Edgar hadn’t seen it in a long time:
The merciless chill creeping into someone’s gaze—once it cut him to the bone. There was a time when that look filled him with fear. When he longed to be seen, to be valued, to be loved.
As his head thickened and he learned of his mother’s disgrace, Edgar, too, came to despise her.
His own cruelty—so much like hers. That ugly blood coursing through his veins.
After that, his resentment toward his father vanished. Feeling a faint sympathy—as a fellow man.
Without expression, Edgar faced his father.
His raven-black hair, his frame, every detail—so much in common.
Yet in his father’s eyes, Edgar saw something else: contempt, as if looking at his wife.
“Finish this.”
That voice no longer scared him.
“…at the right moment.”
The woman meant to be used and discarded.
“I will deal with her… in due time.”
Now he had someone worth protecting—before his father even dared touch her.
Edgar gave a short, resolute nod and turned, with no regrets.
The Duke watched Edgar’s retreating form with dark, sinking eyes.
“Let’s have dinner together, like old times.”
The heavy footsteps halted. Edgar slowly turned around.
Such a craven move—no insult could do it justice. He’d known it was coming when summoned early this morning.
“Father—Your Grace, or… the Crown Prince?”
A faint edge of hostility slipped into Edgar’s restrained voice.
“Asking your child to dine with you needs no reason, apparently.”
“Well done raising me so.”
Edgar bowed politely and exited the study.
“Have something later.”
Striding down the long hallway, Edgar put on his gloves and replied to the butler.
“No—I’ll leave right away.”
Fastening the final button on his leather glove, he glanced at his wristwatch.
He almost laughed at the absurd ploy to delay him.
“Saddle Darkstar.”
“You won’t ride the carriage?”
Butler Gerald asked, taken aback.
It was 9:45 a.m.—an hour and a half to the final. Time would be tight, even on horseback.
“Gerald will take the carriage.”
“Prepare my speech then.”
The butler hurried ahead, while Edgar smiled quietly to himself:
“Let’s be decisive.”
Gerald’s frown told Edgar he’d seen through his ruse—but Edgar didn’t care.
When they reached the entrance, grooms were ready with reins.
He stroked Darkstar’s muzzle. The steed, sensitive as ever, pawed the ground in excitement.
“Ready to show off, boy?”
The horse tossed its black mane like a comet in full gallop.
Edgar vaulted into the saddle. Gerald followed suit.
Darkstar quivered in desire to run, slapping the ground with eager hooves.
Edgar nodded to the staff and drew the reins. The big iron gates swung open.
In the morning sunlight, the sleek black steed tore toward Dumblin.
According to tournament tradition, the Crown Prince and Princess entered the center court for the final.
The crowd rose in unison, camera flashes lighting the tiers in smoky bursts.
Alex and Louise, resplendent in white dress and suit, waved and seated themselves.
“How’s your knee?”
Prince Alex greeted his cousin Henry McDowell.
“An old man’s knee—it’s fair. Belated congratulations to you both.”
They spoke quietly about everyday things, mainly the royal baby due next year.
Under Salic law—unlike in Rhondos—Britte forbade female succession, making the gender of the heir a hot topic.
“But… where’s that young Marquess?”
Henry glanced along the VIP entrance. He’d expected Edgar to be there—like always.
Alex’s gaze followed: the seat remained empty.
I hope my sister doesn’t notice…
Fifteen thousand fans filled the stadium—once desolate, now vibrantly alive.
Olivia Blanchett had ended the darkness of women’s tennis—just as Edgar predicted.
Alex’s bitterness surged at the thought that it was his sister leading the charge.
A sudden hush fell.
All eyes shifted to the players’ entrance.
Flash!, a photographer’s impatient lens lit the scene.
In dazzling white, Princess Anblin and Olivia Blanchett emerged.
Cheers and applause echoed under a sky dappled with wispy clouds and floating balloons shaped like crossed rackets and laurels.
“You’ve got nerve.”
“I wonder if that ghost scandal broke her relationship with the Marquess?”
The ladies whispered nearby, their eyes flicking to the still-empty VIP box.
“How shameless. Two-timed by a commoner.”
“I trust the princess will put her firmly in her place today.”
They exchanged cruel comments behind fans and fluttered gossip.
Olivia stood frozen, overwhelmed by the spectacle.
Breathing deeply, she looked toward the royal box—thankfully visible.
“The one with the black hair… not here?”
Princess Anblin passed close, her elegant smile under a bejeweled headband flickering in the sun.
A premonition chilled Olivia’s heart.
“I’ll come for you. Sleep well.”
He always kept his promises.
He never spoke words he couldn’t keep. Her pulse thundered.
No… he couldn’t—
Had something happened to him? Olivia shook her head fiercely.
Even if she’s a princess, she wouldn’t dishonor the Lancelot name.
She pulled herself together. The match hadn’t even started yet—no room for distraction.
Concentrate.
Her resolve hardened as she followed Anblin to the VIP seats.
She glanced around habitually. Maybe he was sitting elsewhere.
But this stadium was too vast—features blended into the crowd.
Focus, Olivia.
Emerging from the forest-lined path, they entered a sweeping field of green wheat under bright sun.
Edgar checked his watch—10:00 a.m.
Hell.
With a cry and snap, he urged Darkstar on.
Like racing a train, the steed surged forward with a furious whinny.
“Master!!!”
Gerald shouted, breathless.
Now that it was late, I thought we’d take it slow…
But Edgar rode with perfect equestrian form, blazing forward.
Darkstar thundered toward the stadium like a black bolt, tail ablaze.
Gerald chased, coughing in the dust.
His own mare was no slouch—yet he couldn’t keep up.
Edgar gripped the reins tighter. Today, the distance from Southfield to Dumblin felt endless.
“I’ll come for you. Sleep well.”
He’d expected he’d meet her at the door—with that promise in her heart.
His absence had maybe shaken her tiny bit—he couldn’t tell whether that soothed or tormented him.
Is she winning? Or losing?
Eyes narrowed, he charged straight ahead—undaunted.
