Chapter 124
She had just finished her etiquette lessons and Saint training for the day. Judging from the whispers and the looks people kept throwing her way, she had a pretty good idea of what kind of rumors were circulating. And after returning from the maids’ quarters, where she had gone to investigate, Shana had come back snorting like an enraged bull, fuming as though she were about to explode with anger.
‘Looks like it’s spreading just as I’d hoped… The question is, how will the Emperor respond?’
There had been quite a few people at the café, so she had expected the rumor to spread quickly.
Even so, people still seemed uncertain.
Most of the people in the Saint’s mansion were devoted followers of Arcanda. They believed that the fake Saint, Iora, had forgotten her place and was desperately trying to catch Crown Prince Ovid’s attention.
It struck her all over again just how cruel this mad world truly was.
To Vigros, and to herself.
‘Even when we haven’t actually done anything deserving of condemnation, we’re still being cursed to death. It’s so unfair.’
She felt as though she finally understood why Vigros had grown so twisted. How wronged he must have felt. Of course, there was a good chance Vigros really was acting as the hidden mastermind, but from the very beginning, he had already been destined to become someone the people of the Empire feared and despised. All because of <The Saint’s Flower>.
The fake Saint, and the reviled hidden mastermind. The sense of kinship between them suddenly felt overwhelming.
“Lady Iora, let’s hurry back. Please?”
Shana whispered with tearful eyes, but Iora slowly shook her head. Not yet. There was one thing the maids had gotten right. They believed today was the day the Crown Prince would be coming.
Before the Emperor could make his move against her, Iora intended to drive the axe into Crown Prince Ovid one more time.
Give up on me. Break off our engagement. Please, you damned male lead, give up on me.
Iora was certain Ovid would never look her way. Although the way he looked at Arcanda seemed a little different from what she remembered…
“Shana, shall we get going?”
“Yes…”
Shana looked at her as though she couldn’t fathom what was going through her mind. Iora simply smiled.
* * *
Ever since even her own family could no longer bully her with impunity within the estate, Iora had changed quite a bit. Of course, Iora von Ribandt had always been beautiful.
Her brilliantly shimmering silver hair was truly breathtaking, and unlike in her previous life, her milky-white skin was neither sun-kissed nor dull, but so translucent it almost seemed to glow. It was as soft and flawless as a baby’s. Perhaps because she was a Saint candidate worthy of standing alongside the heroine despite being the villainess, she was a lovely young woman with strikingly perfect features. Even if they had long been hidden behind her gloomy expression and lack of confidence.
The current Iora, however, carried herself with confidence in every step she took. She moved with ease and composure. Unlike before, when she would always finish her Saint lessons as quickly as possible and disappear, now, whenever she noticed eyes fixed intently upon her, she met their gaze without hesitation.
The maids of the Saint’s mansion, who used to snicker among themselves as they mocked the fake Saint, gradually found themselves unable to do so. When they gathered in groups, they occasionally still found the courage to gossip, but the moment their eyes met hers, they clammed up.
Just like now.
“…Eek.”
“…Why don’t you keep going?”
“S-s-sorry…”
The maid who had been loudly taking Arcanda’s side shrank under the gaze of those violet eyes fixed on her. Iora’s slow, faint smile as she quietly looked at her had something unsettling about it, as though she were seeing a ghost.
And Iora found all of it rather amusing. In the past, she would have been timid in a situation like this. Perhaps even hurt by it. She would have first wondered what, exactly, she had done wrong. She would never have considered that they were the ones being shockingly rude, ill-mannered, and cruel. How suffocating that had been.
‘Hmph.’
Snorting inwardly, Iora continued down the long corridor. As before, faint laughter slipped into her ears. Familiar silhouettes gradually came into view. She heard Shana draw a sharp breath, and saw Guillen von Vendas, who had been waiting in the corridor, go rigid as he fixed a hard, steady gaze on her. And then—
“Really? Tell me more, Ovid. Hm?”
“But Arcanda, wouldn’t it be better to continue the rest of the story back in the imperial palace?”
“Oh my, why? The weather is so nice today, and the sunlight is so warm. The palace is far too dull and quiet.”
Bright, cheerful voices and calm, subdued ones blended together in a strangely intimate harmony. It was like a perfect scene playing out — something natural, something true. Iora took it all in with her eyes and moved forward with light, unhurried steps.
Unlike before, her heart did not lurch painfully at the sight of it, nor did a sharp ache twist through her chest when she looked at the Crown Prince’s back.
Nor did she find herself collapsing inward with self-mocking bitterness at the sight of Arcanda, the other saint candidate, radiant like the sun itself.
“…Iora?”
The moment she took another step forward, her eyes met Arcanda’s who had just been smiling sweetly at the Crown Prince.
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