Inside the carriage heading to Taranto at the southern end, being jostled nonstop on both sides for ten days was objectively a tough journey, but Maletta enjoyed every moment.

Without the reprimanding Lady Lucrezia, and the chiding Miss Ariadne, Maletta was a little queen in this place.

First of all, Maletta gathered all the jewelry the young lord had bought for her and put it on. Underneath, she wore a provocative negligee that she couldn’t wear at the Archbishop’s residence because she was afraid of others’ eyes. On top of that, she wore only a layer of fur.

The negligee Maletta put on was quickly ripped off by Epolito and thrown to the floor of the carriage. It was a dress that she couldn’t wear in San Carlo anyway. Maletta changed her negligee and robes two or three times a day.

In their free time, they started drinking from broad daylight, and when their hangovers became severe, they drank cold water. It was water imported from Asereto, flavored with lime.

It was incredibly luxurious. Except for being a bit narrow, shaky, and unsanitary, the inside of this carriage was no different from a paradise for the decadent.

Epolito was drunk with mood and blabbed as he pleased.

“Maletta, do you know how beautiful the city of Taranto is?”

Taranto was a city facing the mild Mediterranean even in the middle of winter, with warm air filled with a strong smell of salt filling the cityscape filled with brown brick buildings. It was the best port that the Etruscan Kingdom was proud of.

“This outstanding harbor and the kingdom that comes with it, and all the territories in the Taranto region, all belong to ‘Bianca of Taranto’, the only daughter of the deceased Duke of Taranto.”

“Oh, I’ve heard about Bianca of Taranto. The best bridegroom in the Etruscan Kingdom, no, in the whole central continent?”

Bianca of Taranto was the only daughter of the Duke of Taranto, and both of her parents had already passed away. King Leo III was her official guardian, and the actual administration of Taranto was divided among the nobles.

The man who marries her would own everything she owns. Among the assets she would inherit was the city of Taranto, the secondlargest port city in the Etruscan Kingdom and a hub for various logistics.

The hinterland was the entire fertile Taranto territory, which occupies most of the southwest of Etruscan. Along with Bianca’s inheritance came the right to rule and collect taxes over the entire territory of Taranto, as well as the right to train soldiers.

Not only that. She was a descendant of King Stefano I, the previous king of the Etruscan Kingdom, on her mother’s side, and the fifth cousin of Leo III. In other words, Bianca was the next in line for the throne after Prince Alfonso.

If something happened to the direct royal family, she could immediately be crowned as the Queen of Etruscan. Her husband would be the King Consort for his wife.

“Don’t tell me, Lord, you’re interested in Bianca of Taranto?”

Maletta looked at Epolito with a sly expression. Epolito vehemently denied it with a big hand gesture.

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

“I don’t know?”

“She’s twelve years old this year, twelve!”

She was just two years older than Arabella. Even though the young nobles of the Etruscan Kingdom tend to get married in their late teens, twelve is too young.

“How can I see such a young child as a woman! A woman should be like you, right? Trembling.”

Epolito buried his nose in Maletta’s cheek and shook his head. It was true that he liked mature older women.

“Um, this scent of flesh! This is a woman!”

“Oh, I don’t know, Lord. Eek!”

Maletta pretended to resist her lord in a rather satisfied manner, and soon dove into her lord’s arms. Epolito is hopelessly in love with me, Maletta concluded with satisfaction.

Upon arriving in Taranto and removing his disguise at the toptier hotel, Epolito called his troublesome friends scattered in Taranto, leaving Maletta behind. Among them was Count Cesare de Como.

“Cesare!”

“Epolito.”

With a smile on his face and his arms wide open, Cesare dodged the approaching Ippolito by deftly turning his body aside. Instead of a hug, he simply extended his clenched fist.

Ippolito, who was about to embrace Cesare, swiftly transitioned his posture and responded with a fist bump, offering a submissive smile as if he had intended to do so from the start.

“Been well, friend?”

“Meh, soso.”

“How’s Taranto?”

“Just as usual, slow, quiet, and bustling.”

The room was crowded with those who came to honor Ottavio de Contarini. Clenching cigars in their mouths, holding a glass of distilled liquor on the rocks, and a deck of cards in their hands, they were greatly engrossed in killing time.

Glancing around, Ippolito subtly asked Cesare a question.

“Have you heard anything about our Taranto’s Bianca lately? Like, her attending the winter social gatherings, anything like that?”