Chapter 93

In the carriage heading to the southernmost city of Taranto, Malleta enjoyed every moment of the ten-day journey, despite the constant swaying from side to side, which was objectively a very arduous trip. Here, without the critical Lady Lucrezia or the condescending Ariadne, Malleta was a little queen. Malleta gathered all the jewelry her young master had bought for her and hung them all over herself. Below, she wore a seductive negligee that she couldn't wear in the Cardinal's residence for fear of others' eyes. Over that, she only wore a single layer of fur.

The new negligee Malleta took out and put on was promptly torn by Ipolito and thrown to the carriage floor. After all, it was a dress she couldn't wear in San Carlo. Malleta changed her negligee and robe two or three times a day.

The two spent the remaining time drinking from morning until night, and when the hangover became severe, they drank cold water, which was imported from Asereto and flavored with lime.

It was incredibly luxurious. Except for being a bit narrow, bumpy, and unsanitary, the carriage was almost a paradise for the decadent.

Ipolito, drunk on his own mood, rambled on.

"Malleta, do you know how beautiful Taranto is?"

Taranto, a city on the White Central Sea, which remains mild even in the dead of winter, was a warm city with a fine salt air that filled the streets lined with terracotta buildings, the pride of the Etruscan Kingdom, known for its beautiful port.

"This outstanding port and the kingdom it belongs to, along with the entire fief of Taranto, all belong to Bianca of Taranto, the only daughter of the deceased Duke of Taranto."

"Oh, I've heard about Bianca of Taranto. Isn't she considered the best bride in the Etruscan Kingdom, or even the entire Central Continent?"

Bianca of Taranto, the only daughter of the Duke of Taranto, had already lost both her parents. Leo III was her official guardian, and the practical governance of Taranto was handled by his vassals. The man who married her would own everything she possessed. Among the properties she would inherit was the city of Taranto, the second largest port city in the Etruscan Kingdom and the center of various logistics.

Behind it lay the entire fertile Taranto fief, which occupied most of the southwestern part of the Etruscan Kingdom. Bianca's inheritance included the governance and tax collection rights of the entire Taranto fief, as well as the authority to raise private armies.

That wasn't all. She was a descendant of the former king of the Etruscan Kingdom, Stefano I, on her father's side and was Leo III's fifth cousin. In other words, Bianca was the next in line for the throne after Prince Alfonso.

If anything happened to the royal family, she could immediately ascend to the throne as the Queen of Etruria, and her husband would become the regent for her.

"Surely, you're not interested in Bianca of Taranto, are you, young master?"

Malleta gave Ipolito a sly look. Ipolito waved his hands in denial.

"No, no! Do you know how old Bianca of Taranto is?"

"I don't know."

"She's twelve this year, twelve!"

Just two years older than Arabella. Even though noble ladies in the Etruscan Kingdom tended to marry in their late teens, twelve was far too young.

"How can you see a child like that as a woman! A woman should be like you, right? Soft and trembling."

Ipolito buried his nose in Malleta's cheek and shook his head. He genuinely preferred mature, older women.

"Ah, this scent of flesh! This is what a woman should be!"

"Oh, I don't know, young master. Eek!"

Malleta, looking quite satisfied, pretended to resist her young master and then snuggled into his arms. Malleta was content, thinking that her young master was hopelessly infatuated with her.

* * *

Upon arriving in Taranto and settling into the top-tier hotel, Ipolito, after satisfying his desires with Malleta, immediately called his troublesome friends scattered throughout Taranto, including Cesar de Como.

"Cesar!"

"Ipolito."

Cesar, who approached with a broad smile and outstretched arms, turned away to avoid Ipolito's embrace. Instead of a hug, he extended his fist for a fist bump.

Ipolito, who had intended to hug Cesar, quickly adjusted and laughed humbly.

"Are you well, my friend?"

"More or less."

"How is Taranto?"

"Same as always, slow, quiet, and bustling."

In the room, the group, led by Ottavio de Contarini, were gathered, smoking cigars, holding glasses of ice water and distilled spirits, and playing cards, enjoying themselves.

Ipolito glanced around and subtly hinted to Cesar.

"Have you heard anything about Bianca of Taranto lately? Like, if she's started to appear in the winter social scene?"

Cesar, holding a glass of wine instead of distilled spirits, ignored Ipolito and savored the deep red color of the wine, which matched the eyes of his mother, the Countess Rubina.

"Hey, Cesar."

Ipolito tried again, more gently. Cesar chuckled. This man's mind was too shallow.

"Dear Ipolito, how could I know the well-being of our precious duchess?"

The best response to a whiner is to act weak in return.

"Our precious duchess continues to keep the doors of her grand estate locked and refuses to meet anyone. She occasionally sees her fifth cousin, Prince Alfonso, but she has no interest left to give to a half-blooded relative like me, a mere count."

"Oh... even for you?"

Ipolito couldn't hide his disappointment. Cesar de Como was Ipolito's closest link to the royal family. If even Cesar couldn't meet Bianca of Taranto, neither could he.

Cesar couldn't help but laugh at Ipolito's green reaction. It seemed to show on his face. He raised his left eyebrow and the corner of his mouth, giving a crooked smile.

"Of course. If I hear that Bianca of Taranto is attending a social gathering, I'll tell you first."

"Of course, my friend!"

Cesar laughed along with the overly excited Ipolito. Chasing after a rich woman's tail was uglier than expected, and hiding one's true intentions for fan service was a tough job.

Cesar had just returned from breakfast with Bianca of Taranto and the rest of the royal family.

'Even if Bianca of Taranto seems vulnerable due to her orphaned state, it's not that simple.'

Cesar glanced at Ipolito.

'You, a guy like you, have no chance.'

He patted Ipolito's shoulder a few times and laughed along with him.

* * *

While Ipolito's ruffian friends were holed up in a section of the Taranto winter palace, playing cards, the proper prince was walking through the rose garden with the woman he was betrothed to.

"Prince, even in the dead of winter, the red roses are so lush!"

"Beautiful indeed."

Alfonso met Lariessa's eyes and answered sincerely.

- Thump!

'Did he mean that "beautiful" for me? Not for the flowers? Did I look like a flower to him?'

Something caught the sensitive princess's attention.

'But if it was a compliment to me, why so short? Isn't it a bit insincere?'

She decided to give Alfonso another chance and threw out the next bait.

"Which part is the most beautiful?"

The nose? The lips? The sparkling eyes?

"…The size and shape of the flower?"

Alfonso, who had been looking at the rose garden without much thought, was startled by Lariessa's question. He finally opened his narrow eyes and began to examine the red roses carefully to answer sincerely. While contemplating which part of the red roses was the most beautiful, Alfonso inadvertently answered in Etruscan instead of Gallic.

Lariessa's expression immediately turned sour.

'What's this, so perfunctory? Not even trying to speak in Gallic? How insincere!'

But Lariessa didn't have the nerve to ask Alfonso why he wasn't looking at her. He was the golden prince who had rolled in as her fiancé due to her sister's death.

Moreover, strictly speaking, she wasn't even officially betrothed yet.

The Kingdom of Gallic and the Kingdom of Etruria were in a deadlock, each putting forward new conditions while pretending they were ready to sign the engagement documents immediately.

A sense of crisis that her royal marriage might not be realized if she acted rashly stopped Lariessa.

"Of course, Prince, your discernment is remarkable! The rose greenhouses of Montpellier are so famous that they are known even in neighboring countries. I want to show you the blue roses that bloom there."

She decided to cater to Alfonso as much as possible. Her priority was to win his favor. To pique his curiosity, she flaunted her connections like a peacock spreading its tail.

Lariessa, who had no notable qualities since childhood, used to boast about her family's prestige or her beautiful sister's affection to gain attention.

"Please visit Montpellier once. You won't regret it."

"If the opportunity arises, I will."

While saying this, she recalled the request made by Princess Auguste, the sister of King Philippe IV.

Princess Auguste had asked Lariessa to bring Prince Alfonso to Montpellier by any means necessary.

Princess Auguste was haughty. She wouldn't ask for anything from a young, distant relative. Therefore, Lariessa wanted to fulfill Princess Auguste's request.

Half to impress the princess and half to show off.

Lariessa, trying to make eye contact with Alfonso, forced a smile that she thought looked the most kind.

She intended to show Alfonso how excellent a woman and a bride "Lariessa de Valois, the Grand Duchess of Gallic and adopted daughter of Philippe IV" was.

She was the lady from the strongest country Alfonso could meet, with a gentle and kind personality and widespread popularity.

She decided to quickly imprint this fact on Alfonso. There were countless ways to do so.

* * *

By Lariessa's insistence, she and Prince Alfonso began exchanging short letters.

"To Prince Alfonso,

It is such a beautiful morning.

With affection and devotion, Lariessa."

Prince Alfonso sent a polite and proper reply.

"Good morning, Grand Duchess Valois.

I have scheduled a tour of Taranto city, which you previously expressed interest in, for this afternoon. I will come to escort you after your lunch.

- Prince Alfonso."

Upon receiving the letter, Lariessa threw it roughly onto the sofa. The Count of Rubien, sitting opposite her, was startled and looked at her.

The Count of Rubien was the head of the practical team among the Gallic Kingdom's delegation and a close confidant of Lariessa's father, the Duke of Oud. He also served as Lariessa's chaperone.

Because he had to frequently meet with Lariessa to manage the orders from the home country, he naturally had to meet her often.

"Count of Rubien, look at this letter! I'm so angry!"

"Really?"

He was startled and took the letter. He had thought his role as a chaperone was a mere formality, but lately, he found this task more burdensome than the practical negotiations.

Lariessa was a very, very, very high-maintenance person.

If Prince Alfonso had been rude to Lariessa, it could become a diplomatic issue. No, the Kingdom of Gallic would certainly make it a diplomatic issue.

The Count of Rubien quickly read the letter. He read it again carefully and even turned it over to see if there was anything else that might have offended Lariessa.

He asked cautiously.

"Grand Duchess, did I miss anything? Did Prince Alfonso commit any offense that I didn't notice, making you uncomfortable?"