Secret Love Affair between a Former Saint and a Dark Hero - Chapter 12
Her mind felt numb. She hadn’t anticipated any comforting words to begin with, yet some vile hope had unexpectedly surged within her. Iora exhaled shivering breaths, hearing the erratic pounding of her heart as if it had been beaten.
The once cozy air stiffened and scattered away. What poured out was icy cold water.
Ovid’s eyes, which moments ago hadn’t felt cold, became daggers as they pierced through Iora.
“Today, I wish to break off our engagement, Iora.”
It’s highly likely that even her father couldn’t have predicted those words to come out of Ovid’s mouth. But when she goes back, would he acknowledge that? Iora felt like bursting into a bitter laughter.
“Regardless, it was a formal engagement. After this conversation, the official documents will be sent to the Marquis. Once they’re stamped, the betrothal becomes null and void.”
He was ruthlessly unfeeling. How could the first conversation they shared lead to a breakup?
It was the very last thing she wanted to hear. Slowly blinking his eyes, Ovid smoothed his chin and licked his lips. Avoiding her gaze seemed unprincely behavior, but that wasn’t the concern.
“Your 18th birthday is approaching soon. And what it signifies, you know better than anyone else. So, I hope you accept today’s offer.”
Ovid had proposed the annulment to Iora. Not because he didn’t want her, but because he desired a true Saintess as a companion. With a chilling realization came a sudden surge of fear. What loomed like a crashing wave was the dread of what would unfold afterward.
It wasn’t the time. The story still wasn’t at the point where he chooses Arcanda. What had changed in the plot of <The Saint’s Flower>? Was it because she had become Iora?
“I, Your–Your Highness, please, I mean…”
“I thought telling you directly would be the best form of courtesy I could offer.”
“I…”
“Perhaps… Maybe that wasn’t the case.”
The color drained from Iora’s face in an instant, as if she were standing still on a winter mountain. Her complexion turned as pale as paper, a pitiful sight.
The prince’s eyes wavered again with a response verging on panic, yet Iora remained oblivious.
“A, An…Annulment. Like this, an annulment.”
“I apologize. I have no intention of reversing the decision already made. Even if your family and yourself oppose, I will persist until the end. It may take time, but eventually, the court will bend to the will of the royal family.”
It would have been different if it were Arcanda, a confident young girl, in her place. No, perhaps it would have been different if she was the Kim Jiyeon of a few years ago, not the current Iora, worn down by insults and humiliation.
I don’t know if I’d have the nerve to call him out on this, and say, “You’re the Crown Prince.” I’m not sure I’d have gotten away with it.
“Your Highness, I…”
However, it was Iora who was hearing such words from Ovid. The seventeen-year-old girl who, when a loud sound comes, raises thorns like a hedgehog and curls up against herself. A noble young lady who, obedient to the point of foolishness, doesn’t know how to love herself.
Iora, the fake, greedy saint in the novel.
Tears welled in her eyes as she wondered why her fancy orange dress seemed to mock her.
“Have I-did I do something wrong, Your Highness?”
The prince’s face twitched slightly at her sudden words, but Iora was desperate.
“If I did something wrong, I’ll fix it, I will! So please… please, don’t break off the engagement. Don’t.”
“…Iora?”
“I… I made a mistake…”
Father. Please.
Father said that being the prince’s fiancée was the only worth I had.
Father, please forgive me.
Iora was confused enough to realize that it wasn’t her father in front of her, but the crown prince. Her heart felt like it would burst, and her back became damp with sweat.
Ovid, who had been watching her desperation as if it were strange, slowly exhaled before lowering his head.
“This isn’t because you’ve done anything wrong, Iora. It’s rather me betraying you.”
“…Because I’m not a saint.”
Because she wasn’t the female lead.
“There’s someone else who promised a different future to Your Highness…”
It was just then that Iora’s trembling voice was buried by the sound of the door slamming open, and someone who ran in cried out in a bright, sing-song voice.
“Ovid! Do you know what news I heard today?”
Iora, shocked by the sudden entrance, forgot her tears and sat dumbfounded. And she saw it. The dazzling golden waves in front of her. The back of someone running towards the prince, obscuring her view. Even the vivid orange of her fluttering skirt.
‘Oh. I know who she is. She’s…’
The blonde girl walked as if to leap and nestled warmly into the prince’s embrace. Iora’s eyes slowly lost their light.
‘It’s you. You. Finally… we meet.’
The beloved girl, the true protagonist of <The Saint’s Flower>.
The true saint, blessed by the gods, Arcanda… It was her.
