Chapter 5

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 5

Chapter Title: Remarriage Order

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Johann didn't particularly want a divorce.

His marriage partner could be anyone suitable. That was enough.

Even an illegitimate child born from a historic affair scandal—it didn't matter.

As long as it served as a shield to fend off the nagging from the family elders pushing marriage and the matchmakers in the marriage market, it was sufficient.

Moreover, his marriage to Olivia had brought him many benefits.

The deal with the Crown Prince was absolutely profitable.

Of course, his wife's pathological obsession was outside his calculations, but he could simply ignore it. Johann stood to lose nothing.

"Please divorce me..."

When Olivia uttered those words, she shone more brilliantly than the sun. Incredibly so.

What had he overlooked?

It pricked at his nerves like a thorn under his nail, yet he couldn't pinpoint the cause.

Johann pulled on the reins. The racehorse surged forward, its glossy black mane whipping in the wind.

Racing across the vast meadow, he shook off the lingering thoughts left by the sudden divorce.

After completing a lap around the riding course, Johann and the Crown Prince dismounted and headed to the club royal room for a rest.

"Feels good to get out, doesn't it."

The Crown Prince—Johann's cousin and same-age peer—brushed aside the servant's hand, poured brandy into a glass with ice, and slid it toward Johann. In response, Johann simply emptied the glass.

"It seems the former Duchess has completely lost interest now. You should have treated her better, Johann."

"Get to the point."

Johann stared straight at the Crown Prince.

"Time to bring in a new Duchess of Leopold, don't you think?"

"You madman."

Crown Prince Christian tilted the bottle into the empty glass, chuckling.

"The world's improved a lot. Be grateful you were born into such good times."

Christian swirled his own glass. The clear ice sparkled in the sunlight, tinkling crisply.

"The Archduchess of Krantz Archduchy. Marry her."

"You do it. Why me?"

Johann narrowed his eyes, fixing the Crown Prince with a stare.

"Low Field. I'll give it to you as a wedding gift. Come on, get married."

Christian was engaged to the princess of Agent. At this juncture, independence stirrings from Krantz Archduchy—vassal state of Rondos—had been detected.

From Rondos' viewpoint, they needed the Archduchess as a hostage. Regrettably, the only unmarried male of royal bloodline and marriageable age was Johann, divorced a mere three weeks prior.

"We can't foist Uncle Aidan on her."

There was a duke who had just turned fifty this year, but from the perspective of the now twenty-two-year-old Archduchess, a twenty-eight-year-old divorcee might suit better than a fifty-year-old bachelor. A truly selfish consideration.

"Why not remarry Her Majesty the Queen to the Archduke?"

"You bastard. Don't even say it."

Christian erupted in laughter amid curses. Once the mirth faded from his eyes, they drifted to the Queen's portrait hanging on the wall ahead.

"If Father heard that, he'd claw open his coffin lid and shove a revolver down the Krantz Archduke's throat."

Christian's sarcasm continued.

"The former Duchess seems to be shopping for a second husband too. Lancelot, of all people. Is she deliberately trying to spite you?"

"Shut up."

A fierce, untamed gaze stabbed briefly at Christian before vanishing.

"Ah! Scary. So scary."

Half of the glib remark was sincere.

Johann was one of the few around Christian who dropped all pretense.

He never hid his emotions. Christian preferred Johann—who bared his true nature transparently—over those who struck from behind with smiling faces.

"I've invited her to Catherine's birthday banquet. You just keep quiet and show your face. For the peace of Rondos!"

Christian raised his glass high with theatrical exaggeration. Then, shifting tone, he murmured lowly.

"It's an order."

Comically, at that instant, his ex-wife's voice echoed in Johann's mind.

'Please divorce me.'

The memory of that day—even its dry finality—surfaced without reason.

Words Olivia would never breathe, even if heaven and earth split asunder.

The glass in his tensed grip emptied in one gulp.

Wiping his lips slowly with his thumb, Johann quietly gazed at the vivid blue sash crossing the Queen's chest in the painting. The hue that called to mind his ex-wife's eyes.

Second husband... was it.

One photo from the report before leaving his office.

His wife, strolling a blooming tree-lined avenue with her maid—smiling.

Had she ever smiled like this before?

Johann had no recollection of Olivia Blanchett ever looking that way. Not once.

For the first time since meeting Olivia Blanchett, he gazed upon the woman in the photo and thought her beautiful. And pondered what could draw such a smile from his wife.

From the scant possibilities in that household, he excised the worst: Edgar Langcaster Lancelot. Anyone but Edgar for her second husband—it was none of his concern.

"Miss Blanchett has sent a reply declining the invitation."

"Is that so? What a shame."

Edgar nodded with a knowing smile. The suite room manager silently set the tray on the desk and withdrew.

A sheet of pale pink letter paper lay neatly atop the silver salver.

He knew the contents from the report, so he could toss it straight into the wastebin unopened.

Yet Edgar loosely gripped the paper knife.

Yesterday at the tennis court, he'd felt an odd anticipation toward her. That upright gaze meeting his so boldly—different from before—had planted a subtle hope she might accept.

An illusion, then.

The sharp blade glinted in the sunlight as it slid along. Edgar slit open the envelope and withdrew the contents. His eyes dropped to the page.

「Wishing eternal prosperity to Lancelot Hotel」

The stiff, formulaic prose politely refused the invitation, but Edgar couldn't hold back a burst of laughter.

In all the world, such adorably awful handwriting.

Each painstakingly pressed character brimmed with innocent charm.

"My goodness! Miss, it's eleven o'clock."

Anne cried out in alarm.

They were meant to have an early breakfast and depart the hotel, but somehow Olivia and Anne had turned into chronic oversleepers. Waking near noon, the pair faced each other amid the covers and giggled.

The two hurriedly readied themselves to go out. Finally, Anne fitted Olivia's hat, grabbed her parasol, and opened the door.

Olivia, peering at the Litton city map, took a few steps down the corridor—then bumped into someone.

"Ah! Sorry."

"No harm done."

The man tipped his hat slightly and knocked on the door of the adjacent room—the one next to Olivia's stay. A fellow she'd crossed paths with often since arriving.

Olivia headed for the elevator as the man entered his room, the inner door swinging open.

Outside, a sweet spring breeze set the bonnet ribbons—tied prettily beneath her chin—fluttering. Spring unveiled itself in full. Street trees sprouted tender green leaves, dangled violet petals, and lent even their fragrance to the wind.

"Glad we came out, Anne."

"Yes. Weather too fine to waste in a carriage."

They yearned to stroll lost in spring's allure, but romance yielded to hunger. Anne boarded the doorman's carriage and directed the coachman.

"To Grand Blue, please."

The carriage lurched into motion, swiftly gaining speed and departing Golden Avenue.

Rolling along the river road, it soon reached their destination.

The famed Mediterranean seafood restaurant gleamed white outside, its entrance door a brilliant blue. Inside, a tailcoated staffer with napkin draped over his arm greeted them warmly.

"A short wait, if that's alright?"

"How long?"

"Ten minutes tops."

"God is looking out for me."

Olivia smiled. Truth be told, she teetered on the brink of hunger-induced faint. At the guided seat, the bartender set a slender glass before her.

Sipping the aperitif, Olivia twisted to survey the scene. The bustling hall, alive with mingled noises, spread below.

The soaring-ceilinged space fronted vast glass panes framing the river; the terrace beyond—overlooking blue sea and stream—was packed solid.

Diners savored their meals with uniformly pleased expressions amid chatter.

Anticipation eased the wait's tedium. But spying the cluster of noblewomen at the terrace's left corner, Olivia and Anne both frowned.

"Miss, next time? That table looks like ours..."

Anne trailed off awkwardly.

The table two bustling staff cleared sat before the glass wall dividing terrace from hall—directly across from yesterday's hotel cafeteria noblewomen, through the transparent pane.

"Uncomfortable?"

"I'm fine..."

"Me too."

Olivia flipped open the menu with a playful quip.

"If they play friendly like yesterday, I'll make them foot the bill."

Anne's lips curved in a soft smile at the easy confidence. Not the old miss.

After brushing death's door—had her soul swapped with another's? Anne had entertained such absurd fancies watching Olivia sleep.

"Why?"

Olivia met Anne's gaze.

"If we're billing them, order the priciest stuff, Miss."

Olivia burst out laughing at Anne's bold vow.

The pair clinked glasses like a toast. Precisely then—as the chime rang—the entrance passage grew rowdy.

"That new Anglia staffer's a knockout."

"Pitiful fool. Worked up in broad daylight."

Men's chuckling voices drew near, revealing the arrivals. Olivia's eyes widened mid-champagne sip. The tennis court crew.

Unlike yesterday, the sharply dressed gentlemen entered to the veteran manager's startled dash.

"Marquis, you've arrived."

"It's been ages."

The tall central figure replied with a dashing smile. His hair—black as deepest night—stood out strikingly. Yesterday's victor.