouth just a second ago. But Isabella's generosity was faster than the Marchioness could act impulsively.
Isabella smiled and answered, her eyes shining like amethysts.
“Yes, I was surprised to see all my wounds heal completely.”
Her smile was as bright as usual.
“Is it because I’ve been around children?”
“Children? Are you making any donations?”
As soon as a topic arose that she could intervene in, her former friend, Countess Baljo, quickly took the initiative.
“Countess Contarini, it’s been a while!”
The Countess of Baljo, who always called Isabella by her first name, was a gentleman. However, she witnessed the true education of the Marchioness of Montefeltro right before her eyes. From today on, it was no longer so.
“It’s been a long time since we started volunteering at the relief center, hasn’t it?”
Isabella simply smiled, unwilling to elaborate on what she had done. In front of the powerful, the audio was filled by someone else.
“I’m proud to hear that you’ve continued to donate and do charity work since then!”
There was a hint of a certain urgency, as if she had led Isabella into charity work. Isabella smiled prettily. The Countess of Baljo couldn't even dream of what kind of "charity" she had done.
“I had been away for a while, but I started again recently.”
Isabella thought that if it were to be done, it would be done to end the life of a child born to parents so poor that they would sell their children for food, and sell them before they were even seven days old.
“Unlike the capital, San Carlo, Taranto had a lot of people to help.”
Parasites like the de Rossi family also lived in Taranto. No, they were useful once, so for a while, they were not just insects, but respectable members of the family.
“Are you going to continue to work to help the poor?”
To the question of Countess Baljo, who was looking for a place to sleep, Isabella answered languidly.
“Look.”
The de Rossi family is not a relief operation because they are paying salaries when there is work to do.
If there aren't more jobs like rescuing newborns, they'll just suck up money like parasites, and the relief work for the poor will continue.
Isabella thought this, lifting her small chin and looking towards the old Marchioness of Montefeltro.
“Maxima.”
Her delicate features, yet almost cute, were nowhere to be found. Her face, once a mature charm, was replaced by a dangerous and fatal allure.
The old Marchioness of Montefeltro didn't dare to object to this arrogant title. She obediently turned her upper body toward Isabella.
Despite the difference in titles, such as Marquis and Count, and the age difference, Isabella was the one in authority.
“I will never forget the kindness you showed me when I was at my weakest and most difficult.”
It was a thank-you note without context. The old Marchioness of Montefeltro, reflecting on the favors she had done Isabella, let out a "Ah."
“Oh, I’m so touched that you remember me.”
The warmth felt even warmer when someone who always did bad things showed affection. The old Marchioness of Montefeltro bowed deeply.
“It was a trivial gift.”
“It was a great strength to me.”
"When you're at your weakest and most difficult" was the phrase used to refer to the time when Ariadne and Isabella fought. It was the day when Ariadne miscarried, Isabella got her cheek slashed, and was held captive by the Prince's knights and whipped by the court priest.
At that time, Ariadne was flooded with gifts and bribes of all kinds to console her for her inheritance, enough to fill a room in the Prince's palace up to the ceiling.
Isabella received only a handful. Among them was a gift from the old Marchioness of Montefeltro.
A thought flashed through the old lady's mind.
'This trip to Taranto... could be an opportunity.'
Now is the time to sacrifice face and make a fuss to please the other person.
Besides, it was really surprising.
“Oh my goodness, look at this beauty!”
The languid sunlight of Taranto cast a glowing glow on Isabella's smooth skin. She slowly tossed her golden hair, which shimmered in the light, over her shoulder and gazed at the Marchioness.
The old Marchioness's white hair, bathed in the same sunlight, was no different from any other day's white hair. However, when the light met Isabella today, a mysterious harmony unfolded, captivating no one.
The terrified Countess of Gaeta hid in the crowd and whispered to the Marchioness of Colonna next to her.
“Don’t you think she looks younger?”
The Marchioness of Colonna tilted her head, unable to agree with that statement.
Isabella's cheeks were plump and plump, like freshly peeled eggs. Her lips were slightly plumper, and the tip of her nose was slightly upturned, like it had been in her childhood. The fat in her eyelids, which had been receding, was once again taut, like when her beauty was just beginning to blossom.
But simply saying she looked younger than before didn't quite fit the situation.
Isabella exuded a strangely cerebral aura. Perfectly polished, yet somehow dangerous.
“I think she’s gotten prettier... I don’t know if she’s gotten younger. I should say she’s prettier in a more mature way than before.”
“Can a person change like that in just a few days?”
“Well...”
They weren't the only ones chattering. The Marquis and Marchioness of Cibo, who were strolling with the couple, the Baron and Baroness of D'Apiani, the Marquis and Marchioness of Salvati, the Countess of Baljo, and other socialites were all gathered here.
Amidst the chatter of the affluent guests gathered in the winter palace about Isabella's healed wounds, a higher-pitched voice rose. It was a mixture of three spoons of curiosity and one spoon of fear.
'Oh my, look over there!'
'Oh my god!'
'The person from the rumors...?'
'What rumor?'
A stranger with pitch-black skin strolled through the red sandstone corridors of the Winter Palace. There was not a single sound of footsteps.
However, it ended up being a noisy appearance thanks to the terrified wives and the high society aristocrats who brazenly blocked their wives' path.
It was Agosto, a Moor who was rumored to be the government's servant.
'I'm scared...!'
'Honey, come behind me...'
Agosto had no intention of attacking, and it was a farce, considering that if a giant, nearly 5 feet tall, were to attack, the lanky old men would have no way of protecting their wives.
But given his grim expression, it was an inevitable reaction.
Fortunately, the blindfold he had worn before was gone.
When he first met Isabella on the docks of San Carlo, his right eye glowed with a strange red light.
Now, his eyes had returned to their normal black color, the color they had been since the day Akirilou's seal was released. Instead, a bright red teardrop had appeared under his right eye.
However, just by adding a dot to the evil expression and removing the blindfold, it was not possible to immediately change it into that of a desirable member of society.
That was the case even though Agosto was dressed in the prescribed attire like a common courtier.
Agosto, his crescent sword slung diagonally across his waist, took up a position near Isabella. His arms crossed and his upper body raised, a posture typical of a guard.
This was quite threatening. Some unspoken threats can silence the other person.
But this time, the danger that Isabella had brought to the Taranto villa did not so much quell the whispers of the surroundings as amplify them.
'I guess His Majesty has permitted her to keep that Moor as her escort!'
'I heard that he is definitely a skin care professional...'
"Carrying a sword? In a palace where you could be in the presence of the King at any moment?"
“It looks like she has a new skin care professional.”
The old Marchioness of Montefeltro asked. She had been talking to Isabella just before the Moorish escort entered. It was clearly a normal question.
But the moment Isabella raised her head and looked at her intently, the old Marchioness began to feel that she had asked a very bad question.
“That, that, it’s so rare for foreigners to be allowed into the palace...!”
The old Marchioness of Montefeltro began to babble and make excuses without realizing it.
It was different from the Isabella of old. But she couldn't tell whether this feeling of intimidation was due to the foreigner standing behind her with a sword, or whether something had changed within her.
Suddenly, she thought that it would be nice if her husband, who was still in the territory and with whom she was not on good terms, were by her side right now.
Isabella smiled strangely at the sight of the weeping Marchioness of Montefeltro.
“Don’t be afraid, Maxima.”
Isabella openly called the old Marchioness of Montefeltro by her name. The old Marchioness was taken aback.
On the surface, it was a sign of friendliness, but now it was a way of saying that she didn't like the fact that her called her by her name earlier.
The old Marchioness of Montefeltro understood. She would never again refer to Isabella by name.
Isabella took a step closer and whispered affectionately.
“Agosto doesn’t swing his sword carelessly.”
It was as if her dog didn't bite people. Agosto, the person involved, remained unmoved by Isabella's insulting words.
The old Marchioness of Montefeltro, seeing Isabella completely controlling Agosto like her own puppet, grew even more fearful and rolled her shoulders forward. It felt as if something was pressing down on her from above.
Isabella merely regained her beauty. That didn't mean the King's favor had returned, or that she had regained power.
But she couldn't resist her overwhelming beauty. Or was beauty the problem? In her youth, Rubina boasted a beauty as unrivaled as Isabella's, yet she lacked this awe.
So the old Marchioness of Montefeltro could not ask a single question about the curiosity that was boiling in her lungs: what was the identity of the Moor, whether the wearing of the crescent sword had been authorized by Leo III, or what magic had been used to so quickly and neatly restore the scar on Isabella's face.
She barely managed to throw out some praise.
“The new esthetician seems to be very good.”
Isabella's face contorted. She didn't want to be asked any questions about Agosto.
The Marchioness of Montefeltro felt like slapping herself in the mouth just a second ago. But Isabella's generosity was faster than the Marchioness could act impulsively.
Isabella smiled and answered, her eyes shining like amethysts.
“Yes, I was surprised to see all my wounds heal completely.”
Her smile was as bright as usual.
“Is it because I’ve been around children?”
“Children? Are you making any donations?”
As soon as a topic arose that she could intervene in, her former friend, Countess Baljo, quickly took the initiative.
“Countess Contarini, it’s been a while!”
The Countess of Baljo, who always called Isabella by her first name, was a gentleman. However, she witnessed the true education of the Marchioness of Montefeltro right before her eyes. From today on, it was no longer so.
“It’s been a long time since we started volunteering at the relief center, hasn’t it?”
Isabella simply smiled, unwilling to elaborate on what she had done. In front of the powerful, the audio was filled by someone else.
“I’m proud to hear that you’ve continued to donate and do charity work since then!”
There was a hint of a certain urgency, as if she had led Isabella into charity work. Isabella smiled prettily. The Countess of Baljo couldn't even dream of what kind of "charity" she had done.
“I had been away for a while, but I started again recently.”
Isabella thought that if it were to be done, it would be done to end the life of a child born to parents so poor that they would sell their children for food, and sell them before they were even seven days old.
“Unlike the capital, San Carlo, Taranto had a lot of people to help.”
Parasites like the de Rossi family also lived in Taranto. No, they were useful once, so for a while, they were not just insects, but respectable members of the family.
“Are you going to continue to work to help the poor?”
To the question of Countess Baljo, who was looking for a place to sleep, Isabella answered languidly.
“Look.”
The de Rossi family is not a relief operation because they are paying salaries when there is work to do.
If there aren't more jobs like rescuing newborns, they'll just suck up money like parasites, and the relief work for the poor will continue.
Isabella thought this, lifting her small chin and looking towards the old Marchioness of Montefeltro.
“Maxima.”
Her delicate features, yet almost cute, were nowhere to be found. Her face, once a mature charm, was replaced by a dangerous and fatal allure.
The old Marchioness of Montefeltro didn't dare to object to this arrogant title. She obediently turned her upper body toward Isabella.
Despite the difference in titles, such as Marquis and Count, and the age difference, Isabella was the one in authority.
“I will never forget the kindness you showed me when I was at my weakest and most difficult.”
It was a thank-you note without context. The old Marchioness of Montefeltro, reflecting on the favors she had done Isabella, let out a "Ah."
“Oh, I’m so touched that you remember me.”
The warmth felt even warmer when someone who always did bad things showed affection. The old Marchioness of Montefeltro bowed deeply.
“It was a trivial gift.”
“It was a great strength to me.”
"When you're at your weakest and most difficult" was the phrase used to refer to the time when Ariadne and Isabella fought. It was the day when Ariadne miscarried, Isabella got her cheek slashed, and was held captive by the Prince's knights and whipped by the court priest.
At that time, Ariadne was flooded with gifts and bribes of all kinds to console her for her inheritance, enough to fill a room in the Prince's palace up to the ceiling.
Isabella received only a handful. Among them was a gift from the old Marchioness of Montefeltro.
A thought flashed through the old lady's mind.
'This trip to Taranto... could be an opportunity.'
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