Chapter 131
Things were different from before. Naturally, that meant some people would begin acting differently as well. But Iora had never imagined that Ovid would be one of them. For a moment, she thought of the man who had pulled her into his arms and rolled across the ground without a moment’s hesitation. Then she clenched her teeth.
‘Why now?’
If he was supposed to be the male lead of <The Saint’s Flower>, then she wished he would simply stay that way.
Without making things so confusing for no reason. It was as she arrived at House Ribandt, listening to Shana’s worried voice, and stepped down from the carriage. The knight who had silently followed her the entire way suddenly dropped to one knee.
The servants passing through the front gate looked over in surprise. Iora clicked her tongue. To anyone watching, it would look as though the vicious fake saint had forced an innocent knight to kneel before her.
“Sir, I’m tired. I don’t even have the energy to argue with you. I still have to go inside and deal with that insufferable family of mine. Please, stand up.”
“It was wrong.”
“What was?”
“I am your escort knight, my lady. Yet in that moment, I protected someone else instead of you.”
If it hadn’t been for the Crown Prince, Iora would certainly have been badly hurt. There had been plenty of people rushing to protect Arcanda, but not Iora. Shana, who had run toward her screaming, was such a slight girl that she was someone Iora should have been protecting instead.
“Sir.”
Guillen slowly raised his head. And in that moment, he felt more despair than ever before.
Since when had the young lady been looking at him like that?
Perhaps from the very beginning?
‘That look…’
Guillen clenched his jaw. From the very beginning, the young lady’s eyes had held no expectation of him whatsoever. That realization shook the very foundations of the rigidly honorable man. Shame and humiliation crept into his heart. It struck at the very core of the honest, steadfast knight he believed himself to be. One after another, memories of the Iora von Ribandt he had known flashed through Guillen’s mind.
Is that young lady really the fake saint? The villainess?
The devil who tormented the innocent Arcanda, the one everyone pointed at and cursed?
To his own question, Guillen gave his own answer.
‘No.’
A hand was held out before him. It was a pale hand. The hand of a young girl his lady’s age, nothing more than that. It was neither covered in thorns nor the bloodstained skin of a monster. Guillen slowly lowered his head. He asked himself when his chivalry had become so warped by prejudice. Though he did not take her hand, he rose to his feet and spoke in a low, weighty voice.
“I apologize. If you still wish for me to remain your sword.”
“If I still wish?”
“Then from this day forward, I will protect you with all that I have, my lady.”
Guillen tensed. If the young lady rejected him, then he would have no choice but to leave. Once, that had been what he had wished for more than anything. But now, he prayed with all his heart that it would not come to that. More than anything, it was Iora’s voice, tinged with laughter, that finally brought the unbearably long moment to an end.
In a tone that was almost prim, as though lightly chiding him, she murmured.
“It’s far too late for that. But well, I suppose I’ll be counting on you from now on.”
“……”
Watching the scene unfold, Shana burst into cheerful laughter. For once, even Guillen didn’t scold her. That laughter brought a quiet smile to his face as well.
* * *
Please, just let me live.
Iora felt as though she wanted to beg the unseen <The Saint’s Flower> for mercy.
‘I want to rest… Why didn’t anyone tell me that the daily life of a supporting villainess would be this exhausting?’
Perhaps because the shock had been so great, every inch of her body creaked in protest. Yet the moment she returned to the estate, what awaited her was that damned Janus’s birthday ball.
‘Damn it.’
Of course, by aristocratic standards, it was hardly grand enough to be called a ball. It was merely a modest family dinner held within the estate. Even so, the all-too-familiar faces of her endlessly tiresome relatives greeted her from memory.
The moment her eyes met her mother’s, who was elegantly fanning herself while conversing with the guests, she caught the woman’s look of disapproval.
It was probably because, once again, Iora wasn’t wearing the dress her mother had prepared.
Unlike her mother, who favored revealing fashions, Iora preferred dresses that were fresh and elegant. She had no desire to wear a gown with a plunging back or one that exposed half her chest simply because that was what her mother wanted.
“Phew.”
Gesturing to the worried-looking Guillen and Shana, Iora walked down the stairs. The murmuring conversations came to an abrupt halt, and the eyes of everyone gathered there turned toward her. No matter how many times she experienced it, it was never a pleasant situation.
Their eyes were filled with ridicule. They had found something to mock, no doubt.
A look of contempt crossed her father’s face as he stood laughing among the men. Had it not been for this ball, he looked as though he might have rushed over and struck her on the spot.
It seemed the rumors that she had been meeting with a man had finally reached her father’s ears. Iora smirked to herself.
The thought of how Vigros, a man whose pride was as towering as Pinocchio’s nose, would react if he found out that he was currently being treated as little more than a filthy mistress was enough to make her laugh.
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