Chapter 126
Boarding
The atmosphere at the Britt Palace was tense, like thin ice, from the early morning.
Crown Prince Alex, sharper and more irritable than ever before, pushed open the King’s study door himself.
“Your Majesty!”
It happened in a flash, before the guards at the door could stop him.
The chamberlain who had been following after him and the officials inside conducting affairs of state were so startled they froze on the spot.
King William IV of Britt slowly lifted his head from the documents he had been reviewing.
“Has a war broken out?”
The grave voice cut through the heavy air. But Alex paid no mind.
“Everyone, leave us.”
Though he had barged in like a rogue, Alex still showed proper respect to the King and then, locking eyes with his father, dismissed the others.
The officials, bewildered by the Crown Prince’s threatening demeanor—so unlike his usual courteous and gentle nature—hurriedly gathered their papers, bowed, and withdrew.
William glared at his son.
The crackling of the fireplace embers was the only sound in the tense silence.
“Why did you do it?”
“What do you mean?”
William twisted his lips—so like Alex’s own—while keeping his eyes on the papers he held along with a golden fountain pen. The gesture meant: keep it brief.
“Last night’s act was reckless. Why did you do it?”
Alex’s voice carried exhaustion. He knew his father would never stay still. That was why he had quietly observed the situation.
His father, having lost reason, had crossed the line. At the very least, Duke Leopold should never have been touched.
Alex had spent the night cleaning up the aftermath.
“After what he did to Anne, if he thought he could just walk away alive and leave Britt, then he must have thought me a fool. Don’t you agree?”
How worthless must Britt have seemed, if a foreign bastard dared, on Britt’s soil, to stand hand in hand with his ex-husband and drag this nation’s princess into court? Unthinkable.
William set down his fountain pen and opened a cigar box.
“It was you and I who raised Anne to be as she is. Don’t shift the blame elsewhere. That’s cowardice.”
A fierce glare shot across the room.
“She is the child of the King of Britt. There is nothing she cannot do on this land.”
“Father!”
Alex let out a deep sigh. His father seemed like a castaway, drifting aimlessly while the world around them was in upheaval.
William lit the end of a cigar. The match flared briefly and went out.
Watching, Alex sighed heavily—as though he were seeing the bleak future of the royal house itself.
“Duke Leopold is royalty. He is Queen Rondos’s nephew, and eighth in line to the throne. Your Majesty has now handed her the justification to strike Britt. Do you not see that?”
“Does that Rondos woman look like she’s in any position to play at war?”
William sneered through a cloud of smoke.
“She doesn’t have the strength to start a war. Not with the Hesse civil war, not with the clashes in the Indian peninsula. And now, on top of that, to avenge her nephew? Impossible. Katrina doesn’t have the nerve.”
It had been an emotional act of revenge, but not entirely without calculation. That was why William had dared. Yet his failure to clean up the mess, leaving festering trouble behind, was regrettable.
“Lady Wellington is of the Argent royal family.”
Alex’s eyes gleamed coldly.
“So you had better pray the Duke wakes up. And from now on, do nothing further.”
“I am still the King of this country.”
Alex leaned forward across the desk, both hands pressing down on its surface. A deep shadow fell over William’s head.
“Soon it will be my country.”
“You—”
William’s face twisted with fury.
“And then it will be my child’s country.”
“……”
“Father. The world is changing. The throne will not last forever.”
“……”
“When the final moment comes, I want you to step down with honor. That is the only way that I, my child, and your descendants can live with dignity in this land.”
The cigar between William’s fingers burned steadily away, sending up a thin stream of smoke.
“Anne is not your only child. For my sake—for the sake of the crown prince soon to be born—regain your reason, Your Majesty.”
Alex bowed deeply. He had finished his heartfelt plea—not to the King of Britt, but to his father. Then he left the study. William silently watched his son’s back vanish beyond the door.
Only then did William take a puff of the cigar that had been burning idly. A heavy sense of loss swept over him. The crown on his head felt as powerless as the fleeting smoke.
He opened a desk drawer. From it, he drew a letter, its seal already broken. Ink had smudged across the page in several places, but one line stood out with painful clarity:
“If you love me, show me. Kill that lowborn bastard for me. Father.”
The waning of an era felt unbearably sorrowful.
After staring at it for some time, the King of Britt rose, letter in hand. With steps as heavy as the years he had lived, he stood before the fireplace and tossed it into the flames.
He did not look away until the letter had completely turned to ash.
The reissue of the documents was handled swiftly. Through his legal representative, Edgar wrapped up the proceedings.
Olivia, who had stayed three days at a townhouse on Royal Park Street while waiting for a ship to Nostia, was finally departing.
The doorbell rang at the appointed hour.
Morris, upon entering, asked for a brief word.
The two sat by a window overlooking Royal Park. The autumn-colored park stretched out peaceful and beautiful.
“Would you consider staying here, at least until the Representative wakes?”
Morris’s voice carried a careful plea.
“No. I think it’s better if I don’t.”
“……He will look for you.”
‘Olivia.’
Even after the carriage accident, when Johann regained consciousness, the first person he asked for was her.
Morris didn’t want to see him disappointed again. If anything, it might be better if he simply forgot all about his divorced wife.
Olivia’s gaze drifted far out the window.
Morris watched her in silence for a while before breaking it.
“Because of you, Madam……”
The wrong form of address slipped out, but Morris chose not to correct it.
“You crossed the sea from LeMont Port in the middle of a typhoon.”
“……”
“You nearly died in the overturned carriage. And when you finally regained consciousness, the first person you asked for was Madam.”
If Johann ever woke to learn this, he might try to kill him. But Morris pressed on.
“The doctor insisted he must rest, but……he watched the finals. In the end.”
“……”
Olivia’s eyes widened, trembling violently.
That moment before the entire crowd—when she kissed Edgar. He had seen it. All of it.
The night it rained, when they had met unexpectedly by the Vichen River—it had not been a coincidence.
She suddenly recalled his figure, soaked and ruined, standing there in the rain.
‘How did you get hurt?’
‘I was careless.’
His indifferent, flat tone echoed in her ears.
Olivia clenched her hands tightly in her lap. Her heart pounded against her chest.
Perhaps the moment she had spoken of divorce, the “original story” had already begun to unravel.
Otherwise, how could one explain Johann Leopold’s actions? A man who had never once loved his wife.
“I will make sure Lady Wellington never learns of this. Please, stay here. Madam.”
Olivia, lost in thought, finally turned her eyes back to Morris.
“……I’m sorry, Mr. Morris.”
That was the only conclusion she could come to after much torment.
She had to leave—before she lost the ability to do so.
Olivia steadied the ripple of emotions in her heart.
Soon after, she and Anne boarded the carriage Morris had prepared. With guards in tow, it departed for LeMont Port.
Morris stood watching as the carriage disappeared into the morning sunlight, then spurred his horse forward.
He rode swiftly toward Britt Royal Hospital, praying with all his heart that Johann had regained consciousness.
On the deck of the passenger ship bound for Nostia, Olivia paused and looked back.
Below her stretched the bustling, lively port under the autumn afternoon sun. Over the cries of seabirds, she heard it again—bang—a gunshot echoing sharply in her ears like a phantom. Her heart ached as if pierced straight through.
“Wait for me.”
The now-familiar voice of a man carried to her on the wind.
Farewell, Johann.
When she had first arrived in Britt, she had admired the beauty of the sunset-soaked city from the ship. Now, it held no color at all.
Olivia turned away from the indifferent scene.
May you find happiness.
Bathed in the gentle autumn light, a quiet smile spread across her face.
