Sister, I'm the Queen This Life (330 Chapters Left to Complete) - Chapter 12
It was an exaggerated, high-pitched exclamation. Yet, combined with her melodious, nightingale-like voice, every eye in the room instantly turned to Isabella.
The person she addressed was her own mother, Lucrezia. However, her intended audience was unmistakably Queen Marguerite and her maidservants.
“I’m so delighted that Your Majesty requested a sermon on Gon of Yessak’s sacrifice! It’s my absolute favorite part, isn’t it, Mother?”
Lucrezia indulgently matched her daughter’s rhythm.
“It was worth teaching you the Galican language after all. Which part did you like best?”
“The part where Gon of Yessak sacrificed himself! I especially love how the people all thanked him afterward for sacrificing himself for everyone.”
The atmosphere grew uncomfortably tense. According to the Imperial Scripture Office, Gon of Yessak had made two sacrifices.
The first time he gave his life, he was scorned and died alone in isolation. Only after his miraculous resurrection—and his subsequent self-sacrifice to shield the continent from divine punishment—did the general populace finally praise and revere Gon of Yessak.
Today’s sermon had been about Gon of Yessak’s first sacrifice.
Because Isabella’s grasp of Galican was limited, she had only understood the word “sacrifice” and mistakenly assumed the sermon referred to the second, more admired sacrifice. Thus, her attempt to show off had instead exposed her ignorance of the foreign language.
“Praise eventually catches up to sacrifice after a long journey, doesn’t it?”
A lady-in-waiting who had accompanied Queen Marguerite from the Kingdom of Galico forced an awkward smile, trying to lighten the mood. But Isabella, failing to recognize the maid’s goodwill meant to rescue her, simply beamed brightly.
“But right after Gon of Yessak passed away on the cross, didn’t all the residents of the Seven Hills of Gaiaus immediately come out and wail in unison? Ah—of course it’s sad that he died, but just imagine how thrilling it must have felt for Gon of Yessak’s disciples!”
Now the atmosphere had turned as cold as the air inside an icehouse. To admire a saint’s sacrifice was one thing—but to envy the fame he received for it was not merely childish; it was a remark so lacking in humanity that even calling it naive wouldn’t excuse it.
Even Lucrezia, who hadn’t understood Galican well enough to grasp her daughter’s blunder, was now visibly deflated as she glanced around nervously.
Yet Isabella, forever lacking tact in the oddest moments, stared around wide-eyed, blinking innocently with her large, lovely eyes.
Finally, Ariadne stepped forward with a wry smile.
“I admire Gon of Yessak’s courage the most.”
It seemed the only way to salvage the situation was for her—the youngest—to act endearingly foolish.
“He must have been terribly frightened before he died.”
“Ah.”
“What a sweet young lady.”
The girl, whose appearance hovered between childhood and adolescence, showed such heartfelt empathy for the saint’s suffering that it brought smiles to the adults’ faces.
Seizing the momentary thaw, the noblewomen quickly tossed in a few polite, casual remarks, swiftly changing the subject.
Ariadne added a little too late, “And he must have also worried about leaving everything behind to people who were immoral, selfish, and unintelligent.” But everyone pretended not to hear.
Queen Marguerite, however, was the exception. She glanced at her attendant and whispered into her ear,
“So the younger one speaks Galica.”
[“So the second daughter speaks Galican.”]The queen’s satisfied gaze now shifted to Lucrezia.
Lucrezia, wearing a dress whose neckline dipped slightly deeper than socially acceptable—as she always did—hurriedly curtsied with exaggerated flair upon catching the queen’s eye.
“I, Lucrezia de Rossi, faithful parishioner of the Taranto Diocese in the Etruscan nation, humbly greet Her Majesty Queen Marguerite!”
The theatrics were merely a flustered attempt to mask her nervousness. After all, Lucrezia was merely Cardinal de Mare’s mistress and, officially, still had to refer to herself with maidenly propriety.
Ariadne couldn’t help but think it would be absolutely hilarious if Queen Marguerite addressed Lucrezia as “Miss Lucrezia.”
Lucrezia had borne three children, and her eldest son was already grown—yet technically, she had never married.
If someone were to call her “Miss Lucrezia” right to her face, she’d probably turn deathly pale, tremble violently, and then return home to throw a week-long hysterical tantrum, smashing household items for seven nights and eight days straight.
But Queen Marguerite, seemingly uninterested in offending the cardinal’s mistress, simply nodded to acknowledge Lucrezia’s greeting.
“…….”
Uncomfortable with the queen’s silence, one of the queen’s maids cheerfully interjected,
“Please come into the reception room. The noble ladies are already gathered.”
Without uttering a single word directly to Cardinal de Mare’s household, the queen walked on with dignified grace, while her attendant led Lucrezia and her party to a small reception room behind the private chapel, accessible through a narrow corridor.
“Oh my! It really is lovely!”
Isabella’s admiring exclamation matched the small reception room, elegantly adorned with green silk and mahogany wood. A handful of ladies, among Queen Marguerite’s closest confidantes, sat sipping afternoon tea.
Lucrezia, entering hesitantly, glanced around uncertainly, unsure where to sit. Though she had always dreamed of joining such an inner circle, now that the day had come, she seemed lost on how to behave.
“Ah, hello,” Lucrezia offered an awkward greeting as she moved toward a sofa near the center—prompting the noblewomen to shift their seats like pigeons scattering to avoid a passerby.
Most conspicuously among them was a tall noblewoman with gray hair, who made an obvious effort to avoid Lucrezia. Ariadne nearly chuckled.
‘To meet her here of all places.’
It was Countess Marquez—the very same woman who, in her past life, had spread rumors that Cesare was an illegitimate son of Leo III, only to have her hair yanked by Ariadne at a tea party.
Countess Marquez naturally didn’t recognize the young Ariadne. Instead, beaming widely, she rose to greet Queen Marguerite as soon as the queen entered the reception room.
“I greet Your Majesty the Queen!”
The noblewomen in the room cheerfully and noisily offered their greetings to the queen.
Unlike with Lucrezia, whom she hadn’t addressed at all, Queen Marguerite warmly and familiarly returned Countess Marquez’s greeting with a bright smile.
“My faithful friend, Countess Marquez—you look well today as always.”
“It’s all thanks to Your Majesty’s gracious care.”
The queen, with her pale complexion and golden hair identical to the prince’s, couldn’t quite conceal her unmistakably foreign accent.
Though Lucrezia was slightly startled by the strong Galican inflection, none of the noblewomen present showed the slightest sign of finding it odd—instead, they all beamed with pleasant smiles.
Queen Marguerite cast a sidelong glance at Lucrezia, Isabella, and Ariadne, who stood awkwardly on the periphery, and casually introduced them.
“These are members of Cardinal de Mare’s household. I invited them because they say his daughter is clever and deeply devout.”
The noblewomen began murmuring and glancing toward Isabella—clearly, she was the “cardinal’s daughter” they assumed was being referenced.
Despite Lucrezia’s social standing preventing her from securing a proper place in high society, Isabella had already gained a reputation since last year’s debutante season as both intelligent and the most beautiful girl in San Carlo.
Isabella stepped half a pace forward, gracefully gathered the hem of her dress, and offered a delicate curtsy.
“I am Isabella de Mare. It is an honor to meet the most esteemed ladies of the kingdom.”
The faint rosy flush on her fair skin was utterly charming. Beneath a headdress adorned with pearls, Isabella wore an ivory-hued, highest-quality dress that made her appear exquisitely beautiful and noble—regardless of her questionable birth status.
“Oh my, so this young lady is Lady Isabella de Mare!”
“She’s as lovely as the rumors say.”
“And so adorable too!”
Faced with the chattering noblewomen, Ariadne offered her greeting a half-beat late—but her words and posture weren’t directed toward them. Instead, her eyes and body were respectfully oriented toward Queen Marguerite.
“I am Ariadne de Mare, the second daughter. May Gon of Yessak’s blessing rest upon your noble bloodline.”
The noblewomen, having just admired the pretty and polished eldest daughter, now seemed momentarily speechless upon seeing the drab and dull second daughter. They’d already used up all their compliments like “so lovely” on the elder sister and had nothing left to offer.
But the queen gladly accepted Ariadne’s greeting. Though her tone was reserved, deep crow’s feet appeared at the corners of her eyes—clear signs of a genuine smile.
“What remarkably proper manners for such a young child.”
It was the first direct remark Queen Marguerite had ever made to a member of House de Mare—apparently pleased that Ariadne had honored her rather than the noblewomen.
Upon seeing the queen’s approval, the noblewomen immediately began showering Ariadne with praise, as if they’d never even glanced at Isabella—calling her remarkably composed for a young lady, well-educated, and so on.
In an instant, Isabella found herself pushed to the margins of attention and clenched her teeth in frustration.
‘Queen Marguerite’s eyes must be crooked!’
Just then, Countess Marquez—the woman leading the group of ladies—spoke to Lucrezia, who sat isolated on the outskirts.
“Lady Isabella’s dress is truly beautiful. Which dressmaker made it for you?”
Thrilled by even a single word from a true noblewoman, Lucrezia eagerly replied,
“Our house seamstress made it herself at home.”
Seizing the opening, Isabella smartly smoothed out her dress with a flick of her wrist, drawing everyone’s attention.
It was a custom-made, high-end gown crafted lavishly from the finest silk, richly voluminous to complement Isabella’s slender frame. Beneath the thick silk fabric, the lace trim of a high-quality chemise was faintly visible.
“Your seamstress is quite skilled. I’d love to have one made for my daughter too—what a pity it wasn’t from a dressmaker’s shop.”
Desperate for regular interaction with true nobility, Lucrezia offered excessive generosity to someone she’d just met.
“You could simply have our seamstress make one! You’re always welcome, Countess Marquez.”
Countess Marquez gave a strange, knowing smile.
“A good seamstress is often slow, I suppose—but I couldn’t possibly burden her further. Isn’t the seamstress who made your eldest daughter’s gown different from the one who made your second daughter’s?”
“……!”
“Now that you mention it…”
At this pointed remark, the noblewomen began alternately inspecting Isabella’s and Ariadne’s dresses.
Indeed, the difference between the elder and younger daughters’ attire was stark.
Isabella’s outfit was extravagantly opulent—her gown, shoes, hair ornaments, all top-tier and perfectly aligned with the latest fashion. In contrast, Ariadne’s ensemble clearly lacked a mature woman’s touch.
Had Lucrezia been more socially established, the noblewomen might have held their tongues. But Lucrezia held no real standing, and Queen Marguerite didn’t seem to favor her particularly.
Marchioness Chibo—the perennial runner-up to Countess Marquez—took a quick glance at the queen’s expression, judged it safe, and boldly opened fire.
“A generous lady ought to care well for all her children.”
As if waiting for this moment—or simply unable to resist—Countess Marquez immediately chimed in,
“A mistress may be shameful, but the child is still a member of the family. Without family, there is no self.”
The other ladies eagerly added their own comments.
“Such a lack of refinement… common sense…”
“The child is innocent…”
“How pitiful…”
Lucrezia’s face flushed crimson then paled—but with her legitimate daughter dressed in luxury while her illegitimate daughter wore cheap clothing, she had no defense, even with ten mouths. She wasn’t quick-witted enough to recover either.
It was Isabella who rescued her mother from this predicament.
“Forgive my rudeness, ladies. My younger sister has only recently come up from the Bergamo estate due to poor health.”
Smiling prettily, Isabella took Ariadne’s hand with apparent warmth, drawing everyone’s attention as if to say, “Look, see for yourselves!”
“All of my sister’s garments are currently being made by our seamstress from the finest materials. Since she’s still small and thin, I simply lent her one of my dresses from last year.”
“…….”
“It suits my naturally simple tastes. Sisters often share clothes when they’re young, don’t they?”
She looked at Ariadne and gave her an affectionate smile, a dimple appearing sweetly on her baby-soft skin.
“Isn’t that right, my dear sister?”
Ariadne smiled back in kind.
‘Seeing is believing.’
Rather than exposing Lucrezia’s misdeeds through words, Ariadne abruptly stood up and, just as Isabella had done moments earlier, sharply snapped open the hem of her dress.
“That’s right, sister. This dress is far too generous for me. I didn’t even know it was a hand-me-down, but I truly love it.”
As the dress fluttered open, the cotton chemise underneath was revealed. The noblewomen collectively gasped in horror at the sight of the worn, frayed undergarment.
“Good heavens! Look how coarse the cotton is!”
“And it’s completely yellowed—what color was it originally?”
“Look at those stains! Are those from kitchen work? Do they make her do house chores?”
Lucrezia’s face turned ashen white.
Male lead fell into her trap — and shattered when she walked away
This is also on my reread list!
This one is a slow burn, but when it burns, it burns hard.
Definitely worth a read, y’all!
The story follows a thousand-year-old seductive spirit who, on a bet, sets out to charm the male lead—a once-promising but unfortunate cultivator.
But just when she succeeds in making him fall for her, she heartlessly leaves, driving him to madness.
Determined to find her at all costs, he captures her, keeping her by his side no matter what, even if she hates him.
I love this kind of trope—I enjoy watching the male lead suffer in agony.
The ending drags a bit with unnecessary filler, but that’s fine.
As long as I enjoy the beginning, I’m good.
Intro
As an enchantress, Su Heng possesses captivating eyes and charming beauty, easily manipulating the joys and sorrows of living beings at her fingertips.
But to enchant a god, making him taste the bitterness of love’s separation, long-lasting resentment, unattainable desires, and inability to let go…
Do you dare?
Su Heng assists a divine lord in his cultivation, aiming to make him experience all the sufferings of love, so that he can attain the Great Dao.
Only after being chased down from the heavens by the divine lord, confined and completely possessed by him, does she realize how successful she has been.
The once gentle and polite youth has transformed into someone she no longer recognizes.
[Touch the gear icon in the bottom right corner of the screen to move to the next chapter if you want.]
Chapter Comments (4)
Inline Comments (8)
“Let’s say you wanted to ask me to dance, Your Highness.”
Wah! Isabella is very cunning. Perfect fit for Cesar.
“My sister and I are so close that she herself insisted we match colors—she aske
Wow! Isabella’s impudence knows no bounds. We’ll pretend to believe you this time.
– “Didn’t that older lady make her cry?”
Every time Isabella amazes me with her cunning. Smart at turning the situation to her advantage. ( ◐ o ◑ )
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Ari realmente é incrível. Cada capítulo mostra o quanto ela é inteligente e sempre um passo à frente de todo mundo. Mal posso esperar para ver até onde esse plano dela vai chegar.
I’m still curious of what Alphonso meant by the last chapter
I’m still curious of what Alphonso meant by the last chapter