Cesare de Como.

The son of Count Como and an adopted son of Leo III, he was always dissatisfied with his life.

Glory was always in front of him, but it always ended up in the hands of someone less deserving right before he could grasp it. The title of prince, disgustingly handed over to the infant Alfonso, was a typical example.

He occupied a balcony seat to the right of the central aisle of the grand cathedral, but he was still dissatisfied.

This was not the top balcony seat where the ‘real royal family’ gathered to watch the mass, but a balcony seat installed a level below.

The king always watched the mass painfully from the top balcony seat on the right, along with his unfriendly queen and their puppylike son.

Despite the always cold atmosphere of the balcony seat where the king and queen gathered, Leo III never stepped down to the lower balcony seat filled with laughter and jokes.

Cesare and Countess Rubina could only secure Leo III in secret places, not official ceremonies.

All his attention was concentrated on the top balcony seat on the right, but his pride never allowed him to look up.

It was awful to even imagine meeting the gaze of Alfonso, who had accomplished nothing of his own and was looking down from above while Cesare himself was looking up from below.

Cesare hated kneeling the most in the world, looking up from below.

To distract his nerves, the beautiful Isabella, the daughter of the cardinal, was flaunting herself, crossing the central aisle of the lower floor aisle.

Considering the act itself, he thought it was a bad hobby, but the sight of a beautiful 17yearold girl fluttering like an excited fairy was pleasing in itself.

Isabella had the power to gather the crowd’s attention. It was a spectacle to look down from above. Following her stride, men’s heads sequentially turned towards the central aisle.

‘What is this, not even a wheel formation.’

Cesare secretly scoffed at the officials on the lower floor who were infatuated with women and could not control their heads.

He thought he was special. The eldest son of the king born from the royal bloodline. It was natural for him, who was genetically superior, to own everything in the world.

And the mate suitable for himself, the most excellent male, was Isabella de Mare, the most coveted female in all of San Carlo.

He wanted Isabella.

It was the same context as wanting a fistsized ruby brought by a merchant from the Republic of Porto last month, a Moorish slave with exotic dark skin, and a cannon, a new product from the Duchy of Balloa.

He wanted the admiration for Cesare, who owned the item, not the interest in the item itself.

“Indeed, Count Cesare, isn’t the most excellent horse always owned by Count Cesare?”

“Not just horses, all the beauties of San Carlo Castle are his captives.”

“Even Isabella de Mare! Indeed, Count Cesare is amazing.”

His mouth corners naturally rose imagining the group rushing around him, making silly jokes and praising him.

The golden girl downstairs smiled at him sweetly.

It was a signal that a shy lady was so boldly showing interest in him, he couldn’t help but respond as a gentleman. He nodded his head to return her wooing.

‘I should ask Cardinal de Mare about the marriage proposal again soon. I should try my luck when I see my father next month.’

While greedily looking at Isabella, a girl with black hair following Isabella caught Cesare’s eye.

The dark and clumsy figure of the blackhaired girl stood out awkwardly between the bright Isabella and the glamorous Lucrezia. He asked his mother, Countess Rubina, who was behind him.

“Mother, who is the darkhaired girl mixed in with Cardinal de Mare’s family?”

Countess Rubina, who was grooming her nails in a long line, answered without lifting her head.

“They say she’s the second daughter of Cardinal de Mare, gained from another affair. Apparently, she has already caught the eye of Queen Marguerite.”

“What’s there to see?”

“Don’t judge by appearances alone. If that young girl has already captured the picky Queen Marguerite’s attention, she’s no ordinary person.”

“What good is a clever girl?”

Countess Rubina, with her thin eyes, looked at her son.

“Do you think your mother got to this position just by having a pretty face?”

“Isn’t that so?”

The countess, Rubina, a beautiful woman with cold features and fine lines resembling Cesare, her defiant son whose head had grown coarser, glared at him with displeasure.

“Pitiful child.”

Then the pipe organ of the cathedral started to play grandly. It was the melody signaling the start of the sermon.

Against the backdrop of the performance, a man wearing coarse hemp clothes and a flat priest’s hat slowly ascended to the central altar.

He was a remarkable figure with an unusually tall stature, puffy eyes deep in their sockets, and intense glare.

“It seems the sermon is starting. That man must be the Apostle of Asereto.”

Cesare, trying to deflect his mother’s anger, pretended to focus on the sermon despite his grumbling dissatisfaction.