Secret Love Affair between a Former Saint and a Dark Hero - Chapter 85
It had only been a throwaway remark.
Even after blinking a few times, the man smiling just inches from her face didn’t disappear like a mirage.
To be honest, when she’d tried to gauge what lay ahead, the first person who’d come to mind was Vigros. But she hadn’t truly believed she could persuade him. After all, though the Vigros in her memories remained a tender recollection, he was still undeniably an enigma. She didn’t know whether he had wanted Arcanda for her power as the Saint or simply wanted Arcanda herself.
In short, she knew far too little.
‘The kind of man who would do anything for Arcanda in <The Saint’s Flower>.’
She’d spent a long time wondering what she might say to him, if she ever met him again. And yet…
Iora let out a quiet, involuntary laugh. His fingers, lazily swaying beneath the moonlight as if asking “Well? What are you waiting for?” looked oddly beautiful. Just seeing them made her earlier worries seem laughable.
Watching her stillness, Vigros twisted his lips into a crooked smile.
“What? Do I look like a total madman to you, even with this perfectly decent face?”
His voice was thick with mischief, laced with a kind of spiteful charm, but it suited him. Not the shadowy mastermind Vigros from <The Saint’s Flower>, but the barefoot boy who once lazily tossed her an apple with a smirk. That man. The one she remembered.
Iora tilted her head casually, doing her best to suppress the laughter bubbling up inside her.
“Such confidence, assuming anyone would think you’re easy on the eyes.”
“But I am. Handsome, I mean.”
It was an outrageously arrogant thing to say. But, to be fair… he wasn’t wrong.
Iora didn’t bother pretending otherwise. No use denying the obvious.
“You said you’d be on my side, didn’t you?” she asked, her voice softening. “Everyone else says Arcanda will become the Saint. That I’m just a fraud — a wicked woman pretending. So why are you reaching for my hand?”
“Doubt is a virtue,” he replied with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “If you start grabbing every outstretched hand without asking why it’s offered, you’ll lose your nose before you know it.”
Iora brushed a rose petal from her lap, straightened her back, and sat upright once more. Her gaze found his—still spinning his charm like a child with a toy—and she spoke clearly, one word at a time.
“You came looking for me from the very beginning. Even though our families don’t have ties. Even at this hour of the night.”
Vigros von Elrah. The Duke of Elrah, the one they say could bring down even birds mid-flight with nothing but his name. A man like that had no reason to seek out the Marchioness of Ribandt — even if she was a saint candidate. And especially not under the cover of night, sneaking through the garden like some lovesick thief.
But he didn’t bother denying it. Instead, he simply shrugged and nodded, unbothered.
“Yes,” he said, as if it were obvious. “I came for you. At this discreet little hour.”
“…Why?”
“Because you’re exactly my type.”
“…What?”
His blue eyes crinkled into a smile. A beautiful one, undeniably so. But something about it made her uneasy. It was the kind of smile that suddenly made sense of the whole ‘shadowy mastermind’ thing. The kind that hinted at secrets, schemes, and dangerous knowledge. Iora bit down on her lip.
What does he know? And why me, of all people?
Her thoughts began to fray, tangled in their own threads — until he reached out and tapped her cheek with one long finger. Startled, she looked up, just in time to see him gently swipe a thumb across her lip, smoothing out the mark she’d bitten there.
“Careful,” he murmured. “You’ll hurt yourself, worrying like that. Don’t overthink it. The reason I came is simple.”
“Then tell me.”
His voice lowered to a whisper, velvet and unshakably certain.
“Because you smell like a Saint.”
“……”
“Simple, isn’t it?”
And just like that — thud — her heart dropped.
The injustice of it all burned up her chest. Simple? He had the audacity to call it that? A secret she hadn’t breathed to a single soul? The one thing she didn’t even fully believe herself? Simple?
Her eyes wavered. His did not.
“I’ve been searching for that scent,” Vigros said, calm as moonlight. “You probably can’t smell it yourself, but it’s sweet. Addictive. Comforting.”
His hand moved gently, almost reverently, as he reached out and gathered a few strands of her hair between his fingers. And then, with the sort of ease that made her breath catch, he dipped his head and touched his nose to the ends, as though savoring a rare bloom.
Then he smiled. Slowly. Like temptation itself.
‘Mmm.’
Goosebumps scattered across her skin, as though her hair had nerves of its own and recoiled from the touch. Or maybe it wasn’t the hair at all. Maybe it was that face — that slow, syrupy smile, full of something too dark to name.
The world tilted slightly. She clenched her jaw and bit her lip hard, trying to stay rooted.
‘The scent of a Saint?’
She’d never heard of such a thing. Never once considered it might exist. And even if it did, how could he be the one to sense it?
He was one of the male leads, sure, but even the Crown Prince hadn’t noticed anything at all. Which meant only one person had uncovered the truth about the Saint.
Only Vigros.
“You owe me an answer, Iora von Ribandt.”
“……”
“Tell me,” he murmured, his voice low and coaxing. “Tell me about you.”
“I…”
And just like that, Iora found herself at a crossroads.
Two paths. Two choices.
One: step back, look him in those clear, merciless eyes and say, “I’m not the Saint.” Deny everything. Keep her secrets buried.
The other: say the words out loud. “Yes. I am the Saint.” Absurd, laughable, impossible.
Logically, the first was the safer path. Smarter, even. There was nothing that indicated that she could trust him. No guarantee he wouldn’t choose Arcanda in the end. No promise he wouldn’t turn her over.
And yet…
“You’re right.”
Before she even realized it, the words had already left her mouth — spoken as if her body moved on its own. It wasn’t the man’s charm or his smile that bewitched her. No, it was something deeper. That raw, unfiltered honesty behind his gaze, pulling at her like gravity. As though, just maybe, this was a secret she was finally allowed to share.
“I’m the Saint of this era.”
