Chapter 88
88. For the New Queen
2023.12.27.
"Don't come in!"
Princess Anne Boleyn shouted shrilly.
The hospital room door, about to open, paused, but then swung wide open. The person who appeared beyond the door was none other than Crown Prince Alex.
"Are you... alright?"
Princess Anne Boleyn, who had been glaring at Alex standing before her, turned her head away. The view outside the window was already pitch black.
A nightmare-like day that seemed like it would never end was passing.
So, let's come to my senses and think about tomorrow.
If I can't have him, neither can that woman. If I can't be happy, neither can that woman.
Just as she was resolving to repay them in the most cruel way possible, Alex ordered.
"I've contacted your aunt, so stay in Luxen for a while."
"......"
Only then did Princess Anne Boleyn look at Alex.
"What are you talking about? Why would I go there?"
"Edgar met with Chief Justice Carlos."
Chief Justice Carlos and Edgar's deal.
The information was obtained through an unidentified channel, but there was no room for doubt. A prelude to upheaval was felt.
"What does that have to do with me?"
Alex sighed deeply.
"They're trying to bring you to trial."
"......"
It was absurd.
"Lies."
Princess Anne Boleyn scowled and glared at her brother.
She would have been quicker to accept if he had told her to lie low for a while until the public opinion subsided, as the recent rumors were rife.
"Do you think I'll believe that?"
"That's not important, Anne. What's important is that Ed is serious."
"...Why me?"
Princess Anne Boleyn bit her thumbnail and asked back.
"Kidnapping, confinement of Olivia Blanchett, and Angela Birkin and Evangeline Seymour-."
"Stop!"
Princess Anne Boleyn shouted.
"Go to your aunt's."
"I am a princess of this country. Should I run away because I couldn't stop one bastard? No. I can't allow myself to be such a laughingstock."
Edgar wouldn't do that. He may be cold, but he wasn't a despicable man.
So, it must have been Olivia Blanchett, that bastard, who orchestrated this.
How much flattery and urging must she have used? The image was vivid in her mind.
Her reddish, bloodshot amber eyes were sharp, as if glaring at something.
The tips of her fingernails were tattered, but Princess Anne Boleyn continued to chew on them.
I won't let it go. Never.
"Don't do that, Anne."
Unable to watch any longer, Alex grabbed his sister's wrist. Princess Anne Boleyn fiercely slapped away her brother's hand.
She didn't hear anything. The scene she had seen in the newspaper was spinning around in her head.
The face of the woman who was hugging Edgar with a happy expression, as if she had everything in the world.
I won't be unhappy alone.
"Stop them."
That woman, and Edgar, can never be happy.
"You have to stop them, no matter what."
Red blood began to seep from the flesh at the tips of Princess Anne Boleyn's fingers. Alex silently clenched his jaw and nodded.
He couldn't bring himself to say harsh words because he felt sorry for the child he and his father had raised poorly.
\\
Olivia Blanchett, who was called the brazen femme fatale, received a congratulatory message from Queen Katrina of Rondos, along with the title of White Wolf Roaming the Grass.
It was as if Olivia's heyday had arrived.
Anne proudly watched Olivia waving to the people from behind the balcony.
Olivia was standing on the balcony of the Dumblin Club, surrounded by lush greenery.
Following the tradition of the tournament, she attended the balcony event with the men's singles winner, holding a large golden trophy and lightly waving to the crowd.
Brilliant lights flashed from all directions, and people shouted Olivia's name.
Anne was filled with indescribable emotions. The young lady who had been withering away had become a dazzling sun.
Are you happy, Miss Elena?
Anne thought of Olivia's mother, who must be looking down from heaven.
She grew up beautifully, didn't she? Our young lady.
Olivia, wearing a dazzling white dress, was pure and beautiful.
At least more beautiful than Princess Anne Boleyn. Anne had put her life on the line to dress Olivia with all her heart. Naturally, the result was satisfying.
Like sunlight falling on a white snowfield, Olivia sparkled beautifully today.
Anne's eyes grew inexplicably hot, and she wiped the moistness from her eyes with the back of her hand.
Still unable to calm down, she fanned her hot eyes. Even so, her gaze did not leave Olivia.
By the way, why is Marquis Lancelot so late?
Anne occasionally looked around, searching for Edgar.
Olivia, standing in the center of the balcony, froze in front of the crowd she had never encountered before.
She barely moved her trembling gaze slowly, staring at the crowd chanting her name.
Once a symbol of disgrace, now the newly born queen of tennis. Like the gap between them, people's interest was fervent.
Olivia raised the golden trophy she held in both hands above her head.
It was a little heavy, but not unbearable.
At the same time as the camera flashes, the sound of cheers shaking the sky and the earth echoed her name once again, reverberating into the vast sky.
For the new queen!
Olivia raised her head at the deafening cheers.
The precious victory, won solely by her own strength in an unfamiliar world, shattered in the transparent sunlight of the summer morning, shining gloriously.
Olivia's heart fluttered like a small boat navigating the waves in a rough storm.
With slightly heated eyes, she looked down at the balcony below.
The sound of powerful beats seemed to be heard in her ears along with the cheers of the people.
The blue grass court that had heated up the midsummer, the bright blue sky, and the white wave of the audience seats.
Olivia kissed the trophy.
Once again, the ear-splitting cheers and the incessant flashes of light shook Dumblin, the mecca of tennis.
\\
After the balcony event, Olivia took commemorative photos with Taylor Prairie, the men's singles winner.
The two straightened their clothes while listening to the staff's explanation that the photos would be displayed at the Dumbleton Cricket & Tennis Club, the stadium, and the Tennis Museum.
Soon, the photo shoot began.
Olivia, who was changing her pose at the photographer's request, suddenly staggered. Taylor quickly caught her.
"Ah! Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Whenever they moved to a new location, Taylor willingly offered his arm to Olivia, who had difficulty walking.
He was a thorough gentleman who valued chivalry above all else, even before being a great tennis player.
Having faced the protagonist of the issue so closely, Taylor had to admit that he had preconceived notions about the brazen femme fatale.
In addition, Olivia Blanchett nicely shattered his theory that arms and legs had to be as burly as those of a horse in order to use strength.
Along with the view that endurance is proportional to the circumference of the thigh muscles.
"It was a really impressive game. Every time."
He spoke while the camera reporter was changing the position of the tripod.
"Did you see it?"
Olivia asked, her face brightening. Her bright blue eyes shone clearly. Feeling embarrassed by her delighted expression, he stammered and changed the subject.
"Ah, well, somehow. But why haven't you participated in the games until now?"
"That's..."
Olivia's expression became troubled. It was not a gentleman's duty to put a lady in a difficult situation.
Moreover, it seemed like it had become too personal a question, and he was about to change the subject when he opened his mouth awkwardly.
"Okay! Last one. Look here and smile brightly, yes. Very good. You two. A little closer. Yes. Good."
The photographer asked for the last pose.
"One more time."
The two held the golden trophy in both hands and smiled victoriously at the camera lens.
Flash! Smoke rose at the same time as the light flashed.
"Okay! Everyone worked hard."
This was his third time. He had no doubt that he would be taking a commemorative photo with Princess Anne Boleyn again this year. It was nothing short of the truth.
"...Are you coming to the party tonight with Marquis Lancelot?"
The story that he would never have dared to bring up if the other person was a princess flowed out smoothly.
It was the bravado caused by the absence of Marquis Lancelot.
Taylor, embarrassed by his own actions, rattled on whatever came to mind.
"Ah! I didn't mean to ask you a difficult question. I'm just planning to attend alone. If Marquis Lancelot has important business and commits a discourtesy. Then please give me the honor of being with Blanchett..."
It was then that Taylor was rambling on with some sincerity.
"Olivia."
A neat bass voice called her. Olivia turned her head.
"Ed!"
Her clear voice rose sharply at once.
Taylor's expectations soared like waves crashing on the gunwale, but at that moment, they collapsed.
He had vowed not to wait, but he couldn't help but wait.
Her waiting was finally properly rewarded.
Olivia looked at the man who was closing the distance towards her with a flushed face.
Edgar, dressed in a white suit like her, stopped in front of her. He smelled of refreshing skin.
"I'm sorry I'm late."
He said, tilting his head slightly and making eye contact with Olivia.
Her mind was at ease only when her eyes, resembling the sky after the rain, were filled with her.
"Is your foot okay?"
"It's much better."
Edgar's gaze slid down to the tip of Olivia's foot.
Only the pearl-colored shoe toe was slightly visible from the left foot hidden in the skirt.
"Can you stay like this a little longer?"
Edgar's soft voice had the power to make her say an inevitable yes. Olivia nodded with a smiling face.
"I want to take a picture with her."
"......"
Edgar looked into Olivia's eyes and asked the photographer.
"Is it possible?"
"O-of course."
The photographer quickly gestured to his assistant. Film! Film! The assistant, reading the photographer's lip movements, ran out of the Hall of Honors.
"A photo...?"
Olivia asked with a bewildered expression.
