Secret Love Affair between a Former Saint and a Dark Hero - Chapter 37
Ovid’s train of thought abruptly halted. What nonsense. Iora was not his responsibility. He couldn’t take her to the palace, make her a saint, or betroth her to the Crown Prince. So, offering cheap sympathy would only give false hope.
“My Lady. It’s okay for now. Just breathe properly.”
“…”
But faced with those watery eyes that seemed ready to shed tears any moment, he couldn’t stay silent. The desperation in that gaze tightened something within him. When he had held her on his lap earlier, her futile attempt to reach for anything to hold on to was truly disheartening.
Yet, Ovid merely watched, refraining from reaching back. Even now.
He glanced down at Iora’s pale, trembling hand. It was a hand he wished to hold.
“Why are you telling me…”
“What did you say?”
Ovid hesitated for a moment. Those frail, trembling eyes seemed to harbor a faint hint of anger, maybe even sadness, for the first time as they gazed at him. But he couldn’t understand either emotion.
“Explain.”
“Why, again, it’s you. Why?”
Ovid stiffened. Her voice was like a piercing blade, driving nails into him.
“You won’t choose me. There won’t ever be such a thing. I know… so don’t even give such expectations…”
“Iora.”
“I hate you, Your Highness. Please don’t give any expectations. Please.”
“Should I have just gone on my way when I saw that sight?”
“Yes. Even if I collapse and die, leave me be… That’s right.”
The sobbing eyes didn’t turn to tears after all. Yet, the starkly reddened white of her eyes was heart-wrenching. If the carriage hadn’t stopped soon, Ovid would have almost instinctively pulled her into an embrace.
He almost whispered reassurances in her ear, urging her to confide, offering help. His fists clenched tightly as Iora, unsteady yet resolute, grabbed the knight’s hand and swiftly disembarked from the carriage without hesitation.
And as he disembarked, he saw a young lord striding briskly from afar. Ah, the son of Lord Ribandt. His face looked quite different from what he had seen in the palace. His expression was so startingly sinister that he wondered if that was his true nature.
Only when the young Ribandt got closer did he realize it was the prince standing beside the carriage. Startled, he bowed his head. He was undeniably similar to Lord Ribandt, someone Ovid disliked intensely.
‘This is not the behavior of a brother who cares for his sister.’
Ovid was aware of his pale eyes staring at Iora as if he wanted to kill her. She must be his sister, but how could he look at her like that?
He hated the way her brother seemed to disdainfully look at her before sharply dragging her back and hiding her away. Grasping a lady’s hand so crudely like that, especially when Iora’s wrist was so delicate.
“Lord Ribandt.”
“I am honored to meet the glorious little sun of the Empire. Circumstances led to a rather awkward situation. Please forgive me, Your Highness. I cannot thank you enough for bringing this wretched creature back to the estate. Your Highness has spared us from a great deal of disgrace.”
Ovid boarded the carriage again and gradually distanced himself from the estate. The loyal attendant who followed on horseback wore a sour look, offering advice before parting ways.
“You were overly affectionate. The young lady was right.”
“Did I hear that right?”
“Because you were cruel.”
“…Do you mean me?”
“Yes. There are times when indifference is necessary, Your Highness. Especially considering Your Highness’s situation with the young lady. I would have preferred you to give us orders rather than make the move yourself, but you didn’t. It’s just…”
As if his body was ahead of his thoughts.
Pretending he hadn’t heard the knight’s muttering, Ovid rolled down the carriage window. It couldn’t be. The saint had already been chosen. There was no way that this thorn-like woman was a saint. And he had no need for a woman who was not a saint.
