Margaret Wellington’s Search
Margaret Wellington’s premonitions had never been wrong. When combined with Johan’s recent suspicious behavior, the picture became perfectly clear, like pieces of a puzzle falling into place.
“I’ll have the Queen Teresa prepared. Board the ship quietly, as we discussed.”
“What if I refuse?”
“I believe I’ve explained enough already. It’s a tie that was once broken, Grandmother.”
“Is that child in there?”
“I told you no.”
Margaret ascended the entrance stairs without hesitation.
How dare he lie so brazenly.
She lifted her narrowed eyes and strode across the marble hall, scanning the central hall, the chandelier above it, the long windows, and the paintings hanging at regular intervals along the walls. The Winstone butler and the servants carrying her luggage hurried to keep up.
“Grand Duchess, the prepared room is here…”
Margaret walked right past the bedroom the butler had opened wide. The flustered butler blinked and then quickly trotted to catch up with Grand Duchess Wellington.
“Open it.”
“…Didn’t the room just now please you?” The butler asked politely, trying to hide his bewilderment.
But Grand Duchess Wellington, with an unreadable expression, simply ordered him to open the door immediately. The butler had no choice but to open the bedroom door, keeping an eye on Margaret’s expression.
Margaret strode inside. She looked around the bedroom, then ordered him to open the bathroom and dressing room, which she thoroughly inspected before moving on to the next room.
“Open it.”
“…”
Margaret searched every room on the second floor in the same manner. Just as she was about to step onto the staircase leading to the third floor, the butler frantically blocked her path and bowed his head.
“Grand Duchess, the upstairs is not yet ready for guests.”
“What is this rudeness? Step aside.” Margaret warned the butler with a stern gaze.
A mere servant could not block a noble’s path. The butler knew his own insolence, but he couldn’t help but stand his ground. He finally gave in to the oppressive pressure on his shoulders. Margaret didn’t even look at him as she went straight up the stairs.
Margaret finally stood in front of the last door on the third floor. With her voice unfaltering despite having traversed the entire manor, she gave a short command.
“Open it.”
The butler’s face had gone completely pale.
“Forgive me, but you cannot enter this room, Grand Duchess.”
“Why? Is a mouse hiding inside?”
“…It is my master’s command.”
Margaret sneered as she glared at the firmly closed bedroom door.
That lunatic drove his carriage through a storm. He miraculously survived the wrecked carriage and still got on a ship to Lytton…
The thought that the source of all this was the lowly bastard hiding inside made her blood boil.
“That master is my grandson. Open it now.”
“…I apologize.”
“Then I will open it myself.”
Margaret turned the doorknob without hesitation. With a whoosh, she pushed the door open.
“…”
In the morning sunlight pouring through the open window, a woman with wavy, sand-colored hair was sitting at a dressing table, brushing her hair. Startled by the sudden intrusion, the woman stood up and turned around.
Margaret examined the unfamiliar woman with a searching gaze. No matter how she looked, it was clearly not Olivia Blanchet.
Then…
The moment her eyes met her grandson’s hidden lover, Margaret was reminded of her late husband. The countless days she had charged in like this to raid a scene with him flashed before her eyes. That disgusting blood, she thought, had unfortunately seemed to have tainted her grandson’s blood as well.
Margaret Wellington sighed.
A Fateful Appointment
Kensington Park was quiet around dusk. Kayla walked into the park and sat on a bench in a secluded spot. She scattered pigeon feed into the air, and pigeons fluttered to her feet to peck at the crumbs. As they did, a man quietly approached and sat on a bench next to hers. He crossed his legs and unfolded the newspaper in his hand.
“I found her.” The man said in a low voice.
A sigh of relief made the cream-colored veil hanging from her wide-brimmed hat tremble slightly.
“Where was she?”
“She was at Winstone. The information came from the Grand Duchess Wellington’s maid, so it should be accurate.”
Margaret had stormed Winstone Manor but then left with nothing but a sigh of disappointment, returning to Lytton. She had sworn the staff to secrecy to save her grandson’s face, or more specifically, so that Miss Josephine would not hear of it. But the maid who accompanied her to the manor had talked to another maid who had stayed behind at the hotel, and that was how the information got out.
‘You have to find her and handle it. No matter what. Understood?’
The brown paper bag of pigeon feed crumpled in Kayla’s hand. She stared at the pigeons pecking at the feed, her heart sinking. The setting sun over the white pigeons was so peaceful.
“What should I do?” the man asked in a sinister voice.
‘I only have you by my side now, Kayla.’
Kayla squeezed her eyes shut. As a loyal subject and friend who had lived her whole life as Anne Blyn’s shadow, the answer she could give was predetermined.
“Please handle it quietly.”
Kayla slowly opened her eyes and spoke. Beyond her cream-colored veil, the world was now a swirling mix of deep purple and crimson. The colors were so gruesome, like blood slowly spreading on a white blanket, that Kayla trembled slightly.
A Final Warning
The day was heavily overcast.
It was the day of Anne Blyn Grace of Britte’s trial. All eyes were on Britte Palace and the Supreme Court building. The palace and the court were packed with citizens and reporters who had come out early in the morning to watch. It was an unprecedented event in the history of the Britte Kingdom.
People couldn’t help but pity the golden palace, which once overwhelmed the sun, and which today seemed to be sadly weeping in sorrow due to the scandal caused by a lowly bastard. Anne Blyn’s followers shed tears for their perfect princess.
Soon, beyond the firmly closed golden gate, a carriage appeared like a black dot at the end of the long driveway leading to the palace. The crowd murmured. The carriage, escorted by guards in red uniforms, sped straight toward the front. The huge gate’s wheels rolled along the rail, and the gate opened.
Under the somber, blue-gray sky, five black, unadorned carriages maintained an even distance as they sped through the crowd and down the empty main street. The royal guards followed closely behind. The sound of hooves shook the ground as the people of Britte, who believed in the princess’s innocence, began to chant Anne Blyn’s name.
Prosecutor Cassan Cloud’s message to start early to avoid traffic arrived just as Olivia’s preparations were being completed. Anne’s hands busily worked on Olivia’s hair. She loosely tied the hair, which had grown long enough to cover her shoulders, and secured it tightly with a hairnet, then carefully inserted small pearl pins.
“All done, Madam,” Anne said, stepping back after adjusting Olivia’s attire for the last time.
The wrinkle-free white collared shirt and dark gray, tidy suit added a sense of reliability and quiet sorrow to Olivia’s clear face.
“Thank you, Anne.”
The doorbell rang just as Olivia’s faint smile appeared. The private carriage she had reserved the day before seemed to have arrived. Olivia grabbed her handbag and went down the stairs with Anne, heading for the front door.
Her steps paused on the staircase when her eyes met the man standing by the carriage.
“…”
Olivia frowned. Johan Leopold was looking up at her with a cold expression. His already chilling appearance was accentuated by the scar on his face, which ran diagonally below his neatly combed platinum hair.
“I said I would go alone,” Olivia said, finishing the last two steps and stopping in front of Johan, stating her intent clearly once more.
“Get in.”
Olivia sighed quietly at the man’s unsurprising response.
“My carriage will be here soon.” Olivia said coldly, her gaze passing by Johan to look at the other side of the street.
“What makes you so sure that carriage will get you to your destination safely?”
Olivia, who had been staring blankly at the end of the street, slowly raised her head. His deep gray eyes looked down at her.
“Angela Burkin is dead.”
The shocking news, carried on the damp wind of a cloudy morning, echoed in Olivia’s ears.
