Chapter 32

Hazel’s voice, a gentle murmur, accompanied the rhythmic strokes of her brush through Elena’s hair, cascading it delicately over her shoulders.

“If you’re open to acquiring noble etiquette under my guidance, I can secure your permission to exit this room,” Hazel suggested in a hushed tone.

Elena, puzzled, responded, “But I already mentioned that it’s not necessary. What does that have to do with how I leave this place?”

Observing Elena with a discerning gaze, Hazel remarked, “You truly have a narrow perspective. It appears the common folk struggle to see beyond their immediate circumstances.”

Despite a surge of anger within Elena, she suppressed it swiftly. She couldn’t afford to reveal such emotions to a noble lady.

“You need to leave this room to organically discover an opportunity to depart the castle, correct? If you remain confined and manage to escape, the knights will face consequences from their lord. However, if you vanish alongside me, perhaps to the village,” Hazel explained, nonchalantly tapping Elena’s shoulder as if indifferent to her emotions.

Contemplating the implications, Elena inquired, “What if the lord holds you responsible?”

“He won’t,” Hazel assured, straightening up and adjusting her posture. “I’m not the one safeguarding you. It doesn’t make sense for a noble to protect a commoner; the dynamics would be different the other way around.”

Elena found herself caught in a moment of indecision regarding Hazel’s proposition. The young knight, displaying a hint of impatience, inquired, “Are you still not done?”

Casting a furtive glance at the knights and Carmen, Elena redirected her attention to Hazel. “I need time to think,” she said.

Her proposal lingered in the air, like a whisper of a devil tempting her, and yet, Elena reflected the lack of alternatives she faced. The truth was, complying with Hazel’s intentions was not a simple matter, primarily because she remained in the dark about the motives behind the aristocrat’s proposal.

“You demand a high price. As the daughter of Duke Blade, I, an aristocrat, am offering you such an opportunity even though you are nothing special,” Hazel remarked.

“I understand. Please give me a little more time,” Elena requested, bowing her head respectfully to Hazel as she took a step back.

The approaching knights, having observed Elena’s entrance, edged closer to the door. Elena, with deliberate slowness, closed the door behind her while stealing a parting glance at Hazel.

Confidence adorned Hazel’s countenance, a self-assured smile playing on her lips, as if she harbored certainty that Elena would ultimately succumb to her proposal without question.

***

Reclined on the plush bed, Elena found herself gazing contemplatively at the ceiling. The bed cradled her in softness, and the room enveloped her in a comforting warmth. Despite her consistent lack of appetite during meal times, Cura, ever generous, continued to present an array of dishes. A daily bath with Cura was a welcomed luxury, even though the vigilant presence of the knights, stationed outside the bathroom, posed a constant challenge.

Yet, as long as Elena refrained from engaging in any particular activities, each day unfolded in a conspicuous display of opulence within her confinement.

A weary sigh escaped her lips.

Hazel’s proposal, persistent in her thoughts, cast a shadow over the otherwise serene routine. Is there truly no other way? Perhaps tomorrow, the Duke might reconsider and grant my release. However, the fragile hope that his sentiments might shift overnight held little credibility. If it were that simple for his emotions to change, Elena reasoned, she wouldn’t find herself confined in the first place.

An involuntary groan escaped her lips as she shifted to her side, pain flaring in her shoulder. Clutching the afflicted area with her palm, she endeavored to stifle her breath, gradually finding relief as the pain subsided.

Elena rose from the bed with deliberate slowness, relying on her uninjured arm to push herself upright. The prospect of yet another sleepless night loomed before her like an unwelcome companion. As she prepared to discard the sheets and furs, her gaze, initially fixed on the floor in search of her woolen indoor slippers, abruptly lifted.

Her attention fixated on the door leading to the terrace, shrouded in darkness and obscured by the presence of thick velvet curtains. Despite the visual barrier, an unspoken awareness settled within her—someone occupied the terrace, and she knew precisely who that person was. A palpable chill crept through her body, yet she remained rooted to the spot on the floor, an unseen force compelling her towards the terrace door.

With trepidation, she reached the door but hesitated, even when standing right before it. With trembling fingertips, she gingerly lifted a portion of the overlapping velvet curtain.

Leaning against the railing, gazing into the garden, was Kennard. In the moonlight, his silhouette projected a strength and imposing presence unmatched in the darkness. An unexpected pang of concern gripped Elena. Why does he look so lonely? 

Shaking her head at the absurdity of her own thoughts, she continued to observe Kennard’s back in silence.

Eventually, Kennard turned slowly, and his eyes met Elena’s through the glass door. A profound connection formed as if he sensed her gaze, their eyes locking without a single gap, upright and unwavering. Elena, attempting to conceal herself behind the curtain, found the effort futile.

Immobile, Elena found herself ensnared by his penetrating gaze before she could take a step. Beneath the silver glow of the moon, their eyes intertwined in an unspoken connection that lingered in the night air.

Kennard, resembling a statue come to life, initiated a slow advance towards Elena, his deliberate steps under the moonlight mirroring the languid grace of a wild wolf navigating a moonlit field. His demeanor exuded an impervious strength, as though he could effortlessly endure any assault from a formidable adversary.

As Kennard approached, each unhurried step seemed to elongate time itself. With every passing moment, a shiver ran through Elena, every hair on her body standing on end, making the act of breathing a conscious effort.

Now standing mere inches away, Kennard continued to fixate on Elena through the transparent glass, his unwavering gaze piercing through her defenses. Despite the close proximity, she found herself incapable of averting her eyes or closing the curtain. The moonlight cast a dense shadow over Kennard’s features, leaving only his deep and intense pumpkin-colored eyes vividly illuminated in the darkness.

A soft tap echoed in the night.

Kennard, who had been silently observing Elena like a living canvas, lightly knocked on the glass door. Though the gesture was a gentle tap with his fingertips, the sound resonated as if it were vibrating in her heart.

Maintaining her stillness, Elena prompted Kennard to release a sigh, and his shoulders lightly drooped.

Elena hesitated at the door, not out of fear that Kennard might harm her, but rather from the uncertainty of confronting him for reasons unknown. The idea of the thin glass door offering minimal protection reassured her, yet the act of unlocking the latch brought a twinge of unease.

With a deliberative pause, Elena reluctantly unlocked the latch, and as the door emitted a creaking sound, Kennard promptly pulled it open. A rush of chilly night air swept into the room, causing Elena to shiver involuntarily. Despite wearing a robe over her chemise, the fabric proved insufficient against the cold. Hurriedly, she crossed her arms over her chest, interlocking them beneath her shoulders.

Observing her discomfort, Kennard swiftly removed his cloak and draped it over her shoulders. “It’s fine,” Elena insisted, attempting to resist his gesture.

“Just stay still.”

Despite Elena’s attempt to move backward, Kennard persistently wrapped the cloak around her. As he faced her, draping the cloak over her shoulders, there was an almost imperceptible proximity between Elena’s face and Kennard’s chest. Elena tensed, striving to avoid contact, as Kennard continued to envelop her in the warmth of the cloak.

Frozen in place, Elena felt a startle as Kennard’s hand approached. His gaze locked onto her face, skillfully tying the cloak’s strings. The lengthy cloak, reaching down to the floor, offered a thickness and weight that retained Kennard’s warmth, providing a comforting shield against the night’s chill.

In the dimness illuminated by the fireplace and moonlight, they stood facing each other, yet Elena couldn’t bring herself to meet Kennard’s eyes. Despite him taking a step back, the proximity still lingered uncomfortably close.

Looking up at Kennard, Elena felt as if she would need to lean back to the point of nearly breaking her neck. Fidgeting with the edge of her cloak, she lowered her gaze, observing the golden buttons adorned with a wolf pattern fastened to the gilet and frock. Uncertain of where Kennard’s attention was directed, the tension added an awkward constriction to her body.

In an attempt to break the suffocating silence, Elena forced herself to speak, her voice emerging strained and unfamiliar, “My lord, what brings you here at this late hour?” The words seemed to belong to someone else, and she struggled to maintain composure.

“I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk,” Kennard replied.

Wondering why he chose her terrace for a stroll, Elena refrained from voicing the question, fearing that uttering words might lead to revelations she shouldn’t hear. Kennard’s breath lingered just above her head, and though the chill had dissipated, Elena clutched the cloak even tighter.

“You weren’t planning to go anywhere at this hour, were you?” asked Kennard.

“No, my lord. You know I can’t go outside through the terrace,” she replied.

“Then why are you still awake?”

Elena briefly looked up at Kennard before lowering her gaze to his cloak’s buttons again. She could feel his intense gaze on her.

“I couldn’t sleep either, and then I sensed your presence, my lord…” Elena admitted.

“My presence?” Kennard echoed.

“Yes,” she nodded slightly. “Your lordship has a distinctive pheromone.”

“What about others’ pheromones?” he inquired further.

“I can distinguish some of them,” she responded. 

“Besides me?”

“…Yes.”

A prolonged silence enveloped them, and Elena wondered if she had made a mistake. Unsure if she had rambled unnecessarily, she inwardly blamed herself. Why did I mention sensing the Duke’s pheromones? I could have just said I coincidentally saw him. Closing her eyes tightly, she pondered her impulsive revelation.