Secret Love Affair between a Former Saint and a Dark Hero - Chapter 57
“What’s going on in that head of yours these days, young lady!”
Iora scratched her head. The teacher was such a strange person. She was doing her best to follow his instructions, so why the anger? Didn’t he say she should learn to swing and wield that spindle?
So, Iora was now diligently putting it down, just as he instructed, for the sake of the one day left. But there was just one thing nagging at her.
‘Squirrel.’
Vigros. It would have been nice to meet the man who laughed so much. But, there was no way to make that happen. Yelling his name wouldn’t summon him like a genie from a lamp. Duke Vigros von Elrah was such a mystery that no noble seemed to know his whereabouts.
‘He’s as mysterious as the darkness.’
He claimed to grant wishes, but maybe it was all a sham.
Iora wanted to ask if the red horn was his doing, if he could extend her life for one more day. She wanted to play the damsel in distress and see if she could get away with it just this once.
Iora smiled bitterly.
“Ha. I’m afraid I can’t do this anymore. Young lady, you’re not behaving at all like a saint candidate on the eve of her confirmation. Your mind is elsewhere, and your body is utterly useless!”
“Sir.”
“What is it! Spit it out!”
Iora tilted her head. Why was he so upset?
“I don’t understand why you’re acting like this. I’m just doing what you told me to do… You said it yourself. Put everything down.”
“…”
“You’re right, Sir.”
Though she had no energy to fight, she realized this teacher always had a strong voice. Despite his age, he had a vibrant energy that Iora found admirable. Iora smiled wistfully and tapped their textbook with her fingers, a book she had seen them go through many times.
“I know, too. That I… have no chance of becoming a saint. The time has come. You may not have believed it, but the truth is, I never once wanted to become a saint. Not even once.”
“…”
Despite the slow and steady admission, the teacher didn’t burst into anger. He merely shot her a disapproving look. Still, unlike her father, he didn’t cut her off, get angry, or disappear after saying his piece.
“The ceremony… There’s not much detailed information, but it’s said that the sacred object and the saint’s blood must meet. So, no matter how much I memorize all these theories and possibilities…”
“…”
“It won’t help.”
She didn’t say anything wrong. It was always a sentiment echoed by everyone in this mansion. The holy Arcanda, their saint, and the ambitious Iora, the rejected false saint. Wasn’t that how they saw it?
For some reason, the teacher’s face seemed to pale a bit.
Iora quietly chuckled and said, “Thank you for teaching me, despite my shortcomings, Sir.”
* * *
After the teacher dismissed their final class, noticeably becoming more reserved with words, Iora opened the door to leave. She was surprised to find an unexpected visitor waiting for her.
He had a sturdy build and a hardened face, yet was remarkably handsome.
Though somewhat unwilling to engage with anyone, Iora managed a slight bow.
“I greet the glorious little sun of the empire.”
“Formalities and greetings… I think we’re past that, my lady. Do you have some time to spare?”
“Yes. These days, all I have left is time.”
Already walking away as if she would never go back, Iora couldn’t figure out why he had come. She looked at him in silence, sighed, then opened the door again and entered the room. The teacher had left in haste, leaving only Ovid and Iora in the room.
“What… is the matter, Your Highness?”
“Over the past few days, has anything happened to you, my lady?”
“Nothing has happened. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“…”
Was he asking because she had stopped stuttering? But Iora never always stuttered. She only trembled and stumbled when her voice was shaken by the persecution and abuse from family and those around her. When she relaxed, she was able to speak normally, albeit slowly.
“It’s as if something was ripped out of you. Like your emotions have been torn apart.”
She found it amusing. If Ovid’s description was accurate, then he was acting as if he wanted to stitch her emotions back together. Why? Perhaps he suddenly felt sympathy for Iora’s plight. Now that he was about to become happy with Saint Arcanda, was he pitifully remembering the villainess’s fate, destined to be forgotten like dust?
He was truly an arrogant man. Still…
“Your Highness.”
“Speak, Iora.”
“I might have, perhaps, harbored unrequited feelings for you.”
There was an unreadable tremor in her face, as it twitched and stiffened. However, what Iora was about to say wasn’t a confession. She took a quiet breath and raised her hand around her own heart.
Then, she calmly murmured, “There were undoubtedly times when my heart raced at the sight of you.”
“Iora, I…”
“But at some point, my heart stopped reacting to anything and became quiet. It feels very serene and distant, like the sensation of falling asleep. And I quite like it.”
“…”
“So, if there was a time frame for love, it seems like my love vanished before it even had a chance to develop.”
“My lady. I, I…”
“You don’t have to feel guilty for me. So, please, stop right there. Don’t pity me.”
As if he wanted to say something, Ovid looked at Iora, lips trembling. But without any hesitation, Iora excused herself to leave and opened the door.
Glancing back, the Crown Prince remained frozen like a statue. Perhaps mentioning that she might have loved him had been more unpleasant than she thought.
