Chapter 127
“My lord, my lord! Get back to work!”
“L-Lord Lake… I think the Duke is using his powers right now…”
Please, just leave him alone! Even though he knew perfectly well that was what everyone wanted to say, Lake grumbled under his breath all the same. Muttering complaints the entire time, he picked up the blanket that had fallen beside the chair and draped it over his lord with a firm thump.
His devil of a lord was undeniably tough, but whenever he overused his abilities, there was no telling what sort of side effects would strike afterward.
If he ended up bedridden again, groaning in pain because his body had become as frail as it had the last time, it would be nothing short of a disaster.
Placing the urgent letter that had just arrived onto the table, Lake muttered:
“And here I thought he’d be thrilled to hear that a message had come from the temple.”
Clicking his tongue, he shot a sideways glance at the absurdly handsome man sitting there with a deep frown etched across his brow.
He’s probably sent his consciousness into another bird again, Lake thought. Watching what that fake girlfriend of his is up to this time. And he says it isn’t love?
He could deny it all he wanted, but there was no fooling anyone. Wasn’t this exactly how people fell head over heels?
“Look at him, worrying himself sick that some other man might lay a finger on her. If that’s not jealousy, then what is?”
“Lord Lake, what should we do about the temple?”
“What else? Once our sleepyhead of a lord wakes up, we’ll tell him the news and let him decide.”
For some reason, his lord suddenly looked every bit his actual age—a young man. The thought made Lake let out a thoroughly wicked chuckle. He would have hated to admit it, but like master, like servant.
It was a grin that resembled Vigros’s far too closely.
* * *
The conversation unfolded along familiar lines.
Arcanda and the crown prince had no shortage of shared topics to discuss, leaving Iora naturally isolated on the sidelines.
Only then did Arcanda’s smile become genuinely relaxed.
Now and then, Iora caught Ovid casting her glances that seemed faintly troubled, as though something about her felt unfamiliar or unsettling.
Then, quite suddenly, Iora spoke.
“I should be going now. I think I’ve interrupted the two of you long enough.”
“Oh my, Iora? Why are you leaving already? …Oh dear! Have I been talking only about myself?”
Who would ever know? That behind that angelic face, she had deliberately left Iora out, showing off that the Crown Prince Ovid you like so much only has eyes for me. In the past, seeing those little displays had left Iora heartsick. They had hurt. They had made her miserable. But now, all she could do was laugh.
After all, she no longer cared.
Iora rose lightly to her feet. Little by little, step by step, she would stray from the story’s original course. That was what Iora wanted.
“I really do have to go. I have my own schedule to keep. We’ll see each other next time, Arcanda.”
“Is it something urgent? That’s such a shame… You hardly ever come by the Saint’s mansion these days.”
Look at her. Iora quietly raised an eyebrow. “Even the instructor has been so worried,” Arcanda murmured.
Iora laughed to herself.
As if.
From the very beginning, reducing her lessons and freeing up her schedule had been something she and her instructor had agreed upon together. But there was no instructor here who could testify that Arcanda’s words were false, and no one present would ever believe that Arcanda was capable of lying.
Just then, the Crown Prince suddenly cut in. He looked unusually anxious, and there was an unmistakable urgency in his voice.
“You’ve… not been attending your lessons properly, Lady Iora?”
“Well, yes.”
“Why?”
Iora studied him for a moment before answering with a slight lift of her brow. She couldn’t understand what was so surprising about it. After all, hadn’t the so-called fake saint who had no chance of ever becoming the true saint once been harshly criticized simply for stubbornly continuing to attend her lessons?
“Your Imperial Highness, I’m not sure I understand your question. The saint’s lessons were never meant to be so intensive to begin with. This term’s curriculum was simply an unusual case.”
“But to give up on your lessons…”
“Your Imperial Highness? I never said I’d given them up.”
Ovid bit his lip. She had no idea what had gotten into him. He looked as though he wanted to say something more, and she waited.
Then a flash of golden hair filled her vision. With an expression full of concern, Arcanda clasped both hands together as though in prayer before speaking.
“But Iora, it’s not good to give up like that. No one knows which of us will become the Saint. That’s why we both have to devote ourselves wholeheartedly to our lessons. We are the ones who must thoroughly learn the duties of the Saint, after all.”
It was an impeccably righteous argument.
Voices murmuring their approval rose around them, clearly pleased by Arcanda’s words. For a moment, Iora felt as though she were standing on a stage, surrounded by an audience.
And those maids? They were nothing more than eager spectators. Once she thought of it that way, even their constant whispering became amusing.
Iora looked at Arcanda, who seemed poised to lecture her with an unusually stern expression. Then she tilted her head slightly before speaking.
“How strange. Arcanda, did our instructor really tell you that? I discussed it with the instructor myself before deciding to reduce my lessons. Are you saying that was the wrong decision? I’m not like you, Arcanda. Because of that, I can’t follow exactly the same pace as you, and I don’t need to.”
“I’m not trying to argue with you, Iora. I only mean that we should be working harder than anyone else in our lessons—”
“So because my lessons progress more slowly than yours, and I spend less time in class, that means I’m not working hard?”
A frigid silence settled over the group. It was so heavy that no one seemed to dare breathe. Arcanda’s lips parted, but no words came out. She simply stared, momentarily at a loss.
With her arms folded, Iora slowly curled one corner of her lips into a smile.
At that moment, she found herself hoping the expression she’d painstakingly practiced in front of a mirror, following every one of Vigros’s lessons, had appeared just right.
“I’m working hard, Arcanda. I always have been, and I always will. Not by anyone else’s standards… but by my own.”
Arcanda’s face flushed bright red in an instant.
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