Today was the second round of the preliminary match for Princess Anblin. Reflecting her popularity, the stands were already packed.
Olivia came to the stadium with Elaine.
As a spectator, not a player.
“Let’s go together tomorrow.”
That night, when she strolled hand-in-hand with Edgar along the starlit riverside, his warm, large hand didn’t let go—not even when they reached her front door.
Not until he pulled out a ticket from his chest pocket.
“No, that’s too unfair.”
She didn’t want to stoop to the same level as the princess.
Besides, it would be better to observe the princess in a match where she was fully focused, to gauge her real skill.
“Did something good happen yesterday?”
Elaine teased.
“Oh, nothing at all.”
“Since when?”
“I told you, nothing.”
A breeze of Edgar’s breath seemed to brush her ear.
“Then why is your face red?”
“Elaine!”
Elaine giggled mischievously. Embarrassed, Olivia buried her face in her hands and lowered her head.
That was when Princess Anblin entered the court.
Walking calmly over the green grass, the princess looked like a swan.
The murmuring crowd fell instantly silent.
She wore a white tennis dress. Her eyes met Olivia’s, and she offered a relaxed smile.
“She’s really good. I saw her last year, too,” said Elaine.
“Yes,” Olivia replied distractedly, nodding.
Her gaze was fixed on the princess’s outfit.
Anblin briefly stared at Olivia.
She had no intention of giving her all in a match she would win anyway. Especially not if it could lull Olivia Blanchet into underestimating her.
Anblin began to warm up lightly.
Each motion of her fingertips and toes was as graceful as ballet.
“How enchanting. That kind of elegance can’t be copied.”
The noblewomen around Olivia spoke loudly enough for her to hear.
Every time Anblin moved her arms, the white organza frills fluttered like butterfly wings.
The flared skirt, falling to her shins, allowed free movement while looking like a ballerina’s costume.
It was the exact same design Madam Lauren had bowed and offered to Olivia that day.
If she had worn the same outfit without realizing…
Just imagining it made Olivia shake her head.
The referee signaled the start of the match.
With the serve in hand, Anblin steadied her breath. She was just about to toss the ball high into the air when—
Edgar?
Even seeing it with her own eyes, she couldn’t believe it.
A man in a white suit, per Dumblin’s spectator regulations, was lazily walking down the steps between seats.
His hands were in his pockets.
Just like the year before, when he came to watch her match.
Still arrogant, still bored, still blindingly beautiful. No—he was even more dazzling than before.
That crooked smile aimed at her hurt unbearably.
Her hand, gripping the racket, trembled. A wave of uncontrollable hatred surged toward Anblin.
Her dark amber eyes quivered with fury.
The puzzled audience followed the princess’s gaze.
Elaine and Olivia turned their heads, a beat late.
He must be insane.
Olivia was horrified.
Drawing all eyes, Edgar Langster Lancelot, the princess’s ex-lover, was approaching.
Headed toward Olivia Blanchet.
Was this kind of cruelty necessary?
She had only wished for their end to be beautiful. Was that such a wrong hope?
Anblin’s gaze on Edgar turned cold and still.
She was born into a life where everything was laid at her feet. She had never truly wanted anything.
Except for Edgar.
As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Edgar sat beside Olivia.
Crossing his long legs, he leaned slightly toward her with a smile.
If only it hadn’t been her—
If only it weren’t for that woman, we wouldn’t have fallen apart like this.
Even if we no longer loved each other, at least we wouldn’t have hurt and hated.
All because of that woman.
You threw me away.
Her trembling hand clutched the racket tighter.
Anblin, who always maintained poise and grace no matter the situation, couldn’t hold onto her composure this time.
Her pale face flushed crimson with fury.
The crowd buzzed.
Goodness!
The spectators glanced back and forth between the tragic princess and the shameless couple with gasps and murmurs.
This year’s Dumblin Championship was already legendary. Honestly, the love triangle was more exciting than the usual predictable wins by the princess.
“I’ve seen everything now.”
“Worth every coin I paid for the ticket.”
People whispered and clicked their tongues.
This was no longer just a match between Olivia Blanchet and the princess. It was a battle between the princess who brought her ex’s fiancée and the marquis who brought his new lover to his ex’s match.
Where could you find a spectacle like this?
People squirmed in their seats, itching to run out and spread the gossip.
“Why are you here?”
Olivia glared quietly at Edgar.
“Seemed like a good idea for a first date. You don’t like it?”
“No.”
Her short, firm reply made Edgar burst into laughter.
The urge to kiss her angry, lovely glare was hard to resist.
He could have, but he knew she’d hate it. So he held back. He didn’t want her to hate him.
Edgar simply smiled at his woman.
Was he always a man who smiled like that?
His smiling eyes curved charmingly.
A blaze ignited in Anblin’s gaze.
At that moment—bang! A powerful strike echoed through the court.
The entire crowd held their breath.
Edgar turned his head. His eyes met Anblin’s.
The ball, as if aimed at Edgar, had been hurled with incredible speed but fell uselessly past the baseline.
Still, it was a clear warning.
Don’t look at her like that.
Edgar smirked. He turned back to Olivia.
Anblin’s composure was breaking.
“Love, fifteen.”
Anblin lost a point.
“Please stop watching. Just stop.”
Olivia whispered.
“Would you be okay if I looked at other women?”
“……”
Edgar smirked, one corner of his lips lifting crookedly.
An eye for an eye.
Tooth for a tooth.
He laughed silently.
That day, the princess played the worst match of her life since she started tennis—but there was no upset.
Anblin still won.
It was as inevitable as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west.
Evangeline Seymour stared into a finger-length bottle filled with clear liquid.
Under the glow of the gas lamp, the liquid gleamed a reddish hue.
The Seymour family had always lived by one creed: the end justifies the means.
That was how a common merchant house rose to become a mercantile empire.
Having lost repeatedly to Sara Pavlova, Evangeline finally accepted it: she could never beat Olivia Blanchet with skill alone.
A pity, really.
“Is this it?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Her maid placed a canteen on the table—the same model Olivia Blanchet used, purchased from Halo Department Store.
Evangeline got up and clicked across the room to her vanity.
Opening the lowest drawer, she pulled out a black velvet pouch. Returning to the maid, she handed over a pouch containing a gold bar.
“If it works tomorrow, you’ll get another.”
The maid didn’t bother hiding her greed and accepted it with a deep bow.
“You can count on me, my lady.”
Her grin was sinister.
The plan was to drug Olivia’s water bottle.
It was a powerful sedative—one typically used to subdue patients in mental hospitals. Risky.
It caused sudden drowsiness, erratic heartbeat, blood pressure swings, and dizziness.
It wouldn’t kill her.
But it would make her wish she were dead, rendering her game a total disaster.
“You may go.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
After the maid left, Evangeline lay back on her plush bed, giggling.
She was already giddy with excitement.
This was her chance to finally topple the unscalable wall.
To join the ranks of the royals alongside the most noble princess in all of Britte.
Ah… bliss!
That night, Evangeline fell into a deep, sweet sleep filled with delightful dreams.
It was dawn when Johann stepped down from the carriage and entered Rondos Palace.
Though he’d taken the night train up from Remon Station, his long stride was perfectly sharp and poised.
The impulsive trip to Litton had been canceled, and he had been dragged back here—needless to say, Johann was not in a good mood.
But the queen’s office wasn’t much better—it felt like walking on thin ice.
“I’ve been waiting,” Queen Katrina said, approaching Johann Leopold. He bowed and took a seat.
She stared straight ahead in silence.
Not a hair was out of place beneath her neatly swept golden hair, but her brows twitched ever so slightly.
The sunken hollows beneath her eyes told a serious story.
“What has happened, Your Majesty?”
Her crimson-painted lips trembled. She slowly closed and opened her eyes before speaking heavily.
“…Chris. He had a riding accident.”
The bones in her hands stood out as she clasped them tightly.
“…He hasn’t regained consciousness.”
Though the crown prince had a reputation for wild behavior, he was Katrina’s most beloved and pained child.
Johann ran a hand over his weary face.
Exhaustion hit him all at once.
“We’ll need to call Mikhail back.”
“He’s been notified.”
Johann nodded briefly.
“You’ll need to take charge for now.”
“Your Majesty.”
His voice was somber as he looked at the now-frail queen.
“As a royal, I believe I’ve fulfilled my duty.”
Katrina met her nephew’s gaze.
