Secret Love Affair between a Former Saint and a Dark Hero - Chapter 97
“Your Highness.”
When she opened her mouth again, she didn’t tremble, didn’t look afraid.
Her unwavering voice was clear.
“Do you really think I could become the Saint now?”
“…That’s not—”
“Can you say it’s not true?”
Suddenly, Iora smiled broadly. Then she stood up and strode toward him without a hint of hesitation. The guard and maid waiting outside the door looked visibly alarmed, but she didn’t seem to notice or care.
Before he knew it, Iora was standing close enough that she could have grabbed his collar. Her eyes blazed, not with calm or detachment of before, but with fury. And that was better. It made him glad that it meant she felt something at least.
Iora growled in a low voice.
“Let me tell you what’s really in your heart.”
What was she talking about?
But Ovid, in that moment, found that he didn’t mind being seen like this. Somehow, it felt good to be the subject of her full attention. Iora von Ribandt. Had she always been this kind of person? Why hadn’t he noticed? Why had he treated her the way he did?
A faint, quiet question stirred in his chest, but the answer hadn’t yet come.
“You are not the one, my lady. I cannot choose you as the Saint.”
“…My lady?”
It wasn’t Ovid who spoke. It was Iora, staring at him and enunciating each word with precision — words he had never once spoken aloud.
“I never said anything like that.”
“Not yet. But you would have, eventually, Your Highness. You love Arcanda, don’t you?”
“…I’ve always said we’re just friends.”
“Oh, come now. An engaged man exchanging letters, sending her gifts, visiting only her, always accepting her invitations — how do you think people would interpret that?”
“Are you angry about that?”
“Excuse me, what?”
* * *
Maybe she was over it. Maybe she had truly let go of that unrequited love. That might have explained why she wasn’t trembling with uncontrollable fury like before… or not.
Like hell.
Iora barely resisted the urge to lean in close to the handsome idiot in front of her and hiss, You should be grateful I’m not yanking you around by that pretty little head of yours.
‘How many times is he going to say it? That they’re “just friends”? How can he be that shameless!’
Since when had Ovid become so persistent? Iora wondered if she’d have to cling to his trouser leg and beg him for the annulment at this rate. Just moments ago, the Crown Prince had looked shaken by her barrage of blunt truths. Yet now, he was nothing short of shameless.
‘Has he adapted or something?’
He had worn that “saying sorry is killing me” expression just a little while ago.
“I’m sorry, my lady. I’ll be inviting you out soon.”
“…”
Ignoring everything she had just said, he brazenly came out with that instead. It felt like a slap across the face. Her vision went numb. As she lost her words, he smiled in satisfaction. The smile that had disappeared from Iora’s face now seemed permanently plastered on his.
“…Your Highness? I must have misheard. Surely that wasn’t a refusal to annul the engagement?”
“I’ll invite you. And I’ll write to you as well.”
Smiling gently, he lifted her hand and brushed a kiss against the back of it.
Then, with eyes that burned like they’d caught fire, he whispered:
“Now that I know.”
When she quickly pulled her hand away, he gave a briefly bitter smile, then murmured in a soft, affectionate voice.
“I won’t let you let go. I won’t be foolish enough… to give up like this.”
Neither Iora nor the Crown Prince realized it.
While everyone inside the room was struck speechless by the stunning scene unfolding before them, someone had been secretly watching. Watching with a face drained of color, she pursed her lips in frustration before disappearing altogether.
* * *
“L-Lady Saint!”
“Jane, how many times must I tell you not to call me that? I’m not a saint — I’m just a candidate.”
“T-That’s not the issue right now. S-Something terrible has happened…”
Jane’s voice trembled as she burst through the door with a loud bang. Her words were frantic, like she couldn’t quite believe what she’d just seen.
She had only gone to retrieve something from the Saint’s mansion as instructed, so why was she acting like this?
The golden-haired girl, lounging languidly, turned her gaze toward the maid. Even the simple act of rising from her seat was graceful and beautiful. Jane’s dazed eyes, momentarily glazed over, finally snapped back to reality.
“Jane? What is it?”
“It’s the Crown Prince…”
“Ovid?”
“The Crown Prince met with that girl Iora. And—and…!”
Under normal circumstances, Arcanda would have scolded Jane for referring to someone as “that girl.” But now, Arcanda’s face hardened as she stared at her maid. Her golden eyes darkened in an instant.
Ovid met with Iora?
Now?
No, this wasn’t supposed to happen now.
“And he—he said he would fulfill his role as her fiancé…”
“…”
“He apologized to her, milady! M-More than once!”
Arcanda’s coral-red lips twitched. Jane, who had delivered the news, trembled under the weight of a coldness she had never seen before on her mistress’s face. The young lady was furious; there was no doubt about it.
