Chapter 136

“Will Her Grace be all right?” Cura asked softly, her voice tight with worry. “She has been through far too much these past days, especially while carrying a child.”

At those words, it felt as though Kennard’s heart dropped straight through his chest.

As Cura had said, Elena’s condition was deeply concerning. After the kidnapping, she had been stabbed, had fallen into the water, and had even reopened an old wound to let more blood flow. The fact that she was still managing to carry the child safely in such a state was almost unbelievable.

In truth, his mind held only one person. As long as Elena survived, nothing else mattered. It was as if he were afflicted with some illness that prevented him from thinking of anything but her.

Even so, Kennard was grateful that the child inside her womb still seemed to be holding on. If they lost the baby as well, Elena would only suffer even more.

Hearing approaching footsteps, he turned his head. Duke Benzef was walking toward them, irritably flicking water from his damp cloak.

“What happened?” Kennard asked, waiting until the duke had come close enough.

Cura bowed slightly and stepped back a few paces, yielding her place. Benzef took it.

“So it is possible,” Benzef muttered, rubbing his chin as one corner of his mouth twitched in disbelief. “It’s flawless. Setting aside how they fell into the water, they don’t even remember why they came here in the first place. They’re completely bewildered.”

“Is that true?” Kennard pressed.

“What reason would I have to lie to Your Grace?” Benzef replied, glancing at Kennard’s expression before trailing off. “They keep asking whether they fainted after witnessing the witch trial here earlier today.”

“What is it?” Kennard demanded when the duke hesitated.

“Some of them are saying,” Benzef continued carefully, “that perhaps they lost consciousness because the Grand Duchess placed a curse on them. Once one or two began saying it, others started half believing it as well.”

“What kind of nonsense is that?” Kennard snapped, his voice rising in fury. “Do they have any idea who just risked her life to save them?”

His anger rang out across the night so sharply that even the people along the riverbank seemed to freeze.

“If Elena hadn’t stopped me,” he went on coldly, “I should have turned them into corpses and let them drift down the river instead of breaking their spell.”

“They are ignorant commoners,” Benzef said in a placating tone. “Please don’t take their words to heart.”

“Did Your Grace simply stand there and listen while they spewed such drivel?” Kennard asked through clenched teeth, barely swallowing a curse.

“Well, only one or two said it,” Benzef hedged. “And with power like this… it is possible the Grand Duchess truly might be—”

He faltered under the icy edge of Kennard’s gaze.

“Even you, Duke Benzef, would do well to choose your words carefully,” Kennard said, his voice low.

He had to fight the urge to seize the man by the throat, his fingertips tingling from the effort of restraint.

“M-my apologies,” Benzef stammered, bowing so deeply it looked as though he might drop to his knees.

Kennard exhaled a long breath, glared at him once more, then deliberately turned his head away. If he did not, he might truly take his anger out on the duke.

“Raise your head,” he said curtly. “Your soldiers are here as well. With a war ahead of us, do not crush their morale.”

“My apologies, Your Grace,” Benzef repeated, lifting his head with a faint, relieved exhale.

“There is no choice now but to move to open warfare,” Kennard said, his eyes fixed on the brightly lit castle ahead. “And soon.”

The drawbridge had been raised toward the castle, leaving the end of the bridge cut off. Their original plan to move Benzef’s hidden soldiers first, infiltrate the castle, then lower the drawbridge and attack had collapsed. What had happened on the bridge would already have been reported to the emperor by the sentries on the walls, and the defenses would certainly be tighter than before.

But that had only been the first plan.

“How many catapults do we have?” Kennard asked.

“A little over ten,” Benzef replied. “But we only managed to bring three near the capital. Moving equipment that large all at once would have drawn too much attention.”

“That will be enough,” Kennard said after a brief glance around. “From across the river they cannot reach the castle anyway, so they would be useless there. And at most two can be hauled onto the bridge. Any more would only obstruct our own troops and invite a counterattack.”

He looked down beneath the bridge. The river’s volume was slightly lower than usual, and the current remained slow. Kennard pressed his lower lip between his teeth as he stared upstream.

“It seems the operation above is proceeding without issue,” he murmured.

“Yes,” Benzef confirmed. “We have reports that High Priest Argon’s private forces are doing everything they can. Other nobles who share our cause have also sent their own troops.”

As he listened, Kennard lifted his gaze to the night sky. Only thin clouds drifted across it, while countless stars shone as if they might spill down at any moment.

“We must hurry before it rains,” he said.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

A sharp throb pulsed at Kennard’s temple. Once tonight’s matter was over, he had already ordered Serin and the knights to escort Elena out beyond the capital’s outskirts. Once the war began, there was no telling how long it would last, nor when he might see her again.

“Damn it,” he muttered, dragging a rough hand over his face.

“Your Grace, over there…” Cura said suddenly.

She had been standing back while he spoke with Benzef, but now she grabbed his arm. Normally she would never have touched him so casually, yet her grip was tight, as if she had seen a ghost.

A chill ran through him. Following her gaze, Kennard quickly looked upstream.

Along the riverbank, several figures flickered like shadows, moving hurriedly.

Kennard frowned, narrowing his eyes. According to the plan, the ones meant to enter the water and release the mixture containing Elena’s blood were the knights who had been riding in the supply wagons.

But instead, Elena herself was wading through water that reached her waist, supported by Serin as they moved toward the shore.

There was no reason for her to enter the river directly.

Even if some unexpected issue had arisen, it made no sense for her to do so now, when the rescue of the citizens from the water was nearly finished.

Had she been in the water from the beginning?

The moment that thought formed, the blood in his veins seemed to turn ice cold.

Kennard did not spare another second. He sprinted across the bridge toward the river. As his hair whipped back from his face, he shifted mid stride into the form of a black wolf.

Faster than the wind, he crossed the bridge in a blur and leapt down to the riverbank. Stones and sand snagged at his footing, but he did not care. At that moment, nothing else existed for him. He saw nothing, heard nothing but Elena.

Behind him, Duke Benzef followed in his own wolf form, while Cura ran after them, clutching her skirts.

The soaked, shivering citizens and the exhausted knights who had been hauling them from the water all froze in shock at the sight of Kennard tearing past like a storm.

“Cura, what is it? What happened?” some of the knights called, too afraid to ask Kennard directly, but she could only wave her hand helplessly, unable to answer.

Ignoring the commotion entirely, Kennard reached Elena in an instant.

Elena, who had just climbed onto the bank with Serin’s support, swayed—and then collapsed forward.

“Your Grace!” Serin cried, startled as he sensed Kennard’s powerful pheromones rushing closer, his arm shooting out toward her.

But Kennard was faster.

“Elena!”

He caught her as she fell into his arms and sank to the ground with her.

From head to toe, Elena was drenched, her entire body burning with feverish heat. Yet she trembled violently as if freezing. Her skin was deathly pale, her lips tinged blue, and she could barely keep her eyes open as shallow breaths rattled from her chest.

Her dress was soaked through with red, and even now blood surged relentlessly from the wound high on her chest.

Kennard tore off his jacket and wrapped it around her, pulling her tightly against him to share his warmth. As he supported her slackening head with one hand, strands of her red hair curled between his fingers.

“What happened?” he roared, his whole body shaking with fury as he rounded on Serin. “Why was Elena in the river? Weren’t you supposed to cast the spell from outside?”

The killing intent pouring from him made the nearby knights recoil in fear.

Serin bit down hard on his lower lip and bowed his head.

“I am sorry.”

“I asked what happened,” Kennard snapped.

“Lady Elena said the amount she had prepared would not be enough,” Serin replied, his voice strained.

“What?”

“She said she would enter the water herself, release more blood, and cast the spell from there.”