Chapter 106

Elena felt pain, but she couldn’t pull her hand away, nor could she say that it hurt.

That was how tense the atmosphere had become—so much so that she couldn’t predict what might provoke Kennard. His entire presence radiated a chilling energy, sharp enough to make her cautious of every word, every movement.

“I told you,” Marten said coldly. “The timing of when I delivered His Majesty’s personal letter was crucial.”

“And I told you I couldn’t care less,” Kennard shot back.

The two men stood locked in confrontation, neither backing down an inch.

It felt less like a conversation and more like a duel fought not with swords and shields, but with words and piercing stares.

No—there were no shields. It felt as if both men stood with nothing but blades, each ready to strike the other at any moment.

Elena bit her lower lip, trying to think of something—anything—she could do at this moment.

But the more she tried, the darker her mind became, like clouds had gathered over her thoughts.

Even if she had managed to come up with something to say, it would not have helped with what happened next.

“Regardless, I’m going to do things my way. So try and stop me, if you think you can.” Kennard sneered at Marten as he locked eyes with him.

“Kennard!” Marten shouted suddenly, his voice breaking through the heavy tension. “If you defy His Majesty’s command, I will have no choice but to strike you and Elena down, right here.”

He drew the sword at his waist and pointed it directly at Kennard.

The next moment, Serin stepped in front of Kennard and Elena, sword drawn, shielding them with his body. At the same time, dozens of blades flew toward Marten in perfect unison.

Through Serin’s silhouette, who had moved to protect both her and Kennard, Elena saw the knights encircling Marten, their weapons raised and glinting with menace.

 She was so shocked her breath caught in her throat. Sweat beaded on her palms as she clenched the hem of her dress with trembling fingers.

Kennard turned his head to glance at her, then exhaled a long, steady breath. As if trying to calm her, he gently patted the back of her hand a few times before slowly rising to his feet.
He tapped Serin’s shoulder twice, silently signaling him to stand aside, then took a measured step forward. At that signal, Serin lowered his sword without hesitation.

The carriage gave a faint tremble with each step Kennard took down the stairs. Elena braced herself against the backrest with one hand and began to push herself up.

“Please remain seated,” Serin said quietly, sensing her movement. He glanced over his shoulder and shook his head, silently urging her to stay where she was.

Then, without another word, he turned his gaze forward again.

Even without Serin’s warning, Elena knew she wouldn’t have been able to go far anyway. Leto still lay prostrate at her feet, motionless, as though dead. There was no clear place to step. In the middle of all this commotion, his complete stillness was almost eerie in its composure.

Elena tilted her head slightly, peering around Serin’s shoulder to look outside.

Kennard and Marten stood face-to-face, locked in a deadly stare. Neither moved, not even to blink. The tension between them stretched tight, like a blade that could cut straight through skin.

Elena swallowed hard, her throat dry and aching. It was a small, barely audible sound, likely unnoticed by anyone else, but to her, it echoed like a drumbeat in her ears.

“I’ve already spared your life more than once,” Kennard said, his voice breaking the long silence. “And now you threaten to kill me?”

“Let’s not twist words,” Marten replied sharply. “You didn’t spare me. You just didn’t kill me.”

Unfazed by the dozens of blades pointed in his direction, Marten stepped forward without fear. The knights standing between him and Kennard parted quickly, careful not to accidentally strike him with their weapons.

They were poised to cut Marten down the moment he made a move, but only if Kennard gave the command—or if Marten struck first.

Marten knew this. That was why he moved without the slightest hesitation.

“Then tell me,” he said, voice low. “Why provoke me like this? Of all people, you should know exactly how I’ll react in a situation like this.”

“I do know,” Marten replied coolly. “I know you’ll never kill me. But I also know you’ll attack me right up to the edge of death.”

Marten gave a bitter smile, one corner of his mouth curling upward in self-mockery.

Kennard clenched his jaw tightly as he glared at Marten, then slowly raised his right hand to shoulder height.

At the signal, the knights surrounding Marten simultaneously lowered their swords.

“You’ve likely heard already,” Kennard said. “Elena is carrying my child.”

The knights exchanged glances at his words.

“Our first destination is no longer the capital. It is now Montefiano. We will be wed the moment we arrive. Make all necessary preparations to ensure Elena and the child remain safe and at ease until then.”

“At your command,” the knights answered in unison.

“After Elena becomes my wife in the eyes of the Empire, then we will go to the capital,” Kennard continued, turning his gaze back to Marten. “And I will tolerate no further objections.”

With those final words, sharp as nails driven into stone, Kennard turned and climbed back into the carriage.

Serin stepped aside to let him pass, then gently supported Elena’s shoulder to help her sit back down.

“Serin, begin preparations as I instructed,” Kennard said as he settled beside her.

“Yes, Your Grace. However, to install a cot in the carriage, it would be better to relocate to a slightly wider area. The cliffside beside us is too narrow and could be dangerous in the current position.”

“Do it.”

Kennard gave a reluctant nod, and Serin stepped down from the carriage.

Still standing where he had been, Marten let out a deep sigh, then turned and walked off without a word.

“Leto,” Kennard called, glancing at the man still lying on the floor. “That’s enough. Get up.”

At Kennard’s command, Leto slowly raised his head.

Even as he pushed himself off the ground, he couldn’t rise in one smooth motion and staggered in the process. His silver-white hair, tangled like cobwebs, spilled forward as he straightened his upper body with effort.

A sudden chill ran down Elena’s back.

Their eyes had met through the disheveled strands of his hair.

Gone was the gentle gaze that had once regarded her. Leto’s eyes now appeared clouded, as if his soul had drained away.

For the briefest moment, something sharp and deadly, like a needle’s edge, flickered there and vanished.

“Prepare some tea or food that might be helpful to Elena,” Kennard said, taking a seat beside her. “We brought herbs with us. If anything is needed, speak to Lassino.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Leto’s voice remained calm as he answered, bowing his head deeply. It was as if he hadn’t even heard Kennard’s sharp tone or noticed his menacing expression.

“Go on.”

As Leto slowly descended the steps, a knight waiting outside fastened a heavy chain around his wrist.

While this was happening, Kennard gently swept Elena’s hair over her shoulder, studying her complexion.

Each time his fingers brushed her cheek, the touch was so soft that it seemed even more sensitive than a firmer gesture might have been.

It was hard to believe this was the same man who, just moments ago, had looked ready to kill Marten. His eyes were now filled with boundless warmth as they fell on Elena.

“Leto.” Kennard called out, halting him.

A knight who had just been about to shut the carriage door threw it wide open again.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Leto turned with visible effort and looked back at him.

“The only reason you’re still alive is because of Elena. So you’d better not get any foolish ideas.”

He hesitated before answering, bowing even lower than before. 

“…Yes, Your Grace.” 

Kennard gave a slight nod to the waiting knight, and the door was finally closed.

Not long after, the sound of footsteps scattered in different directions, and the carriage jolted slightly as it began to move once more.

“Ah!”

As Elena’s body lurched with the movement, Kennard lifted her in one swift motion and placed her on his lap.

She rested a hand on his chest and looked up at him.

He gently cradled her head and guided it to lean against his shoulder.

“This should make the ride a little easier, don’t you think?”

In truth, being wrapped in his arms—solid and broad as if clad in armor—was less physically comfortable than sitting in a plush chair.

Yet, her heart felt more at ease.

Elena took his arm, wrapped around her, and pulled it closer. She brought his large, calloused palm to her cheek and pressed it there with both hands.

As his warmth seeped into her skin, the wild pounding of her heart began to settle.

“Why?” Kennard asked softly.

“Because I feel better like this,” she murmured, eyes fluttering shut.

Kennard tilted his head and placed a kiss on her forehead, his palm still cupping her cheek.

“If this is what you want, I could hold you like this for the rest of my life.”

The arm wrapped around her waist tightened slightly, carefully yet with more strength than before, as if trying to show he truly meant what he said.

And even though he didn’t elaborate, Elena could feel the sincerity in his words. There wasn’t a single trace of deceit in them.

Relief spread quietly through her chest—yet at the same time, her thoughts kept drifting elsewhere.

To Marten, who had stormed off in anger. To Serin, who surely disapproved of Kennard’s decision but would obey it because it was his master’s will. And to Leto, who had shown her a momentary flash of hostility.

One by one, these concerns began to eat away at her.

She wanted to push them all aside.

Because the ones who mattered most right now were Kennard—and the child that was growing inside her.