Chapter 130
Ah.
Ah.
Aah.
Something grabbed her with tremendous force.
She rolled once. Then twice.
Pain throbbed through every inch of her body, and Iora realized she had hit the ground together with someone else.
People screamed all around her.
As her vision slowly cleared, the first thing she saw was Shana, running toward her in tears.
Then Arcanda, bleeding from what looked like an injury.
Beside her stood Iora’s escort knight, who seemed to have protected Arcanda from suffering even worse injuries.
And finally—
‘Why?’
“Are you all right, Lady Iora?!”
‘Why are you the one making that face?’
“Are you hurt? Are you injured anywhere?!”
It was the Crown Prince. He looked utterly desperate, as though he had thrown himself in front of her to shield her. Dark gray hair, the color of a wolf’s fur, and matching gray eyes looked down at her. His gaze burned with fierce emotion.
Then, slowly… A crimson trail ran down the sharp line of the Crown Prince’s face.
Ah.
Blood. It was blood.
A chill shot through Iora’s entire body. The fingers lying limply at her side twitched.
Blankly, she thought…
I want that blood out of my sight. I don’t want to look at the eyes of someone who’s been hurt because of me.
Her fingers moved ever so slightly. Warmth gathered at their tips. Without realizing it, Iora almost healed the Crown Prince.
She froze in horror. Had she not caught herself in time and stopped her fingers, she would have done it. Cold sweat streamed down her back.
“Iora.”
“I’m… fine.”
“Thank goodness.”
Ovid smiled slowly. That smile looked strangely distant, so fleeting that it seemed it might disappear at any moment.
Iora frowned, then lowered her eyes to stare at her own hand.
What in the world was I trying to do?
Could it be that this body was still under the influence of <The Saint’s Flower>? Was that why she had nearly done something as insane as revealing her divine power?
Iora’s expression hardened into something frighteningly cold.
* * *
For a brief moment, Ovid felt as though the world had collapsed around him. The instant the massive panes of glass shattered into countless fragments and came raining down, everything else vanished from his sight.
He knew Arcanda was standing right beside him. He knew it, and yet his body had already moved.
It didn’t matter whether the young woman before him was truly the saint or not. In that moment, the only thought in his mind had been to shield Iora. It had felt only natural. As though there had never been any other choice.
‘Your Imperial Highness, thank you for today. Please… make sure you have those injuries treated.’
‘Lady Iora, please don’t dwell on what happened today.’
Her steady voice and unwavering eyes had been filled with bewilderment. But for just that moment, she had faltered.
She had looked at him. She had frowned when she saw his injuries. For some reason, the fact that that alone was enough to make him happy struck Ovid as deeply unsettling.
Swallowing hard, he ran a hand across his mouth. I’ve lost my mind. That silver hair filled his vision until it almost hurt to look at. Ovid squeezed his eyes shut.
His heart trembled with painful intensity. She had been just as startled as anyone else. Yet unlike Arcanda, who had collapsed as though she had fainted, Iora had simply lifted her chin, rigid and composed.
Then, without the slightest hesitation, she turned and left, taking with her the escort knight who had chosen to save someone other than the person he had been assigned to protect.
If not for Arcanda clinging to him in tears, he might have followed after her.
No, he certainly would have.
“Your Highness, are you all right? Are you feeling unwell?”
“No.”
Even at the knight’s thoughtful question, Ovid found himself with nothing to say. A sharp pain pulsed through his temple, but he didn’t care. When he thought of the wound as proof that Iora had escaped unharmed, he almost felt glad to have it.
Perhaps this single injury would make her remember him, if only for a fleeting moment. Perhaps it would stir something in her. Perhaps it would create even the smallest crack in the wall between them.
“Your Highness.”
“Am I… behaving strangely?”
“…To be honest, yes.”
“I think so too.”
An investigation was launched into the cause of the shattered glass. In the past, it might simply have been dismissed as an accident. After all, once Arcanda regained consciousness, she had said, “I hope this doesn’t become a big commotion.” But Ovid thought differently. This was not something that should simply be overlooked.
It was the very first time he had acted in complete opposition to Arcanda’s wishes, though he himself wasn’t aware of it.
He only had the strange feeling that something had changed. It was as though one of the chains that had bound him so tightly had come loose with a quiet click.
“Sir, it feels as though I’ve just been released from a dreadful prison.”
That was exactly how it felt. As though he had finally reached the end of a prison sentence that had stretched on forever. Watching Ovid let out a hollow laugh, the knight slowly shook his head as though looking at a madman.
“One thing I do know. Your Highness, you’re truly acting strangely today.”
Ovid repeatedly clenched and unclenched the hand that still bore fresh cuts. It all felt like a dream. As he stared blankly at Iora’s retreating figure, he found himself thinking that he had seen it somewhere before. That he had watched her walk away like that before. Just like the image of Iora’s back in the incomprehensible nightmares that had been tormenting him lately.
It was a bewildering feeling, as though he were slowly losing his mind. Only one thing was certain. He felt an overwhelming urge to kneel before her and beg for forgiveness. But the Iora before him never looked back. As though she had no intention of giving him even the chance to ask for it.
‘The Iora in my dreams was crying.’
Ovid bit down on his lip until it hurt.
‘Because of me.’
Do you really know what kind of person I am? For a fleeting moment, he almost answered her question.
I do, my lady. I know you well. Iora. I know…
Absurdly enough, he had almost said those words. Even though that couldn’t possibly be true.
After all, it had been nothing more than a dream that had never happened.
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