The Regressed Tyrant Princess Rewrites Her Dark History - Chapter 1.17

On the day of the Founding Anniversary Ceremony, Ariadne stood before a full-length mirror as Sybilla, along with Anise and the other maids, meticulously adorned her.

The dress she wore was nothing short of exquisite.

A masterpiece of the highest quality, it was crafted from pure white silk, its design elegantly accentuated with delicate blue frills and intricate embroidery. Tiny gemstones were scattered across the fabric, catching the light with every movement.

It was a gift from Arnold.

Her platinum blonde hair, tinged with a soft blue hue, was styled into a graceful half-updo, cascading gently down her back.

As the maids fussed over the finishing touches, Ariadne gazed at her reflection in the mirror.

Her amethyst-colored eyes shimmered against the backdrop of her ethereal features. Even while wearing the finest dress gifted by Arnold, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing.

It didn’t take her long to realize the reason.

(Before my regression, I always wore a red rose.)

The symbol of the Scarlet Rose—a woman as passionate and captivating as a crimson flower, yet as sharp and dangerous as its thorns. She had once deliberately embraced that image, adorning herself with red roses to reinforce it.

(I could do the same now, but…)

“Sybilla, bring me my mother’s accessories.”

“At once, Your Highness.”

Sybilla hurried off and soon returned, accompanied by another maid carrying a jewelry box.

“This evening’s gathering may hold significant weight for the Restoul royal family,” Ariadne said, her voice steady. “For such an important occasion, I would like to wear my mother’s accessories.”

“I’m certain Her Highness Ariane would be pleased,” the maid replied, offering the jewelry box with a respectful bow.

Inside, an array of dazzling pieces lay nestled—diamond-studded rings, a platinum brooch adorned with amethysts, and among them, a rose-shaped hair ornament caught her eye.

(Wait… this isn’t a red rose. It’s a platinum rose encrusted with rubies.)

A memory surfaced—Ariadne recalled seeing Ariane wearing the same hairpiece, looking utterly breathtaking.

She had absentmindedly voiced her admiration at the time, asking if Ariane liked red roses.

It had been a rare, yet seemingly insignificant exchange between them.

That was last year.

(Could it be… is that why the roses in the palace garden were changed to red?)

Perhaps. Or perhaps not.

(…What a strange feeling.)

A warmth spread through her chest.

“Princess Ariadne, which piece shall we use?”

“The rose hair ornament,” she decided.

“As you wish.”

Wearing her mother’s cherished accessory, Ariadne stepped out of the dressing room—where Arnold awaited her.

“Princess Ariadne… you look absolutely stunning.”

“Thank you. You look quite elegant yourself, Prince Arnold.”

Smiling, she gently brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, feeling the weight of Arnold’s admiring gaze. Then, gracefully extending her hand, she permitted his escort.

“Shall we, then?”

“Of course. Leave everything to me.”

Arriving at the venue by carriage, Arnold escorted Ariadne into the grand hall, where the atmosphere immediately shifted.

The noble factions of the kingdom were broadly divided into three: the First Prince’s faction, the Second Prince’s faction, and the Neutral faction.

While not all factions were in outright conflict, noble gatherings often remained exclusive to members of the same political circle. However, the Founding Anniversary Ceremony was different.

It was one of the rare occasions where nobles from all factions gathered, each harboring their own agendas.

As such, Arnold and Ariadne’s entrance together could be interpreted in two ways—either as a mere interaction between nobles of differing factions or as a sign that Ariadne had aligned herself with the First Prince’s faction.

Regardless of perspective, the two of them stood out.

Naturally, whispers spread as curious onlookers tried to gauge the meaning behind the pairing.

However, in noble society, etiquette dictated that only individuals of higher rank or prior acquaintance could initiate a conversation.

It didn’t take long before one of Arnold’s acquaintances approached, eager to probe the situation.

“Prince Arnold, it has been too long.”

“Indeed. I hear your territory recently uncovered a mana stone mine.”

“Yes, we’re currently assessing the quality of the stones.”

“I see. I hope the yield proves to be of excellent grade.”

After exchanging polite pleasantries, the nobleman finally shifted his attention toward Ariadne.

“And this young lady is…?”

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Ariadne, daughter of the Restoul royal family.”

“Ah… so you are the one they call—”

He hesitated.

What, exactly, had he been about to say?

Whatever it was, there was no hint of disdain in his expression.

After a brief moment of observation, as if it had been his intention all along, his gaze lowered to her attire.

“That exquisite gown… could it be—”

Once again, he left the sentence hanging—a calculated noble tactic. He already knew the answer but allowed room for correction should he be mistaken.

“Yes, it is a gift from Prince Arnold.”

“I see… how intriguing.”

This time, his gaze flickered toward Arnold, eyes subtly narrowing.

The unspoken question was evident—”And what exactly was your intention in gifting this dress?”

“I assume you have already heard about the attempt on my mother’s life,” Arnold said evenly. “Princess Ariadne was the first to act that day. However, she was still a debutante.”

“Ah, I see, I see…”

His words could be interpreted in multiple ways—

A simple token of gratitude for a benefactor.

Or, a significant gesture of personal interest, one meaningful enough for Arnold to escort her himself.

The nobleman studied Arnold carefully, clearly trying to discern the deeper implication.

“And that stunning hair ornament… is that also a gift from Prince Arnold?”

“Oh, no,” Ariadne answered. “This belonged to my mother.”

“Your mother? Ah, yes… I recall hearing that Princess Ariane is still in recovery.”

“Yes. My mother was the one who taught me etiquette and refinement. Wearing this hair ornament makes me feel as though she is still watching over me.”

“I see. I sincerely pray for Her Highness’s swift recovery.”

Thus, Ariadne continued exchanging veiled conversations with the nobles who approached her, engaging in the customary formalities of high society.

After greeting several guests, Arnold excused himself, saying his mother had summoned him, leaving Ariadne alone.

(A noble lady, unfamiliar with social gatherings, standing all alone… Normally, one would feel anxious in such a situation. But what should I do?)

With memories of once reigning at the pinnacle of high society, Ariadne felt no trace of unease.

She remained composed, standing naturally while engaging those who showed interest in her with light, strategic conversation—expanding her network with calculated ease.

As she was steadily forging connections, Siegbert approached.

“You seem to be making quite a spectacle of yourself.”

“Good day, Prince Siegbert. I only intended to exchange greetings with the guests, but have I done something inappropriate?”

“No… I was referring to your participation in the recent hunting tournament. Until now, you had never shown interest in such activities. What prompted your sudden involvement?”

“Why, to hunt magical beasts, of course. Speaking of which, I was caught up in quite an ordeal. I assume you’ve already heard the rumors, Your Highness?”

Before Siegbert could press further, Ariadne skillfully brought up the topic herself—as if to say she had nothing to hide.

Caught off guard, Siegbert let out a low grunt.

“Yes, I heard Prince Arnold was targeted for assassination.”

“I was merely caught in the chaos at the very end, but the sight was gruesome enough to make me nearly faint. The knights, however, remained utterly unfazed. They must be accustomed to such carnage.”

“…Knights frequently battle magical beasts. It’s part of their training.”

Siegbert, unconsciously drawn into Ariadne’s rhythm, found himself answering her questions rather than leading the conversation.

It wasn’t until later that he realized he had been subtly maneuvered into the position of respondent.

His eyes widened slightly as it dawned on him.

“You’re quite the eloquent one, aren’t you?”

“…I’m honored by the compliment?”

Tilting her head slightly, Ariadne feigned innocence, as though unsure why he had suddenly praised her.

However, Siegbert was not so easily deceived a second time. Now wary, he scrutinized her closely.

“With such refined rhetoric, what exactly are you trying to conceal? Were you truly at the scene of the attack by mere coincidence?”

A simple trap.

The important point wasn’t whether it was truly coincidence or not—it was which side Ariadne aligned herself with in her response.

After a brief moment of feigned surprise, Ariadne leaned in slightly, lowering her voice.

“…Surely, Your Highness isn’t implying that I orchestrated the attack?”

She offered an utterly impossible scenario, one that no rational person could believe.

However, if she were to answer from the perspective of a Second Prince faction member, this was the only correct response.

Had she instead said, “Are you suggesting I was helping Prince Arnold?” it would have revealed that she was considering the First Prince’s perspective.

“No, I wouldn’t go that far…”

Some of Siegbert’s suspicion dissipated.

Ariadne had successfully navigated the moment.

However, just as she thought she had evaded further probing—

“Forgive my prying. In that case, Ariadne, would you care for a dance?”

She sucked in a breath.

(So this was his true intention all along.)

Ariadne’s partner was Arnold.

To accept another’s invitation for the first dance—especially without her partner’s consent—was a breach of etiquette. At the very least, it would be a public slight to Arnold.

However, rejecting the invitation outright would be an insult to Siegbert.

He was forcing her to make a choice, here and now.

(Feign ignorance? Pretend I don’t understand the implications?)

(…No, that won’t work. We were engaged in a direct conversation just moments ago—suddenly playing the naïve girl would be no different from outright refusal.)

That left only two options:

Accept Siegbert’s invitation—or reaffirm her alignment with Arnold.

And choosing Siegbert was not an option.

That path would lead to her ruin.

(I would’ve preferred to remain ambiguous for a little longer, but I’m out of time.)

Steeling herself, she straightened her posture—just as Arnold appeared.

“She is my partner. Kindly refrain from inviting her to dance until after our turn.”

“Oh? But since you haven’t danced yet, wouldn’t that mean she has already declined?”

Arnold’s warning was met with an immediate counter from Siegbert.

Naturally, a dispute between two royal princes drew the attention of the entire hall.

“I was merely summoned by my mother for a moment.”

“Is that so? Even so, Princess Ariadne looks rather fatigued.”

“If she appears tired, it is because she was caught in the recent assassination attempt. She stayed by my side until morning, worried for my well-being.”

“—Prince Arnold!?”

What was he saying all of a sudden!?

Ariadne’s startled reaction only made his claim seem more convincing, sending a ripple of murmurs through the crowd.

“Prince Arnold, please refrain from making misleading statements. I was only tending to you in the infirmary—where others were present as well! Besides, you weren’t even injured!”

“Oh? Was that so?”

Arnold chuckled softly and, in a casual gesture, drew Ariadne close.

Siegbert’s temple twitched in irritation.

“…It must have been quite the ordeal for you both. Prince Arnold, perhaps you should take a moment to rest? I can take care of Ariadne in the meantime.”

“That won’t be necessary. The assassination attempt was far too sloppy to be a real threat. Frankly, the incompetence of whoever planned it was rather amusing.”

“—!”

The tension between them crackled like a live wire.

Ariadne had not expected things to escalate this far.

As she discreetly searched for an exit from the situation, her eyes flickered toward the approaching figure of the King, Raphael.

“What is all this commotion about?”