Chapter 21

In the still air, the glances of two individuals collided before Cura shifted her focus back to Elena.

“His Highness is in the office,” Cura relayed.

“Is he injured anywhere?” Elena inquired.

“No, he’s perfectly fine. But…”

“Oh, don’t say unnecessary things!” Leto interjected abruptly, curtailing Cura’s words. 

Observing Cura sigh and avert her gaze, Elena felt something was strange. “What’s happening? Is something wrong?” Elena propped herself up with one arm, a groan escaping involuntarily as if an axe had struck her entire body. Leaning forward, she buried her face in the pillow.

“Miss Elena,” Cura hastened to her side, supporting her and gently laying her back on the bed.

“Are you in your right mind?” Leto exclaimed with frustration. “We’ve only applied some herbs to your wounds. You shouldn’t be moving so recklessly.”

Crushed beneath the weight of pain, Elena found herself unable to utter a word, tightly shutting her eyes. In Kennard’s embrace, on the brink of losing consciousness, she had believed it was the end, convinced she was succumbing to the final throes of life. Yet, defying that ominous precipice, she clung stubbornly to existence and, against all odds, awoke.

Fortunate, and at the same time, unfortunate.

As awareness returned, a wave of concern surged through her heart, its tendrils reaching out for any sign of harm befalling Kennard. “Cura, tell me what transpired,” Elena pleaded, her grip on Cura’s hand tight.

Cura gazed down at Elena’s hand, then helplessly shrugged. “Some time ago, the White Fox Tribe we captured and those who assaulted Miss Elena were brutally dismantled. Since then, His Highness hasn’t eaten, slept, and… he hasn’t left the office.”

“Is it true?”

“Yes.”

A pallor deepened across Elena’s already wan face. She couldn’t fathom why, but an uneasy sense pervaded her, as if her mere existence had intensified some looming crisis.

Observing Elena’s distress, Leto sighed. “There’s nothing we can do. Don’t burden yourself unnecessarily. When His Highness is like this, even Serin keeps her distance. We can’t predict when he might reach a breaking point.”

***

Running his fingertips over a lengthy scar on his eyebrow, Kennard felt a subtle twitch beneath his touch. The scar traversed diagonally across his forehead, eyebrows, and eyelids—a cruel reminder of a sword’s unforgiving cut. Despite a decade passing since its formation, this particular scar, unlike others, persistently throbbed with pain, striking without warning.

A gentle knock echoed, and the door swung open promptly. Kennard, fixated on the flickering light of the fireplace, refrained from turning around. Even without a glance, the distinct pheromones signaled Serin’s arrival.

As Serin entered the room, there was a rustle, followed by the abrupt opening of tightly sealed curtains. Sunlight, streaming through the overcast sky, flooded the office. The sudden brightness indoors drew a furrowed brow from Kennard. “What are you doing?”

Aware that Serin often lingered near the office entrance, today it seemed a deliberate intrusion into his sanctuary.

“It’s already broad daylight,” Serin remarked, followed by a persistent rustling, as if he were rearranging things—perhaps tidying up scattered documents and books that should have occupied the desk or shelves.

“Leave me alone and just go,” Kennard grumbled,

Ignoring his request, a clattering sound resonated this time, and a small table appeared before Kennard. On it sat a silver plate holding stew and bread. The mere sight of the food prompted Kennard to turn his head away. Hunger eluded him, and the prospect of eating felt burdensome.

“I’m not in the mood,” he muttered, expressing his disinterest.

“Still, please have some,” Serin insisted.

Under different circumstances, he might have unleashed a barrage of scolding and lectures, his voice echoing with authority. However, today, the persistent individual succumbed to a disconcerting silence despite Serin’s efforts. Though bothered by Serin’s unusual behavior, Kennard opted to dismiss it.

“I said it’s enough. Don’t bother me, just leave,” Kennard declared sternly.

“Your Highness…”

“Leave before I tear you apart too,” shouted Kennard, frustration bubbling within him. To prevent himself from leaping at Serin, he clutched the armrest of the sofa so tightly that his nails threatened to embed themselves.

“Elena has regained consciousness,” Serin hastily interjected.

Kennard’s hand, which had been tracing the scar on his eyebrow, abruptly halted. “When?” he inquired.

“Early this morning,” replied Serin.

Kennard lowered his hand to his thigh and reclined against the sofa, closing his eyes despite the throbbing pain.

“Will you go see her?” Serin inquired.

“No, I won’t,” Kennard said, gritting his teeth in annoyance.

“You’ve been worried.”

“I haven’t, so don’t talk nonsense.”

Silently, Serin regarded Kennard, then cautiously pulled a chair and positioned herself across from him. “I met with Leto before coming here,” Serin revealed, pushing a plate of food toward Kennard, as if implying he would speak after he ate.

Annoyed by his demeanor, Kennard lowered his eyelids and glared at Serin. “What are you trying to do?”

“You’re curious about her condition,” Serin pointed out.

“I told you not to talk nonsense. Don’t irritate me, just leave.”

“Even though she regained consciousness, it will take some time for the wounds to heal completely.”

“Serin Elus!”

“Yes. I am Serin Elus. I am telling you that I am prepared to be torn to shreds by His Highness for conveying his displeasure. I am conveying greetings from a disliked woman, and I’m even prepared to die. That’s what I’m saying.”

“I said it’s enough,” Kennard warned, the tension in the room escalating as their voices growled at each other.

“I can’t stand this anymore. How long are you going to continue like this? I can’t understand why you’re acting like this because of just one woman.”

“I’ve told you countless times it’s not like that!”

“Do I not know His Highness? I probably know you better than you do.”

In an abrupt surge of frustration, Kennard shot to his feet, seizing Serin by the neck. With Kennard’s strength, Serin’s body careened backward, chair and all, crashing to the floor. The table between them toppled with a resounding noise, sending food and dishes sprawling.

Kennard, looming over Serin, was on the brink of an explosive confrontation. As Serin’s face turned blood red from the pressure, Kennard released his grip, allowing him to gasp for breath and cough.

“Don’t make me create a situation where I have to kill you with my own hands.” Kennard glared at Serin once again before regaining his composure and standing up.

Despite the warning, Serin, still struggling to rise, persisted in questioning, “Why did you take Elena into the forest in the middle of the night, despite my warning?”

Kennard gripped his waist with one hand, the other running across his forehead. Serin’s resilience, akin to tenacious determination, served as his strength, yet in moments like these, it was deemed her most significant flaw.

“How did Elena end up injured? Wouldn’t she have been severely hurt like that with His Highness by her side?” Serin pressed on.

Kennard sighed and returned to the sofa, leaning forward with his upper body, elbows on his knees. The memory of the forest scene that unfolded that night flooded his mind, causing his blood to surge once more.

Taking Elena into the forest had been impulsive initially. The captive enemy, resistant even under torture, had driven him to the top of the tower with the intent of venturing into the forest.

There, on the terrace, he had stumbled upon Elena, gazing at the night sky. Observing her for an extended moment, he realized that her face, aglow with the distant stars, outshone the celestial bodies themselves.

Their eyes met, and he felt an instinctive urge to rush toward her. Startled by the sight of him in wolf form yet intrigued, she climbed onto Kennard’s back.

As Kennard sprinted into the forest, a hope flickered that this rush might finally unravel the mysteries lingering since the day he discovered her among the trees.

Acknowledging the risk of putting her in harm’s way, Kennard couldn’t conceive an alternative to addressing the persistent questions haunting him.

Within the forest, the unmistakable pheromones of the White Fox Tribe pervaded the air, raising speculation about their potential presence. Purposefully traversing different areas, Kennard sought to ensure that both Elena’s and his own pheromones were detectable.

Having positioned Elena in front of the rock where he had first found her, Kennard distanced himself strategically. The intention was to draw away his pheromones, possibly luring the White Fox Tribe to appear before Elena.

Uncertain of whether they would engage in dialogue or resort to aggression, Kennard recognized that any action from them could shed light on why they pursued Elena that fateful night. The meaning behind the blood-stained magical symbols scattered in the forest remained a mystery.

In the event the White Fox Tribe approached Elena, Kennard resolved to ruthlessly eliminate them, erasing their pheromones entirely and redirecting their pursuit after ensuring their thorough removal. Closing the distance would only take a short while. 

However, defying his expectations, the White Fox Tribe relentlessly pursued Kennard. Observing the bold horde tailing him, Kennard found himself in a state of bewilderment. A dozen members of the White Fox Tribe, whether in their human or animal forms, launched an attack on Kennard, notably refraining from the use of magic. 

Dispatching them one by one, Kennard suddenly felt a shiver down his spine. It dawned on him that the pheromones targeting Elena were not emanating from his assailants, but from other entities. In a fleeting moment, he had felt a sense of relief that they had chosen to pursue him instead of Elena. It was only then that he realized these creatures had risked their lives, breaking away from the group trailing Elena to chase him away.