Chapter 65

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 65

Chapter Title: Wrong Wish

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Today was the day of Princess Annblin's second-round qualifier match. The stands were already packed, a testament to the princess's popularity.

Olivia arrived at the stadium with Elaine.

As spectators, not players.

'Come with me tomorrow.'

That night, strolling hand in hand along the river embroidered with starlight, his warm, large hand hadn't let go even after reaching her home.

Not until he pulled the tickets from his chest pocket.

'No. That would be too sneaky.'

She didn't want to stoop to the princess's level.

Besides, to gauge her true skills properly, it was better if the princess stayed focused on the match.

"Something good happen yesterday?"

Elaine asked with a mischievous grin.

"Oh, nothing at all."

"Since when?"

"I said really, nothing."

Edgar's breath had brushed her ear like a whisper of wind.

"Then why's your face so red?"

"Elaine!"

Elaine burst into laughter. Mortified, Olivia buried her face in her hands and bowed her head.

That was when Princess Annblin stepped onto the court.

Her calm stride across the green grass made her look like a swan gliding along.

The buzzing crowd fell silent all at once.

Olivia's eyes met those of Annblin, dressed in her pristine white tennis dress. The princess offered a relaxed smile.

"She came last year too, but she really is amazing."

"Yeah."

Olivia nodded vaguely in response to Elaine, her gaze fixed on the princess's outfit.

Annblin gave Olivia a brief glance.

She had no intention of going all out in a match she was destined to win anyway. Especially not if it meant letting Olivia Blanchett drop her guard.

Annblin warmed up lightly.

Her fingertips and toes moved with the elegant grace of a ballerina.

"How can she be so enchantingly seductive? You can't fake something like that."

The noblewomen seated around Olivia said it loud enough for all to hear, their envy plain.

With every swing of her arms, the white organdy frills—barely covering her shoulders—fluttered like butterfly wings.

The flare skirt falling to her shins allowed full freedom of movement while evoking a ballerina's tutu in its elegance.

It was the exact design Madam Lauren had shown Olivia that day, bowing her head.

If she'd worn the same outfit without thinking...

The mere thought horrified her, and Olivia shook her head.

The referee signaled the start of the match.

Annblin, with the serve, gripped the ball and steadied her breath. Just as she was about to toss it high into the air—

Ed?

She could scarcely believe her eyes.

A man in a white suit, per Dumblin tournament viewing rules, was descending the aisle stairs with languid poise.

Hands tucked casually in his pockets.

He looked just like he had last year, when he'd come to watch her match.

Arrogant, bored, blindingly beautiful. No—even more vividly stunning than that day.

His crooked smile and gaze directed her way pierced like a blade.

Her hand trembled on the racket grip. An uncontrollable hatred surged over her like a wave.

Her amber eyes, darkened with rage, quivered.

The puzzled crowd's eyes naturally followed the princess's stare.

Elaine and Olivia turned their heads late as well.

Is he insane?

Olivia was aghast.

Drawing every eye in the stadium was Edgar Langcaster Lancelot, the princess's ex-lover, approaching.

Toward Olivia Blanchett.

Did he have to be this cruel?

All she had wished was for their ending to be beautiful. Was that such a wrong wish?

Annblin's gaze on Edgar turned cold and still.

She had lived a life where everything was laid at her feet from birth, never truly desiring anything.

Except for one man: Edgar.

Edgar sat beside Olivia as if it were the most natural thing. He crossed his long legs, tilted his head toward her, and smiled.

If it weren't for that woman, things wouldn't have fallen apart like this.

We might not love each other like before, but we wouldn't hate and hurt each other either.

All because of that one woman.

You abandoned me.

Her hand shook on the racket.

Annblin, who always maintained elegance and composure no matter the situation, couldn't keep her cool now.

Her pale face flushed red with fury.

The stadium murmured.

My goodness!

The crowd alternated shocked and pitying glances between the tragic princess and the shameless couple.

This year's Dumblin Championship was truly the best. Honestly, the love triangle drama was far more thrilling than the princess's usual surefire wins.

"Never thought I'd see something like this in my lifetime."

"First time the ticket price feels worth it."

People clicked their tongues and gossiped busily.

This was no different from the princess bringing her ex-husband's fiancée to Olivia Blanchett's match, and the Lancelot marquis bringing his new lover to his ex-lover's match.

What better spectacle could there be?

People fidgeted, itching to rush off and spread the gossip.

"Why did you come here?"

The flustered Olivia shot him a quiet glare.

"Seemed like a decent first date spot. Don't like it?"

"Yes."

Her short, firm reply made Edgar burst out laughing.

He barely suppressed the urge to kiss her pretty glare.

It wouldn't matter if he did, but she'd hate it. So he held back. He didn't want her to hate him.

Edgar simply gazed at his woman and smiled.

Was he always a man who smiled like that?

His eyes curved attractively in a bright smile.

Flames roared in Annblin's eyes.

At that moment—thwack! A powerful strike echoed across the court.

The stands held their collective breath.

Edgar turned his head from Olivia. His eyes met Annblin's.

The ball, flying straight at him as if aimed at Edgar, sailed harmlessly past the baseline.

But it was a clear warning.

Don't look at that woman like that.

Edgar smirked. His gaze returned to Olivia.

Annblin began to falter.

"Love, fifteen."

Annblin had lost the point.

"Stop looking. Please."

Olivia whispered softly.

"You wouldn't mind if I looked at another woman?"

"......"

Edgar crooked one corner of his mouth smugly.

An eye for an eye.

A tooth for a tooth.

Edgar smiled silently.

That day, the princess played her worst match since taking up tennis, but there was no upset.

Victory was Annblin's, as always.

It was an unchangeable truth, like the sun rising in the east and setting in the west.

Evangeline Seymour peered into the vial of clear liquid, the size of her ring finger.

Under the gas lamp's glow, it shimmered crimson.

For the goal, no means were off-limits.

That was the spirit of the Seymour family, rising from mere merchants to magnates.

Having lost repeatedly to Sara Pavlova, Evangeline had to admit she could never beat Olivia Blanchett on skill alone.

Regrettable, but true.

"This it?"

"Yes, miss."

The maid placed a water bottle from Halo Department Store on the table.

The exact same model Olivia Blanchett used.

Evangeline rose with a click of her heels and approached the vanity.

She opened the bottom drawer, retrieved a black velvet pouch, and handed it back to the maid—containing a gold ingot.

"If you succeed tomorrow, I'll give you another one just like it."

The maid snatched it greedily, not hiding her avarice.

"Just trust me, miss."

The maid's smile was sinister.

The plan was to spike Olivia's drinking water.

It was the strongest sedative, the kind used in asylums to subdue patients in large doses—somewhat risky.

Sudden drowsiness, irregular heartbeat, spiking blood pressure, dizziness.

She wouldn't die, but the match would be a utter disaster, enough to make her wish for death.

"Go on."

"Thank you, miss."

As the bowing maid slipped out of the bedroom, Evangeline snuggled into her cozy bed and giggled.

Excitement was already building.

This was her chance to scale the insurmountable wall.

To stand alongside Britt's noblest princess as one of the royal elite.

Ah! Ecstasy!

That night, Evangeline drifted to sleep with sweet dreams.

It was around dawn. Johann stepped down from his carriage and entered Rondos Palace.

His strides were impeccably precise and disciplined, belying the overnight train from Le Mont station.

The impulsive trip to Litton had been derailed, and he'd been virtually dragged here instead. His mood was foul.

Yet the queen's office was an ice field in its own right.

"I've been waiting."

The queen spoke as Johann Leopold approached. He bowed politely and took a seat.

Queen Katrina stared straight ahead in heavy silence.

Beneath her neatly pinned golden hair, her straight brows twitched faintly.

Her sunken eyes after just one night spelled trouble.

"What is it, Your Majesty?"

Her red-painted lips quivered. She closed her eyes slowly, then opened them, speaking gravely.

"......Chris...... had a falling accident."

Her knuckles whitened over her clasped hands, lowered naturally.

"......Still unconscious."

Though the crown prince was a rogue, he was Katrina's most cherished child, her sorest finger.

Johann silently swept a hand over his face, covering his sharp eyes.

Exhaustion crashed over him.

"We should summon Mikhail."

"Contact's been made."

Johann nodded curtly.

"From today, I need you to step up."

"Your Majesty."

Johann's voice rumbled deeply as he eyed the queen, suddenly gaunt and haggard.

"I've done my duty as a royal more than enough, I believe."

Katrina looked across at her nephew.