Chapter 104

The uneven road made the carriage rattle constantly, its wheels thudding and swaying with every dip and rise.

Elena had been resting her head on Kennard’s shoulder, eyes closed, but slowly pushed herself upright. Her entire body ached—as though she’d been submerged underwater too long or struck all over by something heavy and unrelenting.

She longed to lie down, but this wasn’t the time or place.

Her eyes burned, heat pooling behind them like fever, and she leaned her head back against the seat with a soft exhale.

“Are you uncomfortable?” Kennard asked, glancing at her with concern.

“A little,” Elena murmured, nodding faintly.

Kennard tightened his grip around the hand he had laced with hers. With his other, he reached up and brushed aside the small curtain covering the carriage window to look outside.

Over his shoulder, the view beyond the window was dazzling—just blue sky and white clouds stretching endlessly. It felt, for a moment, as if they were floating in the air.

He let the curtain fall back into place and then tugged on a thick, twisted golden cord that hung from the ceiling.

“Whoa, whoa,” came the driver’s voice a moment later as the sound of the bell reached outside. The horses slowed, and the carriage finally came to a creaking halt. Around them, the distant whinnies of horses rang out.

A familiar scent approached—the distinct trace of Kennard’s right hand man. A moment later, there was a knock on the carriage door.

When Kennard opened it, Serin appeared, his expression sharp with inquiry.

“Your Grace, is something wrong?”

“How much longer will we have to endure this road?” Kennard asked, his tone clipped.

“If we’re to reach the village at the foot of the mountain today, we need to press on. I’d estimate another two to three hours,” Serin replied promptly.

“Then let’s take a short break here.”

“Here, Your Grace?” Serin’s brows lifted slightly as he glanced around, clearly uneasy.

“The path is narrow, and one side is a sheer drop. It’s not exactly ideal for resting.”

“Just for a little while,” Kennard insisted. “The carriage is shaking too much.”

Serin glanced into the carriage, casting a meaningful look inside. He knew without asking that Kennard’s sudden insistence had everything to do with Elena.

Feeling his gaze, Elena offered a small, awkward smile.

Serin sighed, running a hand over the back of his head. “Even if we stop now, the ride after this will be just as rough.”

Then, with a mutter, he added, “Miss Elena doesn’t look well. Honestly, we wouldn’t be in this situation if you’d agreed when I suggested moving the tent closer to the hot spring. But no—you said it wasn’t necessary. And then you went and spent the entire night soaking in it. Look at her now.”

Elena quickly turned her head away, face burning. She had no idea where to rest her gaze as embarrassment surged through her like fire.

And Serin wasn’t wrong. Kennard hadn’t let her go until nearly dawn.

Again and again, he had taken her into his arms, and even when they stepped out of the water to rest, he refused to release her. Wrapped together under a fur blanket, they’d dozed briefly on the soft grass, only waking when the sky began to lighten.

He had carried her back to the tent just as he had carried her to the spring, and until moments before their departure, she had remained in a deep, exhausted sleep.

No one had seen them come or go. The camp had been still, with everyone else asleep.

And yet… Serin somehow knew.

“If you’d stop fussing and just let us rest, we might actually get some,” Kennard said bluntly.

With that, he stood abruptly and stepped out of the carriage.

Startled, Serin instinctively took a step back.

“You truly mean to stop here?” Serin asked, incredulous.

“I said I did,” Kennard replied curtly.

“What if the horses start acting up?”

“Then calm them down. Feed them, if you must. Must I spell out everything for you?”

Kennard’s voice dropped into a low growl as he shot Serin a sharp look.

Serin muttered under his breath, clearly disgruntled. “Still… why here, of all places…” He trailed off with a heavy sigh, unable to hide his frustration.

“In that case,” he offered, “why not summon Leto and have him check on Lady Elena? If we’re stopping anyway.”

At the sound of that name, Kennard’s brow arched sharply.

Elena did her best to maintain a neutral expression, but inwardly, she stiffened. The moment Leto’s name left Serin’s lips, her suspicions clicked into place. The faint trace of pheromones she’d sensed from the locked carriage—it had been him.

“Isn’t that why you brought him along?” Serin asked carefully. “In case something like this happened?”

Kennard didn’t answer right away. He rubbed his chin in thought, gaze unreadable.

“If you’d prefer not to see him, I could bring Cura instead,” Serin continued. “The tea won’t be warm, but she should have a brewed Ervejo blend.”

“No,” Kennard said flatly. “Go. Bring him quietly.”

Serin gave a small nod and turned to leave, but Kennard’s next words made him pause mid-step and look back, startled.

“If he tries anything—push him off the cliff.”

“…Pardon? Are you serious?”

“Have I ever joked?” Kennard replied without inflection. “If it weren’t for this journey, I’d have had him executed back in Terra Demorte—just like you suggested.”

Though his voice remained calm, each word landed with unflinching severity—so measured, so composed, it felt even more chilling.

Serin swallowed hard and turned away, disappearing down the path without another word.

Silence filled the carriage in his wake.

Kennard sat motionless, staring in the direction Serin had gone, his lips set in a tight line. Elena watched him, but the tension in the air made her hesitate to speak.

Then finally, Kennard broke the silence.

“Elena.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” she answered quickly, straightening her posture as she turned to face him.

At her voice, he looked toward her, and the glint of cold steel in his eyes had softened into something calmer, more familiar.

“If Leto comes, don’t speak to him about anything except your condition. Understand?”

Elena blinked, taken aback. She had no idea why he would give such a specific instruction.

After all, it was Kennard who had ordered Leto’s capture the day they returned from the White Fox village. Ever since, a strict silence surrounded the matter—no explanation, not even confirmation of whether he was dead or alive.

And yet now… here, in the convoy heading toward the capital, locked away in a sealed carriage she couldn’t see into, she had faintly sensed his pheromones.

She’d tried more than once to get close, but each time, she was blocked—by the knights, by Lassino, by silent but unmistakable orders.

To be meeting him face-to-face now was shocking enough.

But being told not to speak with him?

“Your Grace,” she said quietly, gathering her courage, “I’ve wanted to ask this before but didn’t dare… Did something happen to Teacher Leto?”

Her voice was gentle but firm, her gaze searching his.

Since she had accepted him, Kennard had never been angry with her. If anything, he was overly indulgent—protective to a fault. And yet, to ask a question she knew he might not want to answer… it took courage.

“He betrayed me,” Kennard said at last, after a long pause, his gaze steady on her.

But he offered nothing more.

Whatever betrayal had occurred—whatever history lay between them, whatever reasons Leto might have had—Kennard clearly had no intention of speaking further.

A moment later, a voice came from outside.

“Your Grace, I’ve brought him.”

As Serin’s voice rang out, he appeared with Leto in tow.

The physician’s once-white hair and beard, already streaked with age, now looked dry and brittle like withered grass, tangled in unkempt waves. His features had grown more gaunt, his wrinkles deeper, his eyes dull and sunken. Even his posture had stooped, shoulders curled inward, making him seem far older than Elena remembered.

“I greet Your Grace,” Leto muttered, his voice rasping like metal scraping metal as he bowed low before Kennard.

Kennard didn’t spare him a glance as he climbed back into the carriage.

“Send him in,” he said simply.

At his nod, Serin guided Leto up into the carriage.

It was spacious—wide enough for Kennard to lie down with room to spare, tall enough that one could stand without brushing the ceiling. Its walls gleamed with soft silk and ornate jewels, yet despite its opulence, the moment Leto stepped inside, a chill settled over the space, transforming it into something stifling.

Elena felt it too.

Leto cast a cautious glance toward Kennard, gauging his mood, then turned to Elena.

“I’ll examine you briefly,” he said.

Elena forced a smile, trying to ease the tension.

With trembling fingers, Leto gently lifted her eyelid and studied her gaze. Then, pressing his index and middle fingers to the side of her neck and the inside of her wrist, he felt for her pulse. He pushed back the flowing sleeve that reached her hand, lifting it to the elbow, and rotated her arm with practiced care.

“Have you been experiencing persistent drowsiness? A heaviness in your body?”

His voice cracked as he spoke, the strain audible in his throat.

“Yes… quite often, actually,” Elena replied, lowering her eyes, her cheeks flushed a soft pink.

With Kennard constantly seeking her out, she rarely had a full night’s rest. Fatigue had become her constant companion.

“You’ve also gained a little weight since your last check-up,” he noted—not as a question, but as a quiet observation.

“…Yes,” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

“Would you mind opening your mouth for me?”

Though embarrassed, Elena parted her lips slightly, knowing resistance would only prolong things.

Leto leaned closer to peer into her mouth, then slowly straightened and stepped back.

Without warning, he dropped to his knees.

Then, to her shock, he bowed low—so low his forehead touched the carriage floor.

Elena stared at him in stunned silence. Even Serin looked visibly caught off guard.

“…What is he doing?” Kennard asked, narrowing his eyes.

Leto’s voice came steady despite the weight of the moment.

“Congratulations, Your Grace. Lady Elena is with child.”