Chapter 114
After the maids fled in tears, Iora turned to face the man who was still standing there in stunned silence. He looked dazed. As the Crown Prince, this was probably the first time he’d seen anything like that.
“Are you disappointed? Because I’m so wicked, so unlike your precious Arcanda?”
He shook his head hastily, then seemed to realize such a reaction was unbefitting of his status. He opened his mouth to speak.
“I didn’t think that at all, Lady Iora.”
“And what brings you here, then? You didn’t come to see me, surely. Arcanda doesn’t have lessons today. Oh, but I saw her maid earlier. If you have a message, you can just give it to Jane.”
“My lady…”
She already knew. As the rumors spread, the Crown Prince had grown more and more agitated.
Not the best way to put it, but he was practically twitching with anxiety.
Why, though? What did he think he was seeing? Did he really believe she could become a saint?
“If you keep coming to see me like this, it really puts me in a difficult position.”
Ovid had changed. She didn’t know why, but he was different now — unlike the Ovid from before her regression and certainly unlike the Ovid from The Saint’s Flower. The reason she’d cut down on her lessons was partly because he kept showing up at the Saint’s mansion.
The rumors were ridiculous. Some whispered that Iora had taken a lover, someone who wasn’t the Crown Prince, and that she was stringing both of them along, weighing her options between the two. Absolutely absurd.
She hadn’t even seen her fiancé’s face in years. Where were people getting this nonsense?
“People really do love their gossip, but I don’t want to carry around any more of these disgusting rumors.”
“I… I’m sorry.”
There it was again — that expression. Iora furrowed her brows in exasperation. And of course, that only made him look more dejected, like a cloud had passed over his entire being.
If Vigros looked like a decadent, tragic beauty from a painting, then Ovid was more like a chiselled sculpture — sharp, solid, and unshakably masculine.
And yet, when she turned him down so cleanly, he always made that same face. That pitiful, rain-drenched puppy look. How ridiculous.
‘I didn’t throw you away. You were the one who left me.’
A bus that’s left doesn’t turn back. If Iora really were the heroine of a romance novel, the leading lady in The Saint’s Flower, then the Crown Prince would be the obvious regretful ex. And if she had no intention of accepting him, then coldly shutting him down was the right move.
Just as she was about to turn away, the Crown Prince suddenly reached out and grabbed her wrist.
It didn’t hurt, but it startled her. He was usually so careful about manners it was almost like he’d die if he wasn’t. She hadn’t expected him to act like this all of a sudden.
“My lady. Please.”
“…Your Highness, why are you doing this? Someone might think we’re deeply engaged or something.”
“Can’t you give me some time?”
“No, I won’t.”
Iora laughed coldly.
“Am I not charming enough?”
“You must know that Your Highness is the most sought-after bachelor in the empire.”
His steely gray eyes looked down at her with burning intensity. The gaze was so fierce that her shoulders flinched for a moment.
She had never seen Ovid look at her like that.
Not even when he looked at Arcanda.
“I’m not asking about my attractiveness to other people. I’m asking about you, my lady. To you, Iora, am I…”
“Your Highness, you’re handsome. You could certainly be a good husband. You don’t use violence, your family is impeccable, and your personality isn’t bad either. But I simply cannot imagine kissing you.”
She slowly released the hand he was holding.
His pride must have taken a serious hit. Sadness and shock flickered across his face. Iora noticed a subtle hint of jealousy too, and she took a step back.
They were still betrothed, after all. But since she was about to end it, Iora would become free. Lake, one of Vigros’s subordinates, was an extremely capable man, well-versed in legal matters.
“So, what now, Your Highness?”
Once, she had looked up to him, hoped for him, and been terribly hurt. The reason she didn’t even want to be his friend was because he was Ovid from The Saint’s Flower. No matter what he wanted or thought, if Arcanda desired it again, she would run to her.
‘And he would probably stab me with the sword in his hand.’
What if she hadn’t gotten in that carriage first and suggested breaking off the engagement?
He wouldn’t have changed. Unlike Vigros, who approached naturally, he was Arcanda’s Ovid. It would have played out the same way. The one who suggested breaking off the engagement would surely have been him, just like before.
“I have no need of you, Your Highness.”
That firm answer seemed unbreakable by anything.
Ovid couldn’t bring himself to hold onto her as she drifted away.
“But I… I keep thinking about you. Even though I know how ridiculous I am, I don’t understand my past self. You keep filling my mind, and I want to see you. What is this? What am I supposed to do?”
But Iora didn’t hear any of his self-pitying murmurings.
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