Chapter 134
The following morning, Iora was finally allowed out of her room. It wasn’t because Father and Mother’s anger had miraculously faded, nor because they’d suddenly become different people overnight and realized what a terrible way they had treated their daughter. People did not change so easily, and the fouler their nature, the less likely they were to.
Wearing a troubled expression, Iora stared at the object that had been placed before her, then fixed the two men who had delivered it with a hard look. One wore a pleasant smile, while the other stood stiffly at attention. They were nothing more than messengers.
‘They really do look exactly like their master’s reflections.’
The man with the easygoing smile looked so much like Vigros, while the stiff-faced knight could have been Ovid himself.
The one who had decided to send flowers first had probably been Ovid. And Vigros, who seemed to loathe Ovid and the Imperial Palace with every fiber of his being, had likely ground his teeth before making sure to prepare flowers that were even grander and finer than Ovid’s.
‘That arrangement looks almost five times bigger….’
On one side sat a basket overflowing with white tulips. On the other was an enormous bouquet of purple cosmos, the very shade of her eyes, so large she couldn’t have wrapped both arms around it.
Feeling oddly self-conscious, Iora rubbed the tip of her ear. Cosmos. Their flower language meant devoted love. Surely he hadn’t chosen them because of that meaning. If he had… that would be far too… emba—
Iora shook her head.
The knight with the rigid expression was the one who broke her train of thought.
“My lady, His Highness requests a reply.”
Anyone watching would have thought she owed him something. The warmth she’d felt at the sight of the flowers instantly vanished. Narrowing her eyes, Iora looked at the knight’s haughty face before letting out a quiet laugh.
She didn’t even need to ask. He was exactly the same sort of person Guillen von Vendas had been before his sudden change of heart and unwavering loyalty.
How dare a fake Saint like her exchange letters with His Highness the Crown Prince! Leaving our Lady Arcanda aside! He was probably trembling with indignation, thinking exactly that.
“It seems His Highness chose the wrong messenger. Simply sending a fine gift doesn’t mean the recipient is obliged to be moved by it. And a knight with whom I have no acquaintance has no right to demand a reply from me. Am I being issued an order as one of His Highness’s subjects, or have I merely received a gift of flowers?”
“What did you just say, my lady?”
“Was anything I said incorrect? Oh dear, are you about to draw your sword? It seems you’ve completely forgotten where you are. Would you be satisfied if I screamed for help?”
Twisting her lips into a deliberately spiteful smile, Iora watched as the knight reluctantly took a step back, looking as though he wanted nothing more than to curse at her. She let out a quiet scoff.
‘How full of yourself.’
‘Does he think I’m some concubine waiting to be chosen?’
In contrast, she turned toward the other messenger, who had simply stood there with a gentle smile, patiently waiting, and smiled at him as softly as a spring breeze. The blatant difference in her treatment drew an irritated hiss from the knight, but by then she had already turned her back on him entirely. She had already said everything she wanted to Ovid himself without fearing him. Why would she be intimidated by a mere knight?
“Please tell the gentleman who sent these beautiful cosmos that I was truly grateful and very happy to receive them.”
“He’ll be delighted to hear that. And, my lady…”
“Mm? What is it?”
“Hidden among the flowers is a note from the gentleman who sent the gift.”
“Should I send a reply?”
“No. Simply reading it will be enough.”
Unable to tolerate another moment of what he clearly considered insolence, the knight finally declared, “I’ll take my leave, my lady! And everything that has happened here today will be reported to His Highness!” Then he stormed off.
It was honestly absurd. Iora was certain of one thing. The one who would end up receiving Crown Prince Ovid’s icy glare would not be her, but the knight who had just stomped away. After all, it was the Crown Prince who had been all but begging her to accept his flowers. The moment she remembered the wound he’d suffered for her, the concern she’d briefly felt for him evaporated.
Reaching into the cluster of cosmos blossoms, Iora pulled out a small note. As always, only a single short sentence was written on it.
I’m coming to kidnap you today.
A slow smile spread across Iora’s face.
It bloomed as brilliantly as the cosmos surrounding the note.
* * *
“Well?”
The terrifying man had deliberately sent the most easygoing of his subordinates, the one who smelled least of blood and was the least likely to do anything insane.
That very terrifying man was now chewing on flower petals.
No one could tell how many blossoms he’d bitten and torn apart. The bed was buried beneath a mountain of scattered flowers, and sprawled atop them lay a breathtakingly beautiful man. The sight was fatally alluring, but it had absolutely no effect on the subordinate, who was just as much a man as his master. Remaining dutiful, he simply nodded.
“She was pleased.”
“And the note?”
“She smiled after reading it.”
“Brightly?”
“Yes.”
“Hah…”
With a low laugh, the man spat out the tulip petals he had been diligently chewing.
‘I wonder if she knew their meaning.’
Turning over in one smooth motion, he moved with the effortless grace of a dancer. The tips of his long legs touched the floor.
Thud.
The foot that kicked aside the basket lying on the floor was startlingly pale.
Vigros wore a cruel smile as he ground the flowers that had spilled from the basket beneath his heel.
“I’d die happy if I could stomp that bastard’s face in like this.”
Ovid had never been someone he liked. Lately, however, he’d become even more intolerable.
“How dare he make advances on my Saint.”
Of course, the man happened to be her fiancé, but that was none of his concern.
Discussion
0 CommentsNo comments yet.