Secret Love Affair between a Former Saint and a Dark Hero - Chapter 47
“We can put them both in the cave, and the one who comes out alive will be the saint. Only she knows what would have happened in there, don’t you think?”
“What if they both end up dead? We wouldn’t be able to judge; it’s quite a dilemma.”
The Emperor remained unchanged. Rather fortunate. Vigros stood up, twisting his lips.
Greedy old man.
“Well, we’ll see.”
“And if anything goes wrong, you’ll take care of it. You’re capable of that, aren’t you?”
“Isn’t that too much to ask?”
Vigros burst into a loud laugh, but the Emperor simply smiled genially.
“Don’t overdo it,” said the Emperor.
“Aren’t you asking for too much? Cheekiness is only charming in moderation, Your Majesty.”
“They don’t need to be charming to you, do they?”
The Emperor’s words were pointed like a sharp glare. He didn’t have to touch the Emperor to hear his true intentions. It made him uncomfortable. He thought back to Iora whose inner thoughts had only revealed a cute voice to him earlier.
“I’ll take my leave now.”
“Oh, Duke. Don’t forget to participate in the hunt tomorrow.”
“You expect me to wield a sword like a knight?”
“Is there a reason not to? Your swordsmanship was excellent.”
“…”
The Emperor’s eyes softened as he watched the young man turn away without a word, irritation suddenly welling up in him. Obtaining a saint would bring glory. That was the nature of the world. But…
The Emperor’s heart sank into darkness as he witnessed the astonishing power vanishing into thin air. The stiffness in his shoulders dissipated, making him appear a decade older. Stroking his beard, the Emperor clicked his tongue. The power that emanated from those bright blue eyes rattled him to the core.
“I wonder if my son will be able to defeat that young man. Ovid, though he is quite impressive as well…”
The strength that had always belonged to the royal family could not be snatched away from him now. Just the thought of the bleak future filled him with rage, turning his vision crimson.
Even now, the duke’s power was too great, and that worried the Emperor. If that man harbored unseemly intentions, would Ovid as the Emperor be able to stop him?
“How frustrating.”
The Emperor clenched the curtain tightly. He should have killed that monster when it was young, before it gained power. He should have strangled it before it ever had the chance to covet what belonged to the royal family. But he had been too ignorant to recognize it—to realize what it truly was.
“Regrets always come too late.”
He would always do anything for the Empire. Anything, no matter how cruel.
* * *
Father was always sharp, but today he seemed especially so.
Iora was as speechless as a mute. That was because the responsibility for this hunting competition had been handed over to the Ribandt family in an attempt to cover up the rumors that she had become an addict.
So all she could do was envy Arcanda, who joyfully received birthday presents from people, smiling brightly like a morning bird at the tent.
I want to go out too, Father. I want to receive presents too. I want to hear someone say they’re grateful that I was born, Father. From you.
But she couldn’t dare say such words out loud.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes…”
“You understand very well what you need to do today, right? It’s something Arcanda can’t accomplish. As everyone’s attention has been drawn to her due to yesterday’s events, you need to work harder.”
She was tasked to bestow blessings upon the man who wore the most beautiful and splendid attire and hunted the finest game as if he were a flower in her own garden.
When she was first informed of her role, she almost burst out laughing at the audacity of it. It was like they were insisting that Iora was a saint, since it was traditionally saints who blessed the winners of past hunting tournaments. It was her father’s way of protesting, even if it might upset the palace.
“Then leave.”
Unable to say anything in response to her father’s order, Iora turned and walked away. She paused when she spotted her mother and brother watching the gift-giving in Arcanda’s tent with displeasure. She followed their gaze to Arcanda who was smiling brightly amidst the array of gifts.
‘So many people are blessing Arcanda.’
It wasn’t an overly eager face, just a shy smile of genuine gratitude. Gifts piled up around Arcanda, so many that even a maid had to approach to help her carry them.
‘My tent, on the other hand, is…’
Iora’s tent on the opposite side was so quiet that not even an ant would pass by. The contrast was bitterly funny—and so was the most important oath she had to make for today’s hunt.
There were several young men who asked permission from Arcanda in her tent, expressing their desire to dedicate their captured game to her. Iora, of course, received no such request.
‘Unless something extraordinary happens, the red boar’s horns that Ovid catches will be dedicated to Arcanda.’
In the distance, noble gentlemen gathered, checking their weapons and preparing to depart. Ovid’s figure was seen on the far right, towering over others with his distinctive hair.
‘This has nothing to do with me.’
After watching him for a moment, Iora lowered her gaze. She hadn’t paid much attention to this scene in the original novel. What she did know was that in the end, the victor of the hunt was Ovid, and the Crown Prince gave the horns to the woman he loved.
‘I will be the perfect maid of honor for Arcanda today.’
Her father’s hopes for her to outshine Arcanda were dashed before the hunt even began. Even if Iora had never wished for it, there was still a tinge of bitterness in her mouth.
