In the darkness of the afternoon, the quiet sobs gradually faded.
A brief silence followed.
Johan twisted his wrist to check the time. As the minutes ticked by meaninglessly, irritation began to build—until Christian finally opened his mouth.
“I should break off the engagement. We’re not some tragically devoted couple—who in their right mind would want to stay with someone like me? Soon, I’ll be nothing—just a cripple, not even a crown prince.”
Christian let out a low chuckle, tears still wet on his cheeks, and grabbed the neck of a slender liquor bottle.
His life was over. Who could have predicted he’d end up like this from simply falling off a horse?
Alcohol was the only thing that could help him momentarily forget the unbearable nightmare he now lived in.
“Go ahead and tell her.”
“You’re not even going to comfort me?”
Christian sneered after taking a swig of brandy straight from the bottle.
“You want me to?”
“Piss off.”
Johan turned away without a second thought.
As he crossed the dim bedroom, a strange sound—part laugh, part sob—drifted from behind him. But Johan didn’t care anymore.
There was no comfort to offer for the consequences of one’s own actions.
He only felt a deep sense of futility at being caught up in this mess as a hostage, with no say in the matter.
He crossed the room in wide strides and opened the door—only to find Princess Kranz standing right outside.
Johan stared at her as he quietly shut the door behind him.
With her gaze lowered, Irene slowly looked up at him.
“…Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For convincing His Majesty.”
Johan gave a brief nod.
“And…”
Irene bit her red lips, as if she couldn’t bring herself to say what she wanted. Johan waited silently.
“…I’m sorry. For that day. The engagement day.”
“It’s nothing.”
Johan cut off her apology curtly.
“Well then.”
He gave her a polite bow and turned away without hesitation. His footsteps echoed through the corridor—firm and composed.
Irene watched his retreating back with a bitter smile.
“Please allow me to break off the engagement with Duke Leopold.”
She had made the request in a private audience with the Queen before coming here.
“So, you’ve decided my son is no longer worth anything, is that it?”
“Even so… I truly love him.”
“The boy—Johan—said I should give you what you want. I don’t know if he paid that price for your sake or his own. Perhaps you’re making a mistake.”
“My mistake was agreeing to the engagement in the first place.”
Queen Katrina had withdrawn her command.
Irene didn’t know what sacrifice Johan had made, but the freedom came so easily, it felt almost hollow.
Turning her gaze from the empty corridor, she stared at the massive door, tightly shut. Sobs could be heard from within.
You’ve been punished… you…
She had thought she’d be happy if the man who had abandoned her lived in pain for the rest of his life.
Irene bit her lips hard to keep the tears from spilling.
After a deep breath, she raised her hand.
Knock, knock.
The sound of her knock echoed down the hallway, layered over the quiet sobbing.
News of Johan Leopold and Princess Kranz’s broken engagement rivaled that of Crown Prince Christian and Princess Argent’s in the headlines, battling for first-page dominance.
“My goodness, what’s happening all at once?”
The sudden news of two royal engagements ending had shaken the entire nation.
Johan’s case, in particular, was being talked about even in Britt, where his ex-wife was currently active.
“Do you think… the Duke might have some kind of issue he can’t talk about?”
With both a divorce and now a broken engagement, some cautiously voiced such opinions.
But no one was more surprised than Olivia.
“What are you thinking about?”
“…Sorry?”
Olivia responded belatedly to Edgar’s question.
“I asked what you’re thinking about.”
Edgar tilted his head slightly, his gaze fixed on her.
His gentle smile made Olivia feel guilty for getting lost in thought.
“It’s nothing.”
She gave a faint smile as she finally replied.
It was a rare dinner for just the two of them.
At Grand Bleu, in celebration of his advancement to the finals—a place that held meaning, as it was where they had formally introduced themselves to each other.
“I’d like it if you focused on me.”
Edgar’s voice was soft as he looked at Olivia with warm eyes.
Who wouldn’t feel their heart flutter when gazing into those sea-gray eyes, as mysterious as the ocean under a cloudy sky?
Every time their eyes met, Olivia tried to rationalize the strange tickling feeling in her chest.
“Tell me what you’d like to eat.”
He gestured toward the menu in front of her.
“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
Edgar smiled and gave a light nod, then turned to the waiting staff to place the order.
Meanwhile, Olivia looked out the large glass window.
The ocean stretched before them, true to the name—Grand Bleu.
The breeze that passed over the shimmering silver waves tickled the nape of her neck.
“Is it bothering you?”
“Huh?”
Olivia, brushing her hair behind her ear, looked at Edgar. They were alone in the private room now.
“Johan breaking off the engagement.”
“Oh!”
Olivia let out a soft exclamation.
Had Johan not properly explained what happened that day? It wasn’t impossible—he was the type to keep things to himself.
Had the princess misunderstood?
Of course, it bothered her.
“I’m just worried… that Princess Kranz may have misunderstood that day.”
Her blue eyes briefly met his, then wandered back out toward the sea—her deepened gaze drifting to a far-off place.
What is she looking at?
Who is she thinking of?
Edgar had always been a generous lover, but somehow, he couldn’t be patient when it came to Olivia.
Especially now, after Johan’s broken engagement.
“So, that day… what exactly did you and Johan do?”
Her gaze finally returned to Edgar, her cheeks flushed red—like a ripened apple, sweet and full of promise.
“We talked, of course.”
“There are many ways to have a ‘conversation,’ depending on the time and place.”
“Really? And what method do you prefer?”
Edgar chuckled. With her face blushing like someone tipsy, her defiant attitude only made her more adorable.
“Do you want to know?”
His silent smile glimmered as white summer sunlight traced the lines of his dark hair, catching on the corner of his lips. It was sensual.
“N-no, I don’t.”
A lie.
She did want to know. She was curious—what it would be like to be closer to him.
To cross that line into the unknown.
But… perhaps not right in front of a perfectly cooked lobster.
Edgar’s soft laughter scattered like sunlight.
At that moment, the staff arrived with their food.
“Let’s eat.”
Even as he spoke, a trace of laughter lingered in his voice.
Tilting his head slightly, Edgar slowly scanned her face.
With her brown hair fluttering in the breeze and a pale blue ribbon on her head, she looked much younger than her age.
The impulsive gift he had picked up on his business trip suited her perfectly.
As she lifted her head and met his gaze, Olivia paused.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because you’re beautiful.”
His blue eyes, darker than the satin ribbon, curved like the crescent moon. It was breathtaking.
He would bring Anblin Grace Brata to court.
Of course, the royal family wouldn’t easily allow it—but for the first time in House Lancelot’s history, they would go against the royal family.
Because she wanted it.
He would think of only Olivia.
“Is the food to your liking?”
“Yes.”
She smiled. That was all he needed.
After a perfect meal including dessert, they were leaving Grand Bleu.
Edgar gently placed a hand on Olivia’s back as they walked toward the carriage—when he suddenly stopped in his tracks.
“…?”
His gaze, fixed across the street, turned icy.
“Edgar?”
Olivia looked up at him curiously.
“It’s nothing. Let’s get in.”
Edgar composed his expression and politely opened the carriage door. Once Olivia got in, he looked forward again.
Across the road, leaning casually against a streetlamp, the tabloid photographer he had once bribed—on the night of the rose ball scandal—lifted his hat in a secretive greeting.
Edgar’s brow creased faintly.
It hadn’t even been a full month since he paid the man to keep quiet.
His reappearance was far from welcome.
“Where are you going?”
“She’s going to practice.”
Cecile snapped coldly.
The royal guard standing outside the princess’s chambers stepped aside and bowed crisply.
As Anblin walked forward, one of the guards followed at an appropriate distance.
“This is really too much.”
Fuming, Cecile furrowed her brows and let out a heartfelt sigh. She meant every word.
Was it Cecile?
Anblin’s emotionless gaze stared straight ahead, but inside her head, suspicions were spreading like roots in every direction.
The maid who had been dusting the golden frame of a large wall painting paused, folded her hands, and bowed her head.
Was it that maid?
Who had leaked the meeting with Evangeline Seymour?
Who was conspiring with Johan Edinburgh Leopold?
Anblin held back a sigh of anger.
Should she just fire everyone and bring in new people? It wouldn’t be hard.
But even then, if a rat managed to sneak in again, the problem would be the same. The thought suffocated her.
The dim light from the hallway windows cast a gloomy shade. The sky was overcast, all pale gray—like rain was near.
As she passed through the garden, even the people she saw looked suspicious. Everyone seemed like a conspirator, a spy, a traitor.
“You’re here?”
Under a white parasol, Kyla stood and set down her newspaper.
“You’ve come.”
The coach beside her stood and gave a polite bow.
He was a baron’s second son—a tennis star who had once dominated an era with three consecutive Dumblin Championships.
Surely… it couldn’t be him.
