Chapter 39

In the hushed embrace of the night, a gentle rapping filled the air, drawing Cura’s presence into the room.

“Are you still awake?” Cura’s voice floated in softly, carrying a hint of concern.

Elena, nestled against the plush cushions of the headboard, watched as Cura approached, her figure outlined by the faint glow of candlelight.

“Back already?” Elena greeted.

Cura, weariness etched into her movements, settled into the chair by the bedside with a weary sigh. Frowning, she absently nibbled at her thumbnail, lost in thought.

“Troubling news, perhaps?” Elena ventured, her brows furrowing in sympathy.

Anxiety prickled at Elena’s senses, wondering if her own desires had inadvertently caused strife for Cura. She pondered if she should have taken matters into her own hands instead of relying on another.

“Why the solemn expression?” Elena prodded gently, reaching out to comfort her friend.

Cura hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the strands of her braided hair. Then, with a cautious glance, she leaned in closer, her voice lowered to a whisper.

“Miss Elena,” she began, her words laden with urgency, “I believe you should be made aware of Miss Hazel’s true intentions. When I conveyed your wishes to her, she found amusement in them, claiming they were her own ideas from the start.”

Elena’s suspicions unfurled into certainty. From the outset, Hazel’s demeanor had betrayed her disdain for Elena’s presence, resenting any attention diverted from her own pursuits.

The realization settled heavily upon Elena, mingling with the regret for possibly burdening Cura with her own concerns.

“Thank you for informing me, Cura,” Elena murmured, her thoughts swirling with apprehension for the days ahead.

Hazel’s intentions loomed palpably in the air—a desire for Elena’s support, a bid for acknowledgment of her superiority.

“She even expects you to seek approval from the Grand Duke yourself, claiming she doesn’t wish to incur his displeasure,” Cura remarked, her tone laced with incredulity.

Though Elena hadn’t vocalized her suspicions to Cura, she had anticipated Hazel’s maneuvering.

“But what bothers me is, it seemed like she was expecting me to come to her,” Cura said, a flicker of annoyance dancing behind her eyes.

Elena’s thoughts wandered to Kennard, his absence a weight on her spirit. “Is the Grand Duke out hunting?” she pondered aloud.

Even a brief hiatus from their encounters felt interminable, each passing moment a reminder of his absence. Images of his silhouette bathed in moonlight, a frequent visitor to her dreams, teased her consciousness.

“Perhaps he’s gone on another nocturnal excursion with Serin and Irish,” Cura speculated. “But the Grand Duke’s recent activities remain a mystery.”

Cura busied herself with stoking the fireplace, the crackle of flames punctuating the silence.

“Rest for today,” Cura urged, concern etched into her features. “You’ll need all your strength for tomorrow’s meeting with the Grand Duke. Surely, he’ll be angry and oppose it. Ah, just thinking about being overwhelmed by the Grand Duke’s pheromones…”

Elena nodded in agreement, a sense of solidarity passing between them. “I share your sentiments,” she confessed softly, a smile of understanding curving her lips.

“Perhaps reconsider your stance,” Cura suggested gently. “You needn’t subject yourself to Hazel’s demands, nor must you court the Grand Duke’s disfavor.”

***

“Your Grace!”

The sentries stationed outside Elena’s chamber snapped to attention at the sight of Kennard, offering a crisp salute.

“Is everything alright?” Kennard inquired, his gaze sweeping over the guards, noting their subdued demeanor.

“Indeed, Your Grace,” came the swift response, tinged with a subtle hint of uncertainty that did not escape Kennard’s notice.

“Open the door,” Kennard commanded.

The knight closest to the entrance promptly turned the knob, swinging the door inward to grant Kennard passage.

Stepping into the room, Kennard felt a surge of nostalgia wash over him, despite the mere days that had passed since he last stood within those walls. The intervening time had been marked by upheaval and turmoil, leaving an indelible mark on the atmosphere.

“Your Grace,” Cura greeted, her surprise evident as she paused in her task of straightening the bedcovers. Her eyes widened momentarily before she averted her gaze, a faint flush coloring her cheeks.

Kennard raised a hand, forestalling any further words from Cura. He sensed Elena’s absence, her presence elusive within the confines of the room. Before he could venture further, a figure emerged from the terrace, drawing his attention like a beacon in the sunlight.

Elena stood before him, swathed in a thick cloak that shielded her from the chill of the morning air. Her fiery locks glimmered in the sunlight, casting an ethereal glow upon her porcelain skin.

“Your Grace? How did you—” Elena began, her breath visible in the crisp morning air.

Kennard’s gaze sharpened as he took in Elena’s appearance, his eyebrow quirking inquisitively. With a gentle touch, he lifted her chin, inspecting her face with a scrutinizing eye.

Her features, delicate and refined, held a certain vulnerability softened by the rosy hue of her cheeks. Despite the subtle signs of improvement since her arrival, there was a troubling anomaly that caught Kennard’s attention.

“Why is your cheek swollen?” Kennard’s voice was tinged with concern, his eyes narrowing as they focused on the slight puffiness marring Elena’s otherwise flawless complexion.

Elena met his gaze with a mixture of surprise and apprehension, her eyes widening as if caught off guard by his scrutiny. She swallowed nervously, her slender throat working visibly.

Kennard’s patience waned as Elena struggled to respond, a flicker of frustration dancing behind his eyes.

“That’s…” Elena began, her voice faltering as she searched for an explanation. “I… I was descending from the bed and… accidentally struck my foot against the pillar,” Elena explained hesitantly, her words coming out in a rush.

Kennard’s expression darkened, his suspicion growing with each hesitant word that left Elena’s lips.

“You struck it against the pillar?” Kennard repeated, his tone laced with skepticism. Elena nodded, her gaze dropping to the floor as if unable to meet his penetrating stare.

Kennard turned his head towards the bed, his gaze falling upon the pillars that framed it, their slender forms adorned with cascading chiffon curtains.

“The bed pillar?” Kennard’s voice was tinged with incredulity, his brows furrowing in confusion.

Elena’s response was barely audible, her eyes fixed on the bed as she confirmed his suspicions.

Kennard’s irritation grew, his attention momentarily shifting to Cura, who stood nearby, uncertain and tense, perhaps anticipating interrogation regarding Elena’s injury.

“Cura, wait outside,” Kennard commanded.

Cura nodded in understanding, casting a quick glance at Elena before exiting the room, leaving the knights to discreetly observe from the periphery.

“I should consider removing or replacing that pillar,” Kennard mused aloud, his gaze returning to Elena, who seemed flustered by his suggestion.

“No, there’s no need for that. It was my carelessness. I’ll be more cautious,” Elena insisted.

Kennard’s scrutiny intensified as he gently lifted Elena’s cloak, his touch tracing down her wrist to her elbow, revealing no sign of injury beyond the swollen cheek.

“Anywhere else?” 

Elena’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she shook her head, her gaze momentarily meeting his before she nervously patted down her opposite arm.

“Truly, there’s nothing,” Elena reassured him, her words tinged with a hint of desperation.

Kennard’s gaze lingered on the faint scars that marred her skin, remnants of past trials and recent battles. Anger surged within him at the sight of the still-red scars, a visceral reminder of the dangers Elena had faced. 

As memories of the White Fox Tribe attack flooded his mind, Kennard felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

As realization dawned upon him, Kennard released Elena’s wrist with a sheepish apology, his fingers uncurling from their tight grip.

“Ah… sorry,” he murmured, his tone contrite, though he still retained a gentle hold on her wrist.

“You mentioned wanting to speak with me, didn’t you?” Kennard continued, his gaze searching Elena’s face for any hint of discomfort or distress. He had arrived promptly after receiving Cura’s message earlier that morning, intuitively understanding the reason for Elena’s request without needing it spelled out for him.

“If you had simply bid me farewell, I would have come to you,” Kennard remarked, a hint of reproach lacing his words as he recalled the moments leading up to his unexpected visit.

Elena’s expression shifted, surprise mingling with regret at Kennard’s sudden appearance.

“Did you want to leave this place?” 

The question seemed to strike a chord with Elena, her lower lip caught between her teeth in contemplation. However, Kennard quickly dismissed the idea, his concern for Elena’s safety outweighing any desire for temporary freedom.

Though she was not confined like a prisoner, Kennard couldn’t bear the thought of Elena wandering beyond his sight, fearing she might vanish without a trace. He had implemented strict measures to ensure her security, allowing her only brief excursions to the bathroom under close supervision of the knights.