Sister, I'm the Queen This Life (330 Chapters Left to Complete) - Chapter 2
The Regent Duke’s cold words caused every noble in the drawing room to fix their gaze squarely on Ariadne. It was rude, yet they didn’t even consider restraining themselves.
After all, Ariadne was someone for whom such treatment was acceptable. Sensing this, Ariadne’s face flushed crimson from the base of her neck upward.
“Don’t upset them, Ariadne.”
Since becoming Regent Duke, Cesare had grown increasingly blunt in both speech and conduct. Now, he showed no hesitation in expressing his displeasure, regardless of who was present.
“Behave yourself properly.”
Trembling violently, Ariadne lowered her head. Cesare was dissatisfied with her reaction.
“Answer me.”
She managed a weak nod, but Cesare remained unimpressed.
“Answer!”
Ariadne replied in a voice so faint it barely carried.
“…Yes.”
All this submission unfolded under the watchful eyes of everyone present at Palazzo Carlo. Ariadne’s mind grew hazy, her knees shaking uncontrollably. Cesare looked down at her harshly.
“I’m stopping here only because others are watching—be grateful, understand?”
“…Yes.”
Cesare’s breathing was inaudible. His silence sent cold sweat trickling down Ariadne’s spine. Hastily, she added,
“Thank you.”
Only then did Cesare release a satisfied sigh. Ariadne, too, let out a breath of relief.
The Central nobles were not the sort to miss such a revealing moment of vulnerability. Though startled by the Regent Duke’s cruelty, Countess Marquez swiftly realized Cesare had no intention of keeping Ariadne as his own and seized the chance to strike back for having her hair pulled earlier.
“Your Grace, please manage your fiancée more diligently.”
She openly inspected Ariadne from head to toe with a look of clear disdain, her coiffure utterly disheveled.
“Someone who pounces first with her hands—I mistook her for a wolfhound raised on a ranch, not a noble lady.”
The Countess and her circle of refined ladies launched a coordinated attack.
“Elegance…”
“Breeding… bloodline…”
“Look at that hair—tangled like a shepherd’s mutt, isn’t it?”
Instinctively, Ariadne’s hand went to her head. As she awkwardly tried to untangle her hair with her fingers, the noblewomen of San Carlo tore into her.
“If Your Grace desires a smoothly functioning high society, you must first properly manage your fiancée.”
“Not to mention earning the support of the Central nobility.”
“Or perhaps… you should just choose a different bride altogether?”
Someone tittered lightly. That laugh signaled the complete thawing of tension in the drawing room.
“She seems utterly unsuitable.”
“My lady, that’s a bit much.”
Cesare dismissed the suggestion with an easy, cheerful smile, not even addressing its impertinence. By offering Ariadne up like this, he briefly cemented his identity as one of them—an insider.
“A daughter of the royal line…”
“A long-established, prestigious noble house from the capital would suit the Regent Duke better…”
“A truly refined young lady…”
All these remarks were made with Ariadne standing right before them. Even the fact that Cesare, the Regent Duke, was the king’s bastard son grew blurred as his fiancée was sacrificed like a burnt offering.
—You don’t belong in decent high society.
They used Ariadne’s inadequacy as fodder for their warm, lively chatter. When the extended conversation finally concluded and Countess Marquez rose to leave, she offered the Regent Duke one final piece of advice.
“Your Grace, please do not forget our words today.”
The moment her eyes met Ariadne’s, the Countess sharply turned and walked out of the drawing room. As she led the way into the corridor, the other noblewomen began filing out as well, casting furtive glances toward Ariadne.
Left alone to bear their stares, Ariadne was a wreck. Her dress was crumpled from the scuffle, and sticky candied sugar—smeared on her hair when she’d leapt over a table—clung unpleasantly to her locks. The tea party venue stood empty; not a single friend remained by her side. The man she loved looked her over once, his eyes filled with contempt.
It was pathetic.
After that day, no one dared openly speak ill of Cesare’s parentage. Yet that day was remembered not as the one when Ariadne earned merit for Cesare—but as the day she caused a dreadful scandal.
From then on, Ariadne gained many infamous nicknames: “wolfhound woman,” “Moorish slave,” “farmhouse maid.” Naturally, whispers followed—blaming her low birth, claiming she took after her mother, or accusing her of hysteria from being an aging, unmarried spinster.
To better manage her increasingly difficult social standing, Ariadne repeatedly asked Cesare if they could just get married already—but he flatly refused each time.
“How can I possibly make you Regent Duchess now, when you can’t even manage your own reputation? I can’t be seen with a flawed woman.”
His instructions were specific.
“Study harder than you do now. Master the lute, learn to appreciate fine art, become fluent in Latin. Become a talented and virtuous noblewoman I won’t be ashamed to present in public. Then, and only then, will I make you my Regent Duchess.”
She had believed that if she could just accomplish those things, everything would be fine.
Cesare eventually becoming Cesare I took time—but in the end, it was merely a matter of timing. He already held both the army and the treasury in his grasp. All he lacked was one thing: legitimacy.
And that was precisely what time—and more accurately, the opportunities carried by time—would heal.
Ariadne still remembered Cesare’s coronation, or more precisely, the day before it. She had been thirty years old then; he, thirty-six.
Thinking back on that day always made her want to laugh.
“I will be a merciful king. I must embrace even the deposed Crown Prince’s faction into my fold.”
Cesare sat astride Ariadne’s bed, pressing his lips against the nape of her neck.
“Ahh—”
His breath against her skin was shamelessly bold. Ariadne tried to pull away, but Cesare pinned both her wrists above her head with one hand and firmly pressed her onto the bed.
“Stay still.”
He began indulging in the nape of her neck with his lips. She closed her eyes.
Cesare frowned at Ariadne’s detachment. Her greatest asset was her enchanting aura—yet he could never understand how someone with such charm could behave like a wooden log in bed.
At thirty, Ariadne was a fully bloomed flower. Even unconsciously, she exuded a bewitching intensity. Though neither particularly innocent nor strikingly beautiful in features, her tall figure and well-proportioned curves made her undeniably attractive—more so to men than to women. This seductive allure was the one quality Cesare, who had exacting standards, consistently praised in her.
“Good.”
Cesare pressed forward without hesitation. Layer by layer, her defenses surrendered without resistance. As his intimate touch met her inner warmth, Ariadne’s mind went blank—and into her dazed ear drifted Cesare’s casual voice, as if deciding whether pork or beef suited dinner better.
“So, Isabella will be crowned queen.”
Isabella de Mare—
after marriage, Isabella de Carlo. Ariadne de Mare’s half-sister and the former Crown Princess, consort to the deposed Prince Alfonso.
With amber hair and amethyst eyes sparkling brightly, she was Ariadne’s polar opposite: a flawless elder sister. Renowned for her pure beauty, ever dignified, the epitome of aristocratic grace.
Ariadne suddenly snapped to awareness and pushed Cesare away.
“What did you say?”
She must have misheard.
“Cesare…? Sister was the Crown Princess of Alfonso, who’s already dead.”
By custom, childless widows retired to a convent for the rest of their lives—remarriage was impossible, and returning to their birth family was out of the question.
Cesare pressed his lips once more against Ariadne’s chest, trailing kisses across her skin as he replied indifferently,
“Don’t be petty. Aren’t you even a little sorry for your own sister?”
What did I just hear? You’re marrying my sister instead of me?
Ariadne pushed him away again.
The words “What about me? What about everything I’ve done for you?” trembled on her lips.
Seeing that Ariadne clearly had no intention of playing along with his pleasant game, Cesare finally clicked his tongue in annoyance and sat up straight.
“You were only my fiancée—you can still secure a good match and live comfortably in the countryside. But poor Isabella has no choice; if I don’t take her in, she’ll have to spend her days on the cold floor of a convent.”
She was certain he was mistaken.
“Marriage to a widowed relative is impossible.”
Cesare waved it off as if it were nothing.
“We’ll simply obtain confirmation from the Imperial Painting Bureau that the late Alfonso de Carlo and Isabella de Mare are officially divorced. Since Isabella remained chaste throughout her marriage, she qualifies as an exception to the Bureau’s no-divorce policy.”
Ariadne was dumbfounded.
“Cesare, she isn’t chaste. Back in 1128, the first year of their marriage, she carried Alfonso’s child—but miscarried.”
“Be silent!”
Apparently, Isabella’s purity struck a raw nerve. The previously composed Cesare suddenly flushed red with anger, leapt to his feet, and jabbed a finger at Ariadne.
“Lies! They say a woman’s greatest enemy is another woman—and even sisters are no exception. How base is your kind!”
Ariadne was so furious she could barely breathe.
Desperate to convince Cesare that she wasn’t vile, she lowered her voice and spoke as calmly and clearly as she could.
“Cesare, this isn’t slander—it’s the truth. All the maids who served the former Crown Princess know it.”
“Enough!”
Cesare was beyond reason. No rational argument could reach someone who deliberately blocked their ears.
“I intended to show you kindness by arranging a marriage to a merchant, ensuring you a peaceful life—but how can I possibly spare such a wicked woman!”
A merchant? A peaceful life?
The very idea was laughable.
Didn’t you promise you loved me? That we’d be together forever? That’s why I did everything for you.
Didn’t you say I had flaws, so I must study hard and improve myself before becoming your queen?
And now your “flawless woman” turns out to be my widowed elder sister?
“You said you loved me! You promised you’d make me your queen and be with me forever!”
It sounded foolish—but she had nothing else to say.
Cesare sneered at her with contempt in his eyes.
“I never imagined you’d be such a petty woman as to obstruct my grand design. You lack the virtue of sacrifice for the nation’s future. How vastly you differ from Isabella, who even offered up her own marriage for her sister’s happiness!”
Now her breath came in short, angry gasps.
She couldn’t tell whether tears or rage came first.
“I’m the one obstructing you? Sister made a sacrifice? I sacrificed everything for you! I gave up my reputation, my marriage prospects—even drove Prince Alfonso to his doom with my own hands. What has Isabella ever done?”
That winter, when Crown Prince Alfonso and Isabella held their grand wedding and Isabella tragically miscarried the “blessed fruit” of their union, Ariadne had to chew leaves of leadfoil—a contraceptive—every time she spent intimate moments with Cesare.
—“Intercourse without the possibility of creating life is a sin before the Heavenly Deity. I don’t want to take leadfoil anymore.”
—“And if I refuse?”
—“…If you dislike me conceiving before marriage, then marry me and take me properly.”
—“Ari, don’t you love me? Prove it. Come here, now.”
Her courageous refusal was easily brushed aside.
—“How embarrassing would it be if you showed up pregnant before we’re even wed? Bastard meeting bastard to produce another bastard—that’s absolutely repulsive. Don’t humiliate me in front of others.”
If she didn’t want to lose Cesare, she had no choice.
In 1129, while Cesare sharpened his knives and prepared his coup, Ariadne—still an unmarried noblewoman—secretly carried messages between inside and outside the palace every night through snow-covered paths. No one could imagine the fiancée of such a high-ranking man played a crucial role in military operations—precisely what made it possible.
“For you, I pretended every night to be a shepherdess in love with a shepherd boy, scaling walls under moonlight.”
She even spread rumors that she met other men while chewing contraceptive herbs because of Cesare. Ridiculously.
The rumor of her being an unfaithful fiancée, spread then, still clung to her ankles even nine years into Cesare’s reign.
“I personally delivered the rightful heir to the throne into the jaws of hunting hounds.”
The kind Prince Alfonso, who had always treated her gently, ended up dangling from the ramparts, devoured by carrion crows.
“These fingers! They rotted and fell off because they drank poison meant for you.”
Ariadne raised her left ring finger—now shortened, gnarled, and mute from decay.
In 1132, the fourth year of the Regent Duke’s rule, she collapsed from poison meant for Cesare. Though she survived, she lost the finger used to absorb the toxin.
Only later did she learn it was the Regent Duke himself who had ordered her to use her left ring finger for detoxification.
It must have been a misunderstanding. He had no choice. The left ring finger was the best option.
She could endure anything—as long as it was for Cesare, the man she loved most in the world.
Because she loved him, she believed he loved her in equal measure.
For him, she had become maimed through sacrifice; aged through devotion; weakened, ugly, and broken compared to her once youthful, radiant, and beautiful self.
Now it was time for his care—his repayment.
Yet Cesare, the very one who owed her that reward, merely looked down at her with cold indifference. His tall frame loomed imposingly; his deep chestnut hair tinged with red contrasted sharply against his sculpted, breathtakingly beautiful features—even in this moment.
He parted his transparent, smooth lips.
“Someone had to eliminate Alfonso with their own hands. I couldn’t possibly ask noble Isabella to do such a thing, could I?”
Ariadne’s eyes widened in horror.
“You mean… you and Sister were already… while Prince Alfonso was still alive?”
Male lead is reincarnated to save his wife
I’ve also read this one twice already. The female lead is kinda soft and gets embarrassed easily—not really my type, but the plot is definitely worth reading. Hurry up and read it, y’all!
Intro
When Shen Yuan encountered Su Jin again in his previous life, she had already become the Prime Minister of the current dynasty. As for him, the former top young master of the capital, he had long since fallen into the abyss, becoming a singer on a pleasure boat.
After a song ended, he was redeemed and sent to the Su Residence.
Su Jin respected and cherished him, gave him a roof over his head, and bestowed him with warmth. Shen Yuan fell deeper and deeper, but before he could express his feelings, Su Jin passed away.
Shen Yuan died to follow her in death, but instead, he returned to when he was fifteen years old.
At that time, he was not yet engaged, and Su Jin was just a poor scholar.
Shen Yuan gritted his teeth, casting aside all his pride, and thought of ways to coax and entice her every day.
The colder and more indifferent Su Jin was towards him, the more proactive Shen Yuan became.
He was not afraid of being mocked by the world, only wanting to marry his Wife-master early, to hold her hand and never let go for a lifetime.
[Note: This story will not specifically point out the male lead’s reincarnation time point; it’s all in the details. Whenever you feel that the male lead is acting strangely, he has most likely been reincarnated.]
[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