Chapter 33

“Whose pheromones can you distinguish again?” Kennard probed, his gaze penetrating. 

Elena felt a weight settle in the pit of her stomach. A silent plea to reverse the irreversible danced in her mind, a futile desire to rewind the clock. She hesitated, caught in the undertow of her own thoughts. “Sir Serin, the head butler Lassino, and Professor Leto, and about Cura.”

“Anyone else?”

“I can sense the pheromones, but I can’t distinguish whose they are.”

“I see.” Kennard’s voice was a murmur, a low undertone that seemed to ripple through the room. His hand extended towards Elena, and she instinctively retreated, her eyes locking onto his.

Her throat tightened as she involuntarily swallowed, her pupils dilating. Kennard observed her reaction, his eyelids narrowing ever so briefly.

“Don’t be scared,” he uttered, the words carrying a weight that contradicted their intent.

“I… I’m not scared,” Elena replied, her voice wavering with a mixture of defiance and vulnerability. But deep down, how could she not be scared? The pheromones hung heavy in the air, a palpable force that seemed to swallow even the sound around them. Kennard’s presence, unassuming yet undeniably imposing, wrapped the room in an intangible pressure that bordered on intimidation.

Kennard, as if privy to the intricate dance of Elena’s thoughts, allowed a fleeting bitterness to flicker across his face, only to vanish into an unreadable calm.

“Even though you say that, you’re uncomfortable with me being around, aren’t you?” he remarked, his voice carrying a subtle edge. As Elena instinctively retreated, attempting to create distance, Kennard closed the gap with deliberate steps. His firm grip on her arm, ensnared by the folds of her cloak, thwarted any further retreat.

“Look. Just by approaching like this, you’re already afraid of me,” Kennard observed, his gaze penetrating the layers of her defenses.

“I… I can’t be close to the Lord without daring…” Elena faltered, her words trailing off as Kennard tightened his hold, prompting her to meet his gaze.

“I must have told you before,” Kennard sighed. “You just have to do as I say. If I come close, you just have to stay right there.”

His fingers grazed the tips of Elena’s hair cascading over the cloak. Waves of the once unruly strands now embraced a newfound softness, a testament to the meticulous care administered by Cura. The tactile exploration of her hair, once routine under Cura’s hands, now assumed an unforeseen intimacy. Elena wanted to step back, but doing so was futile under Kennard’s constraints. 

“Shall we go to the forest?” The question hung in the air, disrupting Elena’s thoughts like an unexpected gust of wind.

Startled, she blinked as if waking from a dream, uncertainty clouding her features. Memories of a previous encounter with the White Fox Tribe surfaced, casting a shadow over the prospect of venturing into the forest again.

Elena hesitated, and the air seemed to thicken with unspoken tension. Kennard, observing her inner struggle, bore a bitter expression in his eyes.

“Are you scared?” he asked, his voice carrying an undertone that probed deeper than the surface.

“What?” Elena’s response held a hint of defiance, but Kennard’s gaze remained steady, his jaw stiffening in subtle disapproval.

“Do you find it scary… that I might leave you alone again? Scared that you might be attacked again, like last time?”

“No.” The denial was swift, accompanied by a shake of her head. Yet, Kennard’s reaction betrayed a lingering skepticism.

The conversation, far from its resolution, took an unexpected turn. Kennard seized Elena’s wrist and guided her towards the terrace, catching her by surprise. She instinctively clenched his hand, a silent plea for reassurance.

“I’m not planning to go to the forest,” Kennard stated, his voice a calm assertion that echoed through the chilly night air. He led Elena to a vantage point on the terrace, overlooking the castle’s garden.

“When sleep eludes, I find it better to let the chilly breeze refresh me. Lying down forcibly won’t make it come any sooner,” he explained.

She followed the trajectory of Kennard’s gaze, her eyes tracing the contours of the garden below. Despite the lingering grasp of winter, with skeletal branches reaching for the heavens, the meticulously tended garden exuded a sense of order. Lanterns, strategically placed, cast a warm glow that danced along the pathways, painting the surroundings in an ethereal tapestry.

In the distance, the Terra Demorte Forest stood like a silent sentinel, its stillness bordering on the eerie. The starry night sky above held the promise of a celestial spectacle, ready to unleash a cascade of stars at any given moment. The tableau before her unfolded like a colossal landscape painting, a masterpiece crafted by nature and human hands.

Kennard, breaking the silence, asked, “Can you also detect the pheromones of those guards standing vigil in front of your room now?”

“I don’t know who they are, but I’m aware that there have been three of them since late afternoon,” Elena replied.

Elena, after a pause, cautiously broached a question. “Your Grace, have you, by any chance, met Lady Hazel?” She studied Kennard’s expression, searching for any nuance in his demeanor.

Kennard’s gaze remained unwavering as he turned to look at her, his silence a canvas upon which Elena sought answers. His eyes, deep pools of mystery, held her captive before he turned his attention back to the garden, exhaling a deep sigh. The exhale manifested as a white breath, dissipating into the crisp night air.

“What are your thoughts, Elena?” Kennard’s voice cut through the stillness.

“Well…” Elena hesitated.

“Do you want to become Hazel’s confidante or learn the nobility’s manners from her?” 

Elena stood at the crossroads of her intentions, a delicate dance of secrecy and sincerity unfolding within her. Hazel’s proposal hinted at the tantalizing prospect of freedom, a chance to break free from the castle’s confining walls. Yet, revealing such aspirations to Kennard was a risk she couldn’t afford.

The dilemma left her caught between the desire for liberty and the reluctance to deceive Kennard. The prospect of disappointing him or provoking his anger loomed over her, a shadow she feared to confront. Even contemplating a clandestine departure filled her with trepidation, anticipating Kennard’s justified fury at a blatant breach of orders.

As she pondered, uncertainty guided her steps, each moment pregnant with the fear of Kennard discovering the truth. The weight of potential disappointment etched lines of concern on her face.

Elena, trapped in the labyrinth of her own thoughts, chose a partial response, a measured divulgence. “I don’t want to. I don’t know much about engaging in conversation, and I have no reason to learn the manners of the nobility.”

“Then just refuse,” Kennard suggested. 

“But…” Elena began, turning to face Kennard. An unexpected move made him tighten his grip on her wrist. Realizing she had merely shifted her posture, Kennard loosened his hold, though he retained a certain restraint.

Elena’s gaze shifted to her captured hand as she continued, “But… I also want to do as Lady Hazel suggests.”

“Why?” Kennard raised his eyebrow.

“Because that’s the way I can leave this room.”  A subtle twitch of Kennard’s eyebrow betrayed a reaction. “Grant me freedom, Your Grace.”

***

As Kennard forcefully swung the door ajar and stepped into the corridor, the guards stationed outside were caught off guard. Wide-eyed, with mouths and noses hanging open, they found themselves peering curiously into the room through the now-open portal.

With a decisive motion, Kennard closed the door firmly behind him, severing the curious gaze of the guards. Their surprise didn’t escape him, and the discomfort etched on Kennard’s face was palpable. The guards, sensing his unease, coughed awkwardly and shuffled aside, allowing him passage.

“Why are you all surprised? Couldn’t you sense my pheromones?” Kennard’s voice was dry, a hint of annoyance lacing his words. The knights, recovering from their initial shock, responded with a round of applause.

“Of course not. Who wouldn’t recognize Your Grace’s pheromones?”

“But why are you all acting like you’ve seen a ghost or something?”

“Even though we couldn’t see you going inside, we were talking about feeling your pheromones, and now you’re coming out again…” An older knight, pointing towards the bedroom door where Elena stayed, offered an explanation.

“When did you go in?” The oldest knight, a sly glint in his eye, directed the question at Kennard.

“It’s not about when but how you got in that matters,” Serin interjected, leaning against the opposite wall with a clenched fist. A tense moment passed between Kennard and Serin, their silent exchange speaking volumes. As Serin released his fist and stood upright, the knights exchanged glances, breaking into laughter that revealed their teeth.

Without uttering a word, the unspoken thoughts among the guards became evident.

“Unless you want to start sipping soup through your gums by tomorrow, shut your mouth. Before you lose all your teeth,” Kennard’s warning cut through the air, leaving a tense atmosphere as he strode down the corridor. An uncomfortable restlessness clung to him, as if any provocation might trigger an imminent explosion of his pent-up frustration.

“Don’t take it out on those guys for no reason. What happened inside again?” Serin’s muttered question trailed behind Kennard. 

Kennard wasn’t in the mood for conversation. The echo of Elena’s plea reverberated in his mind, disrupting his thoughts. “Grant me freedom, Your Grace.” The words lingered, and Kennard, deep in contemplation, chewed on the soft flesh inside his mouth.

They were planning to go to the village. Elena wouldn’t have made such a request after the near-death experience in the forest. Or did she think the attack in the forest was just a coincidence?

Regret for not asking that crucial question before leaving the room gnawed at Kennard. As he traversed the corridor, the uncertainty of encountering Elena again weighed on him, leaving him unsure of his own reactions.

“How long are you going to keep Miss Elena like that?” Serin’s mention of Elena’s name sharpened Kennard’s gaze involuntarily. He turned around with a harsh expression, causing Serin to momentarily halt in his tracks. He then shrugged his shoulders and effortlessly flashed a natural smile.

“She’s not a prisoner, and keeping guards like that is a bit much, isn’t it? Even the commoners are murmuring about it.”

“Do I need to be concerned about their opinions too?” Kennard’s retort held a tinge of defiance.

“Not necessarily. But unnecessary rumors could put Your Grace in a difficult position, you know.” 

Kennard ran his fingers over his tense jaw, his hand navigating through the bristle of his beard with a rough, impatient movement. With an abrupt motion, he extended his cravat, as though contemplating using it to strike Serin’s chest. Clumsily, he clutched it with both hands, the fabric pulled taut between his fingers.

“Is your head hurting again? Lately, you’ve been having frequent headaches,” Serin caught up with Kennard, quickening his pace to keep up with the lord who continued to stride down the corridor.

Kennard, not breaking his gait, responded with a dismissive tone, “It’s just because I have a lot on my mind. Nothing to worry about.”

“Even during the war, you were fine. I still have some medicine from Leto, so I’ll bring it to your office,” Serin offered.

“That quack Leto…” Kennard muttered the name with a grimace, as though the mere mention left a sour taste in his mouth, like chewing on a tough piece of meat.