Secret Love Affair between a Former Saint and a Dark Hero - Chapter 49
“……”
“……”
For a brief moment, Ovid and Iora’s gazes met. He seemed to glare right through the leaf Vigros had presented to Iora. But that must have been a misconception. Iora, feeling her heart inexplicably racing, bit her lip and averted her eyes from Ovid.
Then she looked at the man before her.
“Vigros.”
The only person who knelt before her to make a pledge.
“Why are you doing me such a favor?” Iora gazed at Vigros’s piercing blue eyes.
He chuckled. “So you do know what a favor looks like? I thought you wouldn’t have a clue, considering I’m known to suddenly lose my temper.”
“…Whatever it is, it won’t be good for you to receive my blessing,” she muttered in an unsure voice.
He frowned, clearly disapproving. “Marquis Ribandt would have tried to get you to give your blessing to the victor anyway, am I right?”
“You’re right.”
“So, Squirrel, I’m telling you to save us the trouble since I’m going to come back here the victor anyway.”
“How so? The victor will undoubtedly be Prince Ovid, won’t it…?”
“What? How could you possibly know that?”
“Excuse me?”
“In this world, I’m the strongest. Hah, where’s the comparison? It’s absurd. You keep belittling me. What nonsense are you spouting, assuming he’ll be the first? How will you react if I end up at the top?”
Seeing his face stiffen with disapproval, she couldn’t help but relax a bit and laugh. It was such a childish thing to say. Yet, for some reason, she found it oddly endearing.
“Was that what it was?”
Iora, oblivious to her own laughter, didn’t realize how the man from the neighboring tent, who had been passing fallen leaves, suddenly stiffened. Nor did she notice the icy eyes boring into Vigros’s back, shimmering with a hint of menace. Quietly, she accepted the beautifully fallen leaf. It was exceptionally lovely.
“Thank you, Duke Elrah.”
Just as he’d pressed his lips gently on her forehead yesterday, he raised his hand, long and slender like a birch tree, and softly kissed the back of her hand.
“…My mightiest prey, I looked forward to it,” he whispered.
* * *
The noblewomen in the tents weren’t pleased with her considering yesterday’s events, but the host was Marquis Ribandt. So, Iora needed to make sure they felt comfortable, even if she was terribly afraid of making eye contact and broke out in a cold sweat.
As she shifted uncomfortably, all eyes followed her movements. Arcanda’s gaze was particularly intense. She looked like she wanted to come over and talk about yesterday’s events. However, Iora didn’t want to engage in a conversation with Arcanda. While she still admired her, the situation itself was daunting. Iora didn’t know what she would say or how she would be misunderstood.
“…Mother.”
“At least for today, try not to look like a ghost. Still shaken from yesterday’s chaos?”
“Apologies. I’ll do better today… I’ll make an effort.”
“Hmph. I don’t need your promises, just watch your actions.”
Enduring her mother’s cold stare as she fanned herself, Iora attempted to curl her lips upward to a smile. She failed miserably.
“Prepare the refreshments, child, so everyone isn’t bored. And make sure there’s nothing wrong with my dress. Understand?”
“Yes. I understand.”
Given the prolonged duration of the hunting competition, there were separate tents for storing spare dresses and changing, allowing the ladies to change outfits. At that moment, she had a passing thought that she could escape the scrutiny of the noble ladies and Arcanda in one of those tents. She almost let herself feel relieved. But it didn’t take long for Iora to want to slap herself for having such a cowardly and complacent idea.
“Kyaaaaaah!”
Iora pursed her lips as she watched a petite maid shriek in distress. The maid’s face was familiar. It was the same person who had sharply reprimanded Iora for bothering Arcanda and being tactless.
“No, no, wait, everyone, it’s a misunderstanding…”
“Eek! How could you stoop this low!”
In an instant, Iora’s face turned pale. It seemed futile to say anything. Or rather, it felt like her own words were being stifled. Her eyes, filled with horror, stared at what lay before her.
‘Why does this keep happening?’
As soon as she entered the tent, a torn dress lay in shreds. And right then, that maid burst out shrieking. And the dress that was ruined was…
‘Arcanda’s dress…’
The horror from yesterday surged back. She would undoubtedly be framed for this.
“Iora, what’s going on here?”
As the tent flap was abruptly drawn back, a familiar voice came from behind. It was Arcanda. Her voice sounded slightly shaken, like she was in shock.
