Chapter 104
It had been a long time since she’d been at the Imperial Palace. Iora narrowed her eyes. Everything was so vividly clear — fear, anxiety, hope, and excitement from standing here again. The hope that something could change. And the despair when it all shattered.
‘I really wanted to die.’
It was here she had her first meeting with the Crown Prince and was told the engagement was broken off. The shock and awe she’d felt when she first saw Ovid, who seemed to have stepped right out of the original story, were still stark in her mind. She couldn’t help but smile.
…Damn male lead. Damn <The Saint’s Flower>.
Iora’s face twisted in displeasure.
“Please go inside and wait for a moment, my lady.”
“Thank you.”
Listening to the knight’s businesslike, dry voice, Iora opened the door to the reception room. Unlike before, the room was empty. Bored with standing still, she decided to look around. The bookshelves were lined with books arranged more for decoration than use, but even those were rare editions so she couldn’t help but admire them. As expected of the Imperial Palace.
Still, she had no idea why the Crown Prince had even sent an invitation. It wasn’t like it was just to have a casual chat. No matter how quietly the message was delivered, news that the Crown Prince had sent an invitation to Iora von Ribandt would spread like wildfire by tomorrow.
‘And my father and mother will find out, too.’
Just then, there was a sharp knock at the door. Iora inwardly tensed up. It wasn’t simply because she was about to meet Ovid. It was because she needed to be careful not to reveal even the slightest hint that she was truly the Saint.
A few days ago, she had finally found the long-sought documents and tested the Saint’s power. While she’d learned valuable things, there were side effects — one of which was a power that might suddenly spark out of control.
‘If I get revealed as a Saint, breaking off the engagement will be out of the question.’
The door opened, and Ovid entered, looking just as handsome as when they first met. Few men could wear a uniform so well. His bright ceremonial robes in white and gold suited him perfectly.
“I greet the Empire’s glorious little sun.”
“That’s quite alright, Iora. Did you rest well last night?”
“Just so-so.”
“…I see. It’s a pity for me, who wishes for your peace.”
“I cannot lie just to please Your Highness.”
Though he might have hoped for a kinder exchange, Iora sat gracefully and replied in a gentle voice. The atmosphere chilled, but she felt satisfied. She would not be swayed. She knew well how dangerous the world of The Saint’s Flower was. Never again. Never again would her heart beat for that man.
Leave me be and live according to the original story. You alone, no—just you and Arcanda.
Iora clenched her teeth.
“Why did you call me here?”
“As I said before, I wished to spend time with my fiancée.”
“If you do that, it will cause problems.”
“What could possibly cause me trouble?”
Was he really asking because he didn’t know?
“His Majesty the Emperor, and many nobles of the Empire, all recognize Arcanda as the Saint and support her. But if the Crown Prince acts in a way that goes against these interests, it will cause problems — especially for me.”
“…If I have caused trouble, I apologize. But I…”
Iora waited calmly. The flicker of uncertainty in Ovid’s eyes was a little unsettling. She didn’t understand why he looked that way. His gaze seemed so troubled and pained.
“Your Highness?”
“But I… no. It’s a bit… confusing. I feel like everything I thought I knew has been shaken to the core. It’s unimaginably distressful.”
“Excuse me, Your Highness.”
At that moment, her hardened heart softened slightly. The man’s face looked like he might break down and cry, stirring Iora’s conscience.
They sat opposite each other, worlds apart: the Crown Prince who coldly and calmly rejected her, and Iora, who felt as if her world was crumbling. He seemed indifferent, yet he had helped her a few times too back then.
“To be honest, I don’t actually hate you — not truly. Maybe we could have been friends, but… Though we are betrothed, Your Highness must marry Arcanda.”
Because I’m not the Saint.
At her clear rejection, Ovid’s eyes wavered again. Iora absentmindedly watched a maid enter with a tea cup and spoke quietly:
“If you’re not going to take responsibility for the person’s feelings, don’t act all nice.”
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