Chapter 71
Chapter 71. The Jilted Men
2023.12.10.
The soundless sobbing movements in the afternoon darkness gradually subsided.
A brief silence fell.
Yohan twisted his wrist to check his watch. Just as he was starting to get irritated by the meaninglessly flowing time, Christian broke the silence.
"I should call off the engagement. We're not some tearfully devoted couple anyway—who would want to live with a cripple? Soon enough, he'll just be a useless cripple, not even a Crown Prince anymore."
Christian, his face wet, snickered and snatched up the slender neck of a liquor bottle.
His life was over here. Who could have known he'd end up like this from falling off a horse?
Alcohol was the only thing that let him forget, even briefly, the horrific nightmare too terrible to endure sober.
"I'll deliver the message like that."
"Aren't you going to offer any comfort?"
Christian sneered, tilting the bottle and taking a sip of brandy.
"Do you want me to?"
"Get lost."
Yohan turned away without a second thought.
From behind his back as he crossed the dim bedroom came a strange sound, like laughter or perhaps crying, but he decided to ignore it.
There was no comfort to offer for a self-inflicted outcome.
He was just filled with a bitter sense of futility over the reality of being held hostage here against his will.
As Yohan crossed the bedroom with long strides, opened the door, and stepped out, Princess Krantz was standing before him.
Yohan stared at the Princess and closed the door behind him.
Irene, who had been looking down, raised her eyes to look at Yohan.
"……Thank you."
"For what."
"For persuading Her Majesty."
Yohan gave a short nod.
"And."
Irene bit her red lip as if struggling to speak. Yohan waited quietly, watching her.
"……I'm sorry. That day, I mean, the engagement ceremony day."
"Not particularly."
Yohan curtly cut off Irene's words.
"Well then."
Yohan bowed politely and left without a trace of lingering attachment. The sound of the man's footsteps echoing in the corridor was resolute.
Watching the man's retreating back, Irene smiled a bitter smile.
'Please grant me permission to break off the engagement with Duke Leopold.'
That was what Irene had pleaded when she had a private audience with the Queen before coming here.
'It seems you look down on my son now that he's in that state.'
'Nevertheless, I am sincerely in love.'
'You're asking me to do as you wish, then. Yohan, that boy. I don't know if this engagement cancellation he pushed through at considerable cost is for your sake or someone else's. You might be making a mistake right now.'
'I believe my mistake was getting engaged to him in the first place.'
Queen Katrina rescinded her command.
She didn't know what sacrifice Yohan had made, but for her, she had gained her freedom with absurd ease.
Pulling her gaze from the empty corridor, Irene looked at the firmly closed massive door. Sobbing could be heard.
You're getting what you deserve. You…….
She thought she would be happy if the man who abandoned her lived in pain for the rest of his life.
Irene bit her lip hard to keep the tears at bay.
Taking a slow, deep breath, Irene raised her arm. The sound of knocking echoed through the corridor, rising above the crying from beyond the door.
\\
The news of the broken engagement between Yohan Leopold and Princess Krantz competed for front-page headlines, seesawing back and forth with the news of Crown Prince Christian and Princess Argent's broken engagement, keeping the papers heated day after day.
"My goodness, what is happening all at once?"
The sudden news of the two royal engagements collapsing shook the entire nation.
Especially Yohan's broken engagement became the talk of the town even in Brit, where his ex-wife was currently very active.
"Perhaps… does Duke Leopold have some unspeakable problem?"
Divorce followed by a broken engagement. Someone cautiously voiced such an opinion.
But no matter what anyone said, the most surprised person was Olivia, she herself.
"What are you thinking about?"
"……Huh?"
Olivia reacted belatedly to Edgar's question.
"I asked what you're thinking about."
Edgar's head tilted slightly as he gazed at Olivia.
Seeing Edgar's face with its faint smile made her feel sorry for being lost in thought.
"It's nothing."
Olivia parted her stuck-together lips and spoke with a light laugh.
It was a rare meal for just the two of them.
At Grand Bleu, to celebrate making it to the finals. A place meaningful in its own way, where Olivia and Edgar had first formally introduced themselves to each other.
"I wish you'd focus on me."
Edgar looked at Olivia with a gentle gaze and lifted the corners of his lips.
Who wouldn't feel their heart flutter looking into those mysterious grayish-blue eyes, like the sea reflected in a cloudy sky?
Every time their eyes met, Olivia rationalized her own ticklish, fluttering heart.
"Tell me what you'd like to eat."
He said, indicating the menu spread before Olivia with his eyes.
"Whatever you're having is fine."
Edgar smiled and gave a light nod. Then he relayed the order to the waiting staff.
Meanwhile, Olivia let her gaze drift beyond the large glass window.
The entirely blue sea, Grand Bleu in the literal sense of the word, was spread out before her eyes.
The wind that had passed over the silvery, shimmering water surface made her hair tickle the nape of her neck.
"Does it bother you?"
"Huh?"
Olivia, who had been sweeping her hair behind her ear, looked at Edgar. Before she knew it, they were alone in the private room.
"Yohan calling off his engagement."
"Ah!"
Olivia let out a short sigh.
Had Yohan not properly explained the events of that day? He was an indifferent man, so it was possible, she thought.
Did he really break off the engagement for that reason? It was only natural she was curious.
"I'm worried Princess Krantz might be misunderstanding. About that day's events."
The blue eyes that had briefly met hers turned toward the sea. His deepened gaze seemed to be wandering somewhere far away.
What is he looking at?
Who is he thinking of?
Edgar had been a fairly generous boyfriend until now, but for some reason, he couldn't feel at ease when it came to Olivia.
Especially at this point, with Yohan having broken off his engagement, it was even harder to feel relaxed.
"So then, that day. What did you do with Yohan?"
Her gaze, finally leaving the window, looked at him. Her snow-white cheeks were flushed red. She seemed to radiate a sweetness like a ripe apple.
"Obviously, we talked."
"There are many ways to have a conversation. Depending on the time and place."
"Is that so? Then what method do you prefer?"
Edgar chuckled. Her struggling not to lose, with a face as red as a drunkard's, was utterly endearing.
"Do you want to know?"
He laughed silently. The white summer sunlight streaming through his black hair caught at the corner of the man's lips. It was sensual.
"Ah, no. I don't want to know."
It was a lie. In truth, she wondered what it would feel like to connect with him more deeply.
She was curious about that unknown world. She wanted to know. But at least not in front of a perfectly cooked lobster.
Edgar's laughter scattered in the clear sunlight. Just then, the staff brought the food.
"Eat up."
Even in his voice saying that, a hint of laughter could still be felt.
Tilting his head sideways, Edgar slowly scanned her face.
With her chestnut hair fluttering in the wind and a light blue headband, she looked much younger than her age.
The gift he'd impulsively bought for her after spotting it on a business trip suited her perfectly.
Stopping the hand moving her cutlery, Olivia raised her head.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Because you're beautiful."
Her blue eyes, of a higher chroma than the satin headband, curved like a crescent moon. It was mesmerizing.
Put Annabelle Grace Brata on trial.
Of course, the royal family wouldn't hand her over. But he had decided, for the first time in the Lancelot family's history, to make an enemy of the royal family.
Because she wanted it.
He decided to think only of Olivia.
"Is the food to your liking?"
"Yes."
She smiled. That was enough.
It was when they finished their perfect meal, including dessert, and were leaving Grand Bleu.
Edgar, who had lightly placed a hand on Olivia's back and was walking toward the carriage, suddenly stopped in his tracks.
"……."
His gaze, directed toward the sidewalk across the street, turned cold and heavy.
"Edgar?"
Olivia looked up at him as if asking what was wrong.
"It's nothing. Let's get in."
Edgar, having composed his expression, politely opened the carriage door. As Olivia got in, his gaze returned straight ahead.
The photographer he had bribed to fabricate the scandal on the night of the Rose Ball was leaning against a lamppost, tipping his hat up and down in a secretive greeting.
It was an unwelcome appearance, barely a month after he'd taken the hush money.
\\
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going to practice."
Cecil shot back sharply. The guard standing watch in front of the Princess's chambers stepped aside and bowed with perfect posture.
As Annabelle moved, one of the guards followed at an appropriate distance.
"This is truly too much."
Cecil, utterly heartbroken and dismayed, frowned and lamented as if her world had collapsed. Her voice was full of genuine feeling.
Could it be Cecil?
In Annabelle's mind, as she walked looking straight ahead with emotionless eyes, sprouts of suspicion were branching out in multiple directions.
The maid who had been wiping the large golden frame of a wall-hung painting with a dry towel stopped her movements, clasped her hands, and bowed her head.
Could it be that maid?
Who leaked the meeting with Evangeline Seymour?
Who is colluding with Duke Yohan Edinburgh Leopold?
Annabelle suppressed a sigh mixed with anger.
Should she fire them all and hire new people? It wouldn't be difficult.
But even if she did, if a rat slipped into that new group, the situation would be the same. It was suffocating.
A gloomy aura fell through the wide corridor's windows. The sky, cloudy as if rain was coming, was entirely ash-gray.
Even as she crossed the rear garden, the people she noticed didn't seem trustworthy. They all seemed like informants, spies, and traitors.
"You're here?"
Kyla, who had been chatting with her coach under a white parasol, put down the newspaper she was holding and stood up.
"You've arrived."
The coach, who had also risen, bowed respectfully.
Born as the second son of an insignificant baron, he was a tennis player who had dominated an era by winning the Dumblin Championship three years in a row.
Surely it couldn't be this man?
