Secret Love Affair between a Former Saint and a Dark Hero - Chapter 105 - Would You Mind Leaving Me Out of Your Love Affair?

“‘Taking responsibility’…”

Arcanda was someone she couldn’t forgive. Truly an evil person in her eyes. But even so, could revenge possibly mean killing everyone? Perhaps it would be better to think of them as people from another world entirely — she shouldn’t judge and punish them based on her moral standards. If Arcanda and the Crown Prince could live happily together, maybe that wouldn’t be such a terrible outcome after all.

If Sol had been here, she might have snapped, “You’re going soft!” Thinking this, Iora moistened her lips with a sip of tea. It was bland, but the aftertaste was surprisingly sweet.

“Your Highness’s actions… they feel like you’re throwing scraps that I can’t eat. A fiancé who’s cold and unpleasant is bad enough, but one who pretends at kindness by dangling a carrot to keep me leashed — that’s far crueler.”

“Does my behavior wound you?”

“…Perhaps once, it did.”

Ovid’s face slowly contorted, like he had just lost something precious. There was a hollow look in his eyes.

But that “precious thing” surely wasn’t her. Maybe he was just weighing the possibility of losing the Saint. Iora murmured lightly.

“Not anymore.”

Ovid looked like he was about to say something, His hand even reached out, as if to grasp her wrist. But he faltered and froze, because at that moment, the door burst open and someone rushed in.

“……”

Who in this palace would be so brazen as to barge in without even notifying the attendants?

Iora stared directly at the visibly shaken face of the Crown Prince, but she didn’t need to turn around to know who had just entered behind her. Any moment now, that distinctively smooth voice would ring out.

“Ovid! Do you know what news I heard today?”

Of course.

‘I knew it was you, Arcanda.’

Iora closed her eyes for a brief moment, then opened them again. Like a thorn suddenly pricking her skin, a memory from the past intruded without warning. Same setting. Same structure. Same lines.

It felt like watching a drama on rerun. She scoffed under her breath. Was this the original plot snapping back into place?

Just then, sunlight streamed in through the crack in the window, flooding the room in golden warmth. Laughter rang out like a bell, and the hem of a dress fluttered before her eyes.

A soft shade of almost translucent green. Delicate waves of gold shimmered through the fabric. Just as she had done in the past, the girl leapt without hesitation into the Crown Prince’s arms.

A lovely princess and a handsome prince lived happily in a grand castle. They were destined to marry and live happily ever after… if not for the witch who appeared!

The scene played like a fairy tale narration in Iora’s head.

Watching the feather-light couple in front of her, she felt the quiet misery of a lone audience member witnessing a romantic climax. Her lips parted for a sarcastic quip—

‘Hmm?’

—but then she noticed it. The Crown Prince’s expression was different.

He stood frozen, awkwardly holding Arcanda in his arms, his discomfort plain as day. Iora’s gaze briefly flicked to the flustered attendant who had burst in too late and was now bowing furiously in apology.

And she thought, in a daze:

‘…Really, what is even happening?’

Ovid — the Ovid of The Saint’s Flower — wasn’t welcoming Arcanda.

* * *

‘Why is Arcanda here?’

He was confused. It felt like everything he thought he knew was unraveling — or rather, as if something he had never truly seen before had finally taken shape and was now being shoved in front of him.

Arcanda. Arcanda. Arcanda. The Arcanda who had always seemed flawless in every way.

That was how it was supposed to be. He had always walked toward her, drawn in by instinct. He had watched over her. Protected her. He should have.

‘And yet…’

While Arcanda did visit the palace often, she almost always announced her plans in advance. With the exception of last night’s unexpected visit, she had always informed him of her schedule. And since she had returned to her estate this morning, he hadn’t expected her to come back today.

Arcanda slipped from his arms and turned to face the girl standing behind him.

The moment he saw the two girls face each other, a dull ache pierced his chest for reasons he couldn’t explain. Gritting his teeth, Ovid looked first to the one with the unreadable expression — Iora.

‘Nothing…’

There was truly nothing there. That same barren, indifferent dryness she always showed him.

He felt hollow. And then, to his surprise, a vague, inexplicable sense of regret stirred within him. God forbid, had he actually wanted Iora to be jealous of Arcanda? Even though he’d never once invited Iora to the palace before? Why had it felt, for a fleeting moment, like her jealousy would’ve made perfect sense?

It was shameful.

‘How petty… What am I even doing?’

Rumors were ridiculous. Who had started them? Who had said that girl was in love with him, that she resented and envied Arcanda? The girl standing before him looked like someone who wouldn’t so much as flinch if Arcanda suddenly collapsed in front of her. There was only that same dreadful indifference.

Even before Ovid could tell Arcanda he had an appointment and politely suggest she step out for a while, Arcanda suddenly walked right up to the other girl. With a bright smile, she spoke.

“Are you… Iora, by any chance?”

Ovid felt a wave of dizziness from the sheer audacity. A flare of anger — at whom, he couldn’t say — boiled up inside him. Why?

‘What is this?’

He had the irrational urge to rush over and pull Arcanda back, to place himself at Iora’s side. And then came the question he didn’t want to answer, Was he trying to separate them to protect Arcanda, or was it to protect Iora?

“As expected! It is Iora, right? I knew it! Did you think I wouldn’t recognize you?”

With a clap of her hands, Arcanda’s voice rang out cheerfully. Iora’s gaze slowly lifted, her eyes finally settling on the girl in front of her. And Ovid, watching her, saw something unfamiliar flicker in those otherwise impassive eyes.

It looked exactly like—

‘Mockery?’

Ovid told himself it had to be a mistake. A trick of the light. Because what followed was… unexpected.

Iora was silent for a moment, then suddenly smiled. It was the same bright, innocent smile Arcanda always wore, like she was mirroring it on purpose.

It was dazzling. So much so that even he found himself staring at her, stunned.

Then Iora extended her hand, speaking in a tone far gentler than expected.

“Hello, Arcanda.”