Chapter 41

“Why? Is it awkward to play the flute? Can you wield it in an emergency?” Kennard quizzed with a playful glint in his eye, observing Elena’s discomfort.

“Well, should such a dire moment arise, I suppose I could manage,” Elena replied, her cheeks betraying her unease.

“Why can’t you play now? Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed because I’m in front of you?” Kennard teased, noting the telltale flush creeping across Elena’s face.

Caught off guard by Kennard’s proximity, Elena instinctively attempted to retreat, only to find herself ensnared as his arm encircled her waist, his fingers deftly entwining with hers, flute in hand.

“Your Grace!” Elena protested, her voice a mixture of shock and alarm.

Ignoring her protests, Kennard closed the distance between them, his gaze fixed upon Elena’s ethereal gray eyes. With a gentle yet determined motion, he guided her hand, bringing it to his lips in a tender caress.

“Your Grace!” Elena’s protestations grew more urgent as she felt the warmth of his breath against her skin, his lips brushing lightly against her fingertips.

Undeterred, Kennard’s lips parted in a whispered assurance as he continued to press his advances, his focus unwavering. But then, amidst the charged atmosphere, a sudden shrill note pierced the air, disrupting the intimate moment.

Elena winced, her eyes snapping shut as she instinctively covered her ears with her free hand, her body recoiling from the cacophony. With a pained expression, she huddled against herself, as if seeking refuge from the discordant sound, her features contorted in discomfort and embarrassment.

As the haunting melody of the flute faded into the air, the silence was abruptly shattered by the forceful intrusion of the door bursting open, the sound reverberating through the room like a thunderclap.

In a flurry of motion, armored knights flooded into the chamber, swords drawn and eyes ablaze with readiness, only to halt abruptly at the sight that greeted them.

“Your Grace, what’s the matter?” one of the knights inquired, his voice laden with concern.

“Did you hear that?” 

“Yes, Your Grace,” the knights chorused in unison, their gaze darting between their sovereign and the bewildered maiden.

“If you ever hear that sound again, you are to pursue it without hesitation,” Kennard commanded.

“A signal for help,” he continued. “Chase it without fail.”

As Kennard’s gaze bore down upon them, the knights snapped to attention, their movements crisp and precise under his watchful eye.

“Dismissed,” Kennard declared, waving a dismissive hand towards the door.

“Um, sir…” one of the knights hesitated, casting a furtive glance at Elena nestled in Kennard’s arms.

“That will be all,” Kennard interrupted tersely. With a nervous chuckle and a hasty retreat, the knights filed out of the room, leaving Kennard and Elena alone once more.

Turning his attention back to Elena, Kennard’s gaze softened ever so slightly, his expression unreadable as he observed her bewildered state.

“Do you understand?” he queried, his voice gentle yet firm.

“Pardon?” Elena blinked, her senses still reeling from the unexpected turn of events.

“This is how you act in an emergency,” Kennard clarified, his hand guiding Elena’s own to her lips, the flute’s mouthpiece poised delicately against her mouth.

Releasing her from his embrace, Kennard stepped back. Leaving Elena, Kennard turned away, his footsteps echoing softly against the chamber floor as he departed.

As the door groaned open and they emerged into the corridor, the knights stood at attention, their movements betraying their surprise.

With each step down the lengthening corridor, Kennard felt the weight of the knights’ scrutiny, their gazes lingering on him like silent sentinels. He could almost sense the questions brewing in their minds.

Doing something I’ve never done before is driving me crazy, Kennard admitted silently to himself, his tongue darting out to moisten his dry lips in a nervous gesture.

Despite what he told Elena, the prospect of leaving her alone gnawed at him incessantly. Whether she remained within the safety of the castle walls or ventured into the village below, his protective instincts remained steadfast. The threat posed by the White Fox Tribe or any other adversaries seemed insignificant in comparison to the growing unease that gnawed at him from within.

Ever since his encounter with the rumored witch’s dwelling, a sense of disquiet had settled over him like a suffocating shroud. The image of the grotesque figure painted in blood, its details etched into his memory like a nightmare he couldn’t shake, haunted him relentlessly.

“Red hair ablaze like flames, eyes as enchanting as the depths of the ocean,” Sernin’s cryptic words echoed in Kennard’s mind, stirring a furrow in his brow. Elena’s own appearance bore an unsettling resemblance to the description, igniting a spark of suspicion that threatened to consume him whole.

“No, it can’t be,” Kennard muttered to himself, shaking his head as if to dispel the troubling thoughts that plagued him.

Lost in contemplation, Kennard descended the stone staircase leading to his office, only to be greeted by an unwelcome sight awaiting him below.

“I bid you greeting, Your Grace,” a voice interrupted his reverie, drawing Kennard’s attention downward.

Hazel ascended the stone steps, her presence accompanied by Carmen, her attire still adorned with cryptic symbols and elaborate embellishments.

Kennard’s brow furrowed in suspicion. What does she want now? 

Hazel’s tightly braided black hair was encased within a small cage, adorned with an oversized ribbon perched on top. A closer examination revealed a peculiar addition—an intricately quilted bird doll nestled within the confines of the cage. With each step she took up the stairs, her head bobbed precariously, as if teetering on the brink of snapping clean off.

Good heavens, he thought, his lips twitching with the urge to laugh, though he found himself rendered speechless by the spectacle before him.

With a brisk pace, Kennard descended the stairs, his path intersecting with Hazel and Carmen. The air suddenly thickened with the overpowering scent of perfume, enough to suffocate, prompting Kennard to instinctively wrinkle his nose in distaste.

“Your Grace!” Hazel’s voice pierced through the perfumed haze, her voluminous skirts nearly obstructing half the staircase as she hastened to catch up with him.

Suppressing a sigh of irritation, Kennard halted his steps, resigned to the inevitable continuation of their interaction. He knew all too well that Hazel would persist in trailing after him like an unwanted shadow.

“What is it now?” Kennard’s tone was tinged with exasperation, his patience wearing thin beneath the weight of Hazel’s scrutiny.

“Where have you been?” Hazel’s inquiry was laced with an undercurrent of suspicion, her clear eyes betraying a flicker of unease.

Kennard’s frustration bubbled to the surface, a weary sigh escaping his lips. “Why?”

“Are you coming back from meeting Elena?”

“And if I am?”

A fleeting chill passed through Hazel’s clear eyes, betraying her disdain for Kennard’s association with Elena. Though there were moments when he was sorely tempted to banish Hazel from the castle for her insolence, now was not the time for such drastic measures. Not yet, at least.

“I don’t require your approval to conduct my affairs,” he asserted, his words carrying the weight of authority. “You are a guest in my castle, nothing more.”

“I am your fiance,” reminded Hazel, eliciting a weary chuckle from Kennard. “Still clinging to that notion, are you?” he remarked dryly, a flicker of annoyance dancing in his eyes.

With a curt nod, Kennard signaled the end of their conversation, his mind already drifting to more pressing matters. Listening to Serin’s admonitions, no matter how grating, seemed a far more appealing prospect than engaging in futile exchanges with Hazel.

“By the way, did Your Grace happen to hear the sound from earlier? I was worried because it seemed to come from the floor where Elena’s room is…” 

Did she truly believe he hadn’t detected the contempt in her eyes?

Kennard regarded Hazel with a mixture of incredulity and amusement, her words failing to mask the intensity of her apprehension. “There is no need for your concern, Miss Hazel.”

Instantly, Hazel’s expression hardened, her facade of composure slipping as Kennard’s words pierced through her defenses. Meanwhile, Carmen hovered nearby, her gaze flitting nervously between Kennard and Hazel, a silent observer to their exchange.

Kennard’s gaze lingered briefly on Carmen before returning to Hazel, his next words laced with a hint of warning. “Now that we’re on the subject, allow me to make something clear,” he began. “While you’re a guest in this castle, you may spend time with Elena, but only in my presence or when I am awake.”

“Thank you, Your Grace, for granting my request. I think I can enjoy my stay a little more,” Hazel murmured, her smile forced, the weight of her ornate headpiece preventing her from offering a deeper bow of gratitude.

With a wry chuckle, Kennard met Hazel’s gaze head-on, his next words cutting through the veneer of politeness. “I couldn’t care less about your enjoyment. I only granted Elena’s request,” he stated bluntly, his tone leaving no room for misinterpretation.

***

The dining room was enveloped in a hushed stillness, broken only by the sharp clang that reverberated through the air like a discordant melody. Elena froze in place, her senses jolted by the sudden, unexpected noise.

Before she could even discern the source of the sound, her gaze fell upon the gleaming silver fork lying innocently on the floor beside her. 

“Oh dear, must be feeling a bit off from the lack of sleep,” Hazel murmured, attempting to brush off the incident with a self-deprecating smile.

As a maid approached with a replacement fork, Carmen, seated across from Hazel, intervened with a subtle gesture, halting the servant’s advance. Elena hesitated, her gaze shifting uncertainly between the maid and Hazel, confusion knitting her brows.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Hazel’s voice cut through the silence, her tone commanding as she pointedly directed Elena’s attention to the fallen fork.

Cura, standing nearby, moved to retrieve the fork, only to be met with Hazel’s sharp rebuke. “Not you,” she snapped, her annoyance palpable as she redirected her gaze towards Elena.

“Elena, you should pick it up. But first, bring a new fork.”

With a sinking feeling in her chest, Elena approached the maid, her steps hesitant as she silently accepted the replacement fork. Yet, as she extended it towards Hazel, a sudden sting on the back of her hand jolted her back to reality.

“Gloves,” Hazel demanded, her tone curt as she chastised Elena’s oversight with a swift strike.

Elena recoiled, her hand throbbing with pain as she met Hazel’s piercing gaze. “Yes?” she managed, her voice trembling with a mixture of confusion and discomfort.

Hazel’s explanation sent a shiver down Elena’s spine as she inspected the fork in her hand, noting the faint impressions left behind by her fingertips. Panic seized her as she glanced around the room, realizing the maids all wore protective gloves.

“Get another one,” Hazel commanded, her tone brooking no argument as Elena hastily retreated to seek out gloves.

With a trembling resolve, Elena approached the cluster of maids, her cheeks burning with shame as she hesitantly inquired about spare gloves. Their awkward glances exchanged in silent communication only served to heighten her discomfort.

“Just wait a moment,” one of the maids offered, disappearing from the room in search of the requested item.