Chapter 93
Of course, it might have been because she had always been an actress at heart, but in <The Saint’s Flower>, everyone loved her. They yearned for her. Even the Emperor was on her side, and the Crown Prince Ovid was utterly enchanted. The instructors at the Saint’s mansion, who were responsible for training the saint candidates, were her fervent admirers.
Especially her handmaiden Jane, who acted like her own shadow. With just a few tears and a pitiful look, Jane would spread every kind of malicious rumor about Iora. The handmaidens, always eager for gossip, would pick it up instantly. The stories were quickly and inevitably blown out of proportion and spread far and wide across the Empire.
Even here, words held incredible power.
“The Saint’s Flower didn’t mention Iora being the Crown Prince’s betrothed, which was a bit of a shock.”
She was nothing but a fiancée in name only.
Ovid had never once called out to that foolish girl, nor had he ever even faced her directly. Arcanda had tried several times to meet Iora, but whether it was because she knew her place or was simply too afraid, they’d never truly met.
But one thing was certain — that foolish Iora must have loved Ovid.
And she would surely be consumed with jealousy over Arcanda. Even without lifting a finger, she would serve dutifully as a foil that made the heroine shine brighter by contrast.
“Now I just have to begin properly.”
Arcanda smiled radiantly.
Ovid was hers. The novel’s ending was a perfectly sealed happy ending, after all.
* * *
Iora sighed as she looked at the dazzling array of colorful dresses.
The maids, who would normally have been intent on their work whether she entered or not, exchanged glances and fell silent. Lifting her chin, Iora spoke.
“Put these dresses away.”
“M-my Lady?”
“…All of them?”
“Yes.”
One thing Iora had vowed the moment she returned to this life was to be rid of those dreadful dresses.
When the approaching maidservant extended her arms with yet another pile, Iora simply pointed to the table to indicate where to put them.
‘I’m not going to be a dress-up doll anymore.’
The extravagant gowns, lace-trimmed silks, glittering jewels — these were textures Kim Jiyeon had never even touched in her past life. Dresses so luxurious that even runway models might hesitate to wear them. Yes, they were beautiful, and yes, they brought a certain joy.
But that joy should come from wearing what she wanted to wear, not from being dressed to someone else’s taste.
Iora narrowed her eyes, scanning the clothes overflowing in the wardrobe.
“They really do have a lot of money, huh.”
Shana, standing nearby, tilted her head in confusion. Iora responded with a sweet smile before plunging back into contemplation. What should I wear?
“B-but, my lady. The master will…”
“He’ll throw a fit.”
“T-today you’re supposed to wear the purple dress…”
The maids, nervously fidgeting, finally began to voice their opinions. Iora swept her cold gaze over them before turning her head away. As if I care. She reached out and shoved the bundled dresses aside with a dramatic sweep.
Gasps of horror followed, but Iora calmly pulled out a gown and held it up for inspection.
“I hate dresses that dip this low. Half the chest showing? It’s freezing, and uncomfortable. Is this really what Crown Prince Ovid likes?”
“Ah-hmph! M-my lady!”
This must have been the one her mother bought specifically for the Founding Festival, to present her properly to the Crown Prince.
‘And I got stood up there, too.’
That day, the Crown Prince had gone boating with Arcanda after his meal with the Emperor.
Remembering it now, Iora realized she’d turned all her pent-up frustration on her mother, saying none of the effort had mattered. She shot a mischievous grin at the maid who’d gone pale, and pulled out a different dress this time. Lighter, airier, and it made her smile in spite of herself.
“Are you really going to wear that, my lady?”
Shana asked, voice clear and steady, no longer trembling.
“Why? Doesn’t it suit me?”
It was a bright yellow dress, decorated with deep green ribbons cascading neatly down the front. Compared to the previous gowns that had strained to force a kind of sensual appeal, this one was vivid, playful, and even charming. Now this is attractive.
“It’s beautiful!”
“Thanks, Shana. Then shall I wear this one today?”
Iora whispered softly to Shana, then turned to hand the dress to the other maids, who were still frozen in place. Her voice turned cold and commanding, brimming with arrogance and composure — as they had always known it to be.
“I’m going to the Saint’s mansion. Get everything ready.”
It might seem like nothing more than choosing a dress, but Iora was determined that she would no longer live according to anyone else’s will.
Her lips curled upward in a leisurely smile, like a lioness lounging after a full meal.
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