Secret Love Affair between a Former Saint and a Dark Hero - Chapter 22
Ovid watched the smiling, giggling blonde girl out of the corner of his eye. Usually, he’d be solely focused on the girl in front of him. But at that moment, he was preoccupied with a lingering thought.
‘Why is she so thin? I don’t like it.’
He heard that Iora hadn’t attended classes for a week after that day. It made him uneasy, and he found himself concerned. Was it because of their conversation? Or did she get in trouble with the Marquis after he sent the request for annulment?
Driven by curiosity, he visited the saint’s mansion on the day of Iora’s class. He met Arcanda and engaged in a conversation while she was attending her lessons. That’s when a silver-haired girl passing by abruptly halted and stared at them as if she had seen something terrifying.
‘It was as if she had seen a ghost.’
Rumors about Arcanda and Iora were widespread, but they had intensified over the last few days. Everyone was busy speculating about what it meant when the candidate for sainthood didn’t attend class. Ovid had briefly pondered if Iora herself wanted to abandon her candidacy. However, the fact that she was here now meant that she wasn’t giving up.
It was quite a headache, really. Dissolving his betrothal with that girl was something that had to be done.
Still, Ovid’s eyes couldn’t help but carefully scrutinize Iora. He remembered Iora’s overwhelming desperation, trembling as if the world was collapsing at the mere mention of annulment…
‘It couldn’t be.’
Ovid’s eyes narrowed slightly. He hadn’t even noticed that Arcanda, who had been chattering away, had stopped talking and was staring at him. Iora, for her part, had her head bowed and was staring into the cold cup of tea the maid had brought her.
‘No, you’re overthinking this. Regardless of how temperamental Lord Ribandt might be, I doubt he would ever abuse his own daughter.’
He dismissed the fleeting thought as baseless conjecture, unaware of the regret it might cause him down the line.
“Ovid! Look here.”
“Oh, sorry.”
When he suddenly turned his head at the firm grip on his arm, he saw Arcanda smiling brightly. He thought to himself, her eyes truly sparkle like jewels.
“Iora is so quiet, I end up talking too much. So, you should at least respond to me.”
“Right.”
“Hehe, Ovid, do you remember? Our 18th birthday is coming up soon.”
Ovid noticed for a moment that Iora tensed slightly, but he pretended not to see it. Arcanda was unmistakably the saint, while Iora was certain not to be chosen. From Iora’s point of view, it must be a day she was dreading.
In truth, Ovid contemplated asking Arcanda to step aside for a moment. He changed his mind, however. Despite everyone around disparaging Iora, the girl reflected in his eyes appeared pitiable and wretched. He didn’t want to acknowledge the feeling of wanting to ask what had happened or if she had been ill.
‘Having both of them here might not be a good idea.’
He was more accustomed to others adjusting to him rather than the other way around. So, he didn’t realize that Iora’s eyes hadn’t met his since they’d started talking—she didn’t even make eye contact with Arcanda. Despite the affectionate atmosphere between the two, he didn’t realize how oddly pitiful it looked for Iora to sit alone, excluded.
Ovid gently pulled his arm out of Arcanda’s grasp. “Yes, I’m aware. The confirmation ceremony for sainthood will be on the saint candidates’ 18th birthday, so your birthday party will be held in the Imperial Palace. It will be a grand affair with both of you there as debutantes.”
“Oh my.”
Arcanda’s expectant eyes, shining with excitement, suddenly deflated as she turned toward the silver-haired girl who had been sitting quietly.
Then, in a fairy-like voice, she asked, “Iora, are you also looking forward to that day?”
“Uh, yes.”
She didn’t look excited at all.
Observing Iora, Ovid entertained mischievous thoughts, pretending not to see or hear the two girls’ conversation. He gestured to a maid to fill his cup with warm tea and signaled toward Iora’s still untouched cup.
The way the maids of the manor were treating her didn’t seem very nice. It was even more noticeable compared to how quickly they would replace Arcanda’s cup as soon as it went cold.
