All language subtitles for Borgia S03E06 PAL.EN

Fifteen hundred.

Lucrezia Borgia's husband,
Allfonso di Calabria, is dead.

His servant was found guilty,

though many suspect Cesare Borgia was
the true assailant.

Murderer!

She cannot eat. She cannot sleep.

- I fear Lucrezia will waste away.
- She will go to Nepi and be restored.

- The Borgia turn on each other.
- I have granted your request,

- allowing you to murder di Calabria.
- Your Teofilo is not faithful.

- Bastard!
- Their enemies sense weakness...

I have obtained unimpeachable evidence
that Francesc Gacet is in fact a Muslim.

You defile love, you betray me!
I could have you eviscerated.

Are you studying the black arts
to use on the pope?

...while God abandons the Borgia.

Another epileptic fit.

I was born on this day.
How old am I?

How old am I, you worthless son
of a Silesian whore?

I don't know...

Twenty-five.

Did you hear that, Juan?
Twenty-five years old!

Don't...

- I will soon leave Rome and...
- No. Our dalliance is over.

I love your father more than I love you.

You are a liar. You hate him,
perhaps even more than you hate me.

I will scream and then let us see
who is the better liar.

Sealed shut for centuries,

the Holy Door of Saint Peter
swings wide once more.

With the blessings of Christ Himself,

who crossed this very threshold
on Palm Sunday,

we urge you to leave your sins behind
as you step into the year of Our Lord

one thousand and five hundred.

No matter how grave your sins,
be they petty thievery or vile murder,

you will walk through this Holy Door
and be forgiven.

Lucrezia!

Lucrezia!

Lucrezia!

Endless. Endless.

They make you feel everything
and forever and...

Oh God, how it hurts,
so much worse than was preached.

Please, help me, Lucrezia. Save me.

Yes. Yes, just tell me what to do.

And know, Alfonso, that I still love you.

Prove that you love me.

Hiyah!

No. No. No.

Hiya!

Hah! Hiya, hiya!

This castle is lovely.

Giulia, what brings you to Nepi?

My father, of course.

He worries about you.
When you grieve, his eyes fill with tears.

Yet he cannot bear to witness
my grief himself, so he sends you.

I come of my own free will, wishing
to share the burden of your pain.

You cannot know my pain.

The depths to which my heart sinks
every time I think of poor Alfonso.

Oh, so you do not think of him
all the time?

No, not all the time.

Do you think of other men?

I think of no one else.

Come, come.
You forget I, too, am a widow.

- Migliorati? You hated him.
- Not true.

Well, you did not love him,
not the way I loved Alfonso.

If I recall, your love
for di Calabria came, then went,

then started, then stopped.

Passion is complex.

In the end, my heart was his.

As a result, he died.
Our marriage sealed his tomb.

The pope has found you a new suitor:

Anthony de Ligny,
cousin of the French King Louis.

De Ligny is an ardent man,
capable of greatness,

with ambitions tempered only by morals.

I have no intention of living in France,

let alone providing Cesare
with another target.

This is but a taste of the swarm
of pilgrims yet to arrive.

A Jubilee year comes every
quarter-century and salvation only once.

But the hope for salvation
brings the threat of danger.

As prefect of Rome
I will impose a curfew,

to curb the larcenous habits
of our less hospitable citizens.

Our imperative is to keep
the pilgrims safe.

Their monetary offerings
will fill the papal coffers

and pay for my military campaigns.

Time conspires against me.

If I am to unite Italy,
I must advance again, and soon.

This one?

- Rodrigo Borgia.
- Why do you hate Borgia so?

Why? Must there always be a why?

You have never told me.
Did he slight you in some way?

- Offend you?
- His very presence offends me.

And like a pestilence, he must be
eradicated before he does more harm.

My brothers,
we have received disturbing news.

There is unrest in Alsace
and in southwestern Germany.

Peasants rebel against
their ecclesiastical masters.

They feel the Church abuses its power.

They know not what they feel,
these lowlifes.

Perhaps they revolt against
such supercilious language.

Not against, but because of language.
By printing Bibles in the common tongue,

we have whittled away our own superiority.
We have validated their ignorance.

And maybe fomenting a rebellion
of a wider, more pernicious sort.

Writing should be done as before:
in Latin and in Latin only.

No one can read Latin but men of God.

No, we must go further and halt
the publishing of heretical documents.

You blame the apple and not Eve?

Why fight a war when
we can confiscate the enemy...

These people are not the enemy!

Continue, Master Secretary.

The peasants express their alienation
with the Church,

which you will then exacerbate
by destroying their books.

Not destroying, overseeing.

We must create an office empowered
to exorcise the ungodly.

By banishing their books,
you limit their minds.

Freedom of thought is no sin.

Freedom of thought does not mean you
can believe anything you want.

Silence!

Our duty is to uphold the highest
standards of public morality.

But rather than having the courage
of our convictions,

we must have the courage
to question our convictions.

At present, we will not restrict
the free expression of Christian souls.

Which means we do nothing again.

Angela?

Angela!

Yes, Highness?
Your clothes.

What clothes? My departure from Rome
happened with such haste,

I find myself with nothing but rags.
I made a list.

- New dresses?
- Among other things.

I hope my descriptions are
detailed enough.

Oh, they are... quite detailed.

You mock me.

As you should.

Cousin, I ask you,
what else am I to do here

but labor over
flowery descriptions of clothes?

Nepi is devoid of distractions.
Even my child is unusually dull.

When I am not racked by banality,
I am beheaded by grief.

What do you know
about Anthony de Ligny?

The king of France's cousin?

He's count of Saint-Pol,
of Brienne and of Conversano.

- Is he handsome?
- His portrait makes him seem so.

- And a bachelor?
- Widowed twice.

You are interested?

No. Depart for Rome at once.
As soon as you are back, we burn these.

They are the garments of a fool.

I thank you for meeting with me during
such an influx of visitors.

- You return with a new proposal?
- No, the same proposal.

My sovereign refuses to increase
his offer by even one centime.

Louis asks us to proclaim
him king of Naples

and allow French troops to tramp through
the Papal States.

Yes.

But without the prohibitive expense
of 50,000 ducats.

- Can Louis not afford the sum?
- Yes, but this is about respect.

He tenders an honorarium. You demand
payment as if he is a common man,

buying a mound of cheese.

We can bestow upon Louis
something he needs.

Legitimacy. Therefore, we see
no reason to change our position.

Holiness, there is an excellent reason.

Cesare's success on the battlefield grows
increasingly precarious

with each headstrong move.

Yet, his success continues because
he has the full support of King Louis.

To refuse to bestow the crown of Naples
on its rightful heir,

threatens not only the victories
Cesare has yet to win,

but those he has already won.

For the good of both France
and your papacy, I insist...

Put your whip away, Cardinal.
That horse died long ago.

It is likely we will grant Louis
superiority over Naples.

But a proclamation now is...
premature.

We could have convinced
Borgia, but Gacet intervened.

Now the French king will attack Rome.
Borgia has doomed us.

You speak of possibility
as if it were a fact.

I will go home and crate up my art.

Possibly I will visit one
of my archdioceses, Trequier or Salamanca.

And you, cousin,
should return in haste to France.

- Once again Gacet is at fault.
- We must rid Rome of that heathen.

No, you look in the wrong direction,
Fabrizio.

- Do I?
- Yes, you do.

Rodrigo yields his power to his son,
not Gacet.

We can use that to our advantage,
turn the public sentiment against Cesare,

- and that way Rodrigo...
- No. You must once more fuck Gacet.

- He will not have me.
- You are wily.

You can convince him.

I exposed the man as a Muslim.
I lied to him.

- His arms will not open to me.
- He loves you.

- He did.
- And may still.

Go to Gacet.

- Confuse him.
- I refuse.

Oh, he refuses.

Do not laugh.
Francesco loves Gacet.

And feels the need to protect him.
From me?

- The pope threatened my life.
- One day soon I will be pope.

Where will you be then?
Inside this palace or out?

Do you stand with della Rovere
or with Borgia?

- Answer me, cagna. Answer me!
- Answer him.

Answer.

Dios mío.

I quit the conspiracy
and was rewarded with a beating.

Shh, shh, shh.

I am now free.

I can love you.

You are a man of deliberation.

And so I will win your love back,
as slowly as need be.

I will never ask you to quit Borgia, even
though it means we must love in secret.

If you never want to speak to me again,
I can live with that too.

Just as long as you are near me.

And if you do not want me close...

...at least I have spoken
the truth for once.

- What are you...
- Rodrigo, this is not...

Wait!

- The kiss was nothing. He is nothing.
- What are you doing?

- What are you doing?
- Fucking. For a moment, not a lifetime.

We have been friends forever.
Did I ever once betray you?

- How would we know?
- Would you be the pope if I had?

Do not act as if we owe our life to you,

and do not act as if you do not owe
your life to us.

I do... and you do.
We are entwined, the two of us.

Either I am zero and you are zero,
or together we are the universe.

No. I am the heart
and you are the head.

If emotion can now sway you,
then we do not work.

You claim that what I saw mattered not,
but how can I be certain?

How can I know which past decisions,
guided by you, must be reexamined.

Would you yourself not advise me
that this is the end?

I will be gone tomorrow.

Some problems are unsolvable,
some questions unanswerable.

No matter what we do,

we will never be free
of mortality, partiality or error.

Thank you for your concern,
but go now, La Bella.

We... We wish to be left alone.

You have comforted me
in times of great distress.

I will not leave until I can comfort you.

- I can feel your comfort.
- Let me show you.

No. We will once again fall back
into mortal sin. Be gone.

- Not a sin.
- Be gone! Go!

Go away!

Your body is at rest. Your mind at peace.

You have never felt this serene,
my Rodrigo.

Each and every limb relaxes
under my gentle touch.

You are restored. You are revived.
You are cured.

Why are you here?
What have you done to me?

Rodrigo, I confess: I have learned
the hidden powers of the black arts.

I have yet to summon enough hate
to kill my enemies, but you...

Only extreme emotions have
the power to curse or to cure.

I did cure you.

Your love for me is absolute.

- Gacet is finished. We have won.
- So your bruises were not for naught.

And they will fade,
just has Gacet has faded.

Della Rovere will be pleased.

You stare but do not speak.

Forgive me. I have never seen a man
of noble birth work with such ardor.

Reports from throughout the Romagna.

I wish to know of every kind act
and every wicked exploit in my kingdom.

Then, dear Cesare, I have one more
wicked exploit to report.

Duke Pandolfo Malatesta has offered
to back my restoration

to the throne of Faenza
with his Rimini forces.

And yet you tell me of this offer.

Malatesta cares nothing about me.

He only incites conflicts in hopes
of regaining his daughter.

Did you abduct Dorotea?

Have you ever known the immodest
sensuality of a secret affair?

- I have slept with courtesans.
- No.

This is different. Money cannot be
exchanged for this pleasure.

You and a woman are both bound by law
to others, yet drawn by lust.

That which is forbidden binds
you deeper and deeper.

Neither wanting the sweet rapture
to ever end,

but both knowing full well
one day it will.

- Suddenly and without satisfaction.
- So, you do have Dorotea Malatesta?

I am honored that you would confide
the truth in me.

A truth the world will soon know.
Dorotea is pregnant with my child.

Francesco Orsini, duke of Gravina.

Oh. Madonna, I hope you remember me.

Yes, hello. We met at your uncle's
funeral. What brings you to Nepi?

You, Lucrezia Borgia.
I seek your hand in marriage.

Already, I like you.
You jump right to the point.

You treat love
like a business acquisition.

- I did not intend to be crass.
- You were honest. Are you often honest?

- With others, if not always with myself.
- But then you are stupid.

- You insult me?
- Yes, in fact I am trying to repel you.

Duke Francesco,
I have no desire to marry again.

Why not? I could make you happy.
Shower you in...

My husbands are unlucky.
Do you wish to die?

You will have little success
in threatening me.

And you will have no success
in making me your wife.

I appreciate your proposal,
but for your sake

and that of my already
overburdened conscience,

- I must remain widowed and alone.
- Madonna, your eyes are like stars.

Widowed and alone.

- Angela is eligible. And a Borgia.
- She's lovely.

- But you are not...
- The daughter of the pope.

- Cousin, you were so cold to him.
- Was I?

Rodrigo?

Rodrigo, my love, this happens.

Not to us. We have always
been able to...

There is so much left to do
to build a Borgia empire.

Yet, Giulia, my body abandons me.

Agapito!

A girl.

A child of mine,
whom I can hold in my arms.

I shall name her Lucrezia.

My Lucrezia.

Who are they?

Highness, I am Piero della Monte,
prefect of Rimini.

These are my councilors.

We come on behalf of our citizens,

who implore you to rid our city
of Pandolfo Malatesta.

- And what would compel me to do so?
- Your brave and kind heart.

Two years ago,
a people's rebellion failed to free us

from the wickedness and greed
of the Malatesta family.

They have spent our fortunes
waging endless war.

A greedy man is a weak man.

We shall see about your cause,
Della Monte.

I wish you to pay a visit
to our friend Pandolfo.

Lay out for him the details
of my next military campaign.

The siege of his neighbor
to the north, Cervia.

Why tell Malatesta your plans?
He wants you dead.

What he wants and what will be
are not necessarily congruent.

My daughter calls to me.

We will camp here until de Foix brings
the remainder of our army.

Halt!

I know this part of the road.
We're near Rimini. Why do we stop?

- I have dealings with your father.
- What sort of dealings?

The sort he would be
a clodpole to resist

since I wield the sword of Rimini's
disquieted populace.

I know that lust is not love.

But if you have ever thought of me
with deeper feelings...

...I beg you, do not kill my father.

For the sake of our child.

Our Lucrezia.

A missive from your cousin Angela.

- Horse!
- Yes, Your Highness.

- Where is he going?
- Once again, I do not know.

But I can guess.

- Cesare.
- I came to see if you are happy yet.

Happy? I remain La Infelicissima,
the most woeful of women.

I also came to seek forgiveness.

How confusing. You seek forgiveness though
you claim to have done nothing wrong.

- Which is it?
- Both, somehow.

If I cannot have your love,
I must at least regain your trust.

You have not earned my trust.

You blame yourself for di Calabria's
death, instead blame me.

- I do.
- So, then you must forgive me.

As you've often chided me to do so
in my angers.

Cease your mourning
and let us return to Rome.

The thing is over
and cannot be remedied.

Rome is a prison gated with memories
which we would both do well to forget.

We will return, but you will leave
almost at once, and permanently.

I have witnessed the way you gaze
at Alfonso d'Este and his gaze at you.

I still know what love looks like,
even if from a great distance.

You speak carelessly.

Because I see what you will not allow
yourself to see:

a chance at true happiness.

D'Este is a man unmarried
and you a woman unchained.

A woman cursed.
I will not marry Alfonso d'Este.

Think clearly, Lucrezia.
Our father is almost 70.

Though he claims he will reign
longer than Saint Peter,

he will not live ad infinitum.

You must have a husband before he dies.

I will not expose Alfonso
to your jealous wrath.

Listen to me. I love you enough
to warn you. Marry again.

You do not want to be
dependent on me.

Come, Rome awaits. And beyond Rome,
whatever future you choose.

- We both know your time here is done.
- Yes.

What of your battle plans?

Victory in war can wait until love
is victorious.

You were wrong, Cesare.

You may not have my trust, but you have
never lost, will never lose, my love.

Holiness, we have a very full docket
this afternoon.

- He knew the date.
- He tests our patience.

His absence demonstrates his guilt.

Sorry, sorry.

Holy Father.

The case of Teofilo Farina
versus Vannozza Catanei.

- Do you swear to tell God's truth?
- Of course. Yes, I swear.

Proceed.

To where?

- Make your accusations.
- Why are we here, Signor Farina?

Uh...

I wish to sue Vannozza Catanei
for having bleached...

I believe he reaches for the phrase
"breach of promise."

You will serve as legal counsel to him
as well as yourself?

Give us details, boy.

Before I was her lover, I was her laborer,
toiling in the vineyard.

Then I was her fiancé, having been
promised her hand in marriage.

Then she cast me out, penniless,
forbidden to even look at her.

I have done nothing.

Vannozza, you became engaged
to this young man

without seeking papal permission?

- No.
- Without posting banns?

No. He deludes himself. His unrequited
love for me proved to be a distraction.

His work suffered, so I replaced him.

He said so himself...
he has done nothing.

But that is...
I put my work before all else.

- Including love?
- I did not love her.

Oh, you did. You do.
You said to me...

You cannot condemn me for words
spoken while we were...

- You can say fucking.
- Enough!

We require silence
while a decision is made.

The will of God reveals itself.
Teofilo speaks wisely.

A man cannot be condemned for words
misplaced in the throes of passion.

Vannozza, as penance, you are to supply
Teofilo with 500 ducats.

- Five hundred ducats is a pittance.
- You believed him over me.

You did offer marriage.

He was too terrified to tell anything
other than the truth.

You love, or loved that boy.

And since when does Rodrigo Borgia
value truth over family?

Since the Lord called us to do so.
I grow old, Vannozza.

As do you, but somehow
not as rapidly as I.

Only now, at almost 70,

have I begun to understand what truth is,

what life means, what morality requires
and justice demands.

You speak as if drowning
once again in vitriolo.

You mistake authenticity for intoxication.

I have spent the past several months
calling my own authenticity into question.

For decades now,
I have accumulated wealth

in the service of drunkenness
and debauchery.

Do you seek the sacrament
of Holy Confession?

No. I have divined my own means
of redemption.

Whatever money my brothels have earned,

I will use to build hospitals
and orphanages.

God will smile.

My actions are not spurred
by generosity or godliness.

I fear living a virulent eternity in Hell.

Be not afraid. I will be there negotiating
with Satan to tamp down the blaze.

I threw Teofilo out because he made
advances on our daughter.

Duke Ercole, how fortuitous that you are
in town for the Jubilee.

Every good Christian must come to Rome
to celebrate the eternal Church.

But, Holiness, are not the ceremonies
involved too much of a strain?

I hear you are of poor health.

Fabrications which dissolve
in the light of dawn.

Oh. And you asked
to see me because...?

Our Lucrezia has returned to Rome having
crawled out of the deepest pit of grief.

Not an easy task for a woman in love.

But we fear she has not yet embraced
her future.

The past is a hungry animal
still threatening to swallow her.

Tragic. And this concerns me how?

Duke Ercole, we suggest an arrangement
between our families.

We give our daughter's hand
to your son, Alfonso.

That is an honor, Holiness.

But Alfonso has recently become betrothed
to Marguerite d'Angoulême,

cousin to Louis d'Orléans.

And the king,
he insists on the marriage.

And yet he can be persuaded otherwise?

I have given my word,
which is sacrosanct.

As pope, we can absolve you.

We d'Este are
the oldest ruling family in Italy.

Nine hundred years,
descendants of Troy's King Priam

and the Acci family of republican Rome.

Are you suggesting the Borgia legacy
is beneath yours?

Not at all. I simply opine
that such a match ill-fits.

- You viper.
- Holiness, perhaps...

Be mute, Burchard.

You have mapped out a future,

and we must all prepare
for its consequences.

Consequences?

Lucrezia is fortunate to have a brother
so intent on her happiness.

But my father is immovable,

and bitter for the death of Savonarola,
whom he loved.

But he also does not wish
to openly offend the pope,

for fear his Holiness will, by all means
available, seek to ruin us d'Este.

In order for me to correct the situation,
you need to give me some weapons to use.

My father reveals only the best
of my family.

"Nine hundred years... King Priam."

His pretensions hide a cruel, blood-
bespattered history of throat-slitting

by one kinsman of another.

He himself, in order to clear the way
for his succession,

tried to poison his cousin, Niccolo.

Failing that, my father had
Niccolo beheaded.

But feeling some odd pang
of familial pride,

ordered the head be sewn back
onto the body for burial.

I think I know how to dissolve
your engagement to the French girl.

Tell me more of your family's sordid past.

- Cesare, you embarrass your sister.
- Not at all, Mama. Cesare, continue.

See, Georges, one need only glance
at Alfonso and Lucrezia

and the truth is revealed.

They are in love. And I am jealous.

In such close proximity,
I feel my own heart increase its pace,

as if I too shared his affections for her.

The wine helps, I am sure.

Must you be so cynical?

- We all must, to survive in Rome.
- Such survival is bred by loyalty.

Duke Ercole has always been
a friend to France.

But not always to the House of Angevin.

If he still lived, Louis' grandfather
might dispute Ercole's fidelity.

Explain.

While a young man serving
as condottiere in Naples,

my father married the daughter
of the Aragonese pretender.

This caused Louis' grandfather to lose
the very throne

which Louis now rightfully claims.

- Still, Ercole has signed...
- Georges, Georges, Georges.

If I cannot reach your heart or your head,
let me appeal to your ambitions.

Help us secure a Borgia-d'Este marriage
and at the next conclave,

I will have our Spanish cardinals
guarantee your election as pope.

This is a promise you have already made.

Minds change, as do circumstances.

My wife's brother, Amanieu d'Albret,
would make a fine pontiff,

as would Bernardino Lopez de Carvajal,
Spain's prime choice.

I...

I do support the union.

- I do.
- I do.

Just pray Louis is less stubborn
than the pope.

For in exchange,
you must finally persuade your father

to recognize my king's right
to rule Naples.

Consider that done.

An end to the age of cynicism.

Let us now drink to the new century.

One hundred years of boundless,
unquenchable love.

- To love.
- To love.

- But Gacet advised me...
- To vacillate, yes.

But Gacet is gone, and I am here,
and you must now give Louis what is his.

At this very moment,
King Ferdinand readies Spanish soldiers

to march north from Sicily.

King Louis readies French soldiers
to move south from Milan.

Ferdinand is a proven warrior.
Louis has never been in battle.

Ferdinand is decrepit. Louis is virile.

If we support France, we alienate Spain.

You alienated Spain the moment you allowed
France's battalions to seize Milan.

Father, you have already chosen a path.
Now you must embrace the journey.

This situation, pitting us Borgia
against Spain, brings me great pain.

The older I get,

the more I long to walk along
the orange trees in the huerta of Jativa.

You have never been there.

You were cardinal of Valencia
and never once visited.

- To you all this is mere strategy.
- And for you. Your dreams of empire.

Dreams are powerful, mortality more so.

You ask me to abandon
a land that I cherish,

to turn my back on my home.

And as you turn,
you will make Lucrezia happy.

We hereby declare
the House of Angevin restored

to its proper place
on the throne of Naples.

We further declare Louis d'Orléans
a suffragan to the Holy See...

...whom we will anoint as king of Naples.

And we empower Louis d'Orléans

to move his armies
through the Papal States...

...and declare Holy War
on the House of Aragon.

We are pleased to see you both, although
no doubt not as pleased as Lucrezia.

You come bearing good news, we hope.

We have spent the past several days
deliberating the marriage.

- Perhaps I jumped to conclusions.
- A precarious jump to make.

My final decision, however, rests
on certain stipulations being met.

- Illuminate us.
- A 200,000 ducat dowry,

an 80 percent reduction
in the papal tithe paid by Ferrara,

and the ownership of the cities of Cento,
Pieve and the harbor of Cesenatico.

- You cannot be serious.
- The decision rests with you.

- Cesare. Cesare.
- These petty, ungrateful...

No. Cesare.

We make no apologies
for Cesare's outburst.

Are you a duke or a thief?

If we cannot come to an agreement,
I am forced to withdraw.

To reiterate:
you are a remarkable woman

and will make some other man
a fine wife.

Alfonso, come.

You allow them to depart?

- We had no other options, no leverage.
- I will find us leverage.

Yes. You will continue your subjugation
of the Romagna.

Every conquest brings you closer
to Ferrara's capital.

Meanwhile, we will allow negotiations
to pause and then begin again.

Ercole is nothing but an old huckster.

We will make this marriage happen.

- Lucrezia.
- You dare return?

My father's tongue was out of my control.

Do not touch her.

Deflate your anger, I beg you,
and allow me to show you this.

Well, what have you brought us?

A pamphlet,
circulating Rome since yesterday.

"Cesare Borgia practices butchery,
like the Emperor Commodus,

to keep alive
his insatiable thirst for blood.

On the Feast of San Sebastiano
the prefect of Rome

had the Piazza San Pietro enclosed
by a palisade.

Men, women and children were herded
inside, bound by hand and foot."

With perfect timing Vatican vermin strike
again with their usual stupidity.

"Then, the son of the pope mounted
his stallion

and raced through the terrified crowd,

shooting hearts with a crossbow,
hacking heads with a sword,

trampling the fallen
under his horse's hooves.

In a short time, he stood alone,
in a lake of blood,

while Pope Alexander and Princess
Lucrezia stood on a balcony,

applauding the horrid sight."

How is this different
from the accusations of orgies?

A pamphlet is paper,
which crumbles and burns.

This is different. You are blamed
for the murder of innocent people,

and Lucrezia is condemned
as being cold and uncaring.

For all I know, my father himself
had the pamphlet written

to justify him stopping the betrothal.

- He has sent a copy to King Louis.
- Whose faith in you is already wavering.

We are lost, sweet one.
We are lost.