Chapter 44

Serin tilted his head toward Elena, his voice dropping to a murmur for the knights’ benefit. Elena remained silent, a strange paralysis gripping her.

“Did you really think we’d let you get away with it if you pretended not to notice? How long are we going to have to risk our lives for the likes of you? I thought you were dead, captured by that damned demon.” The words echoed in her mind, spoken just before the White Fox attack.

Those incomprehensible phrases remained buried deep within her.  Unable to share them with anyone, a suffocating dread replaced the joy of encountering those who recognized her.  She couldn’t comprehend their hostility, nor had she been given the chance.  Back then, she could only register the bewilderment of their anger directed solely at her.

The feeling persisted.  The reason for their attack was as much a mystery as their murderous hatred.  The thought of confiding in Serin and Kennard crossed her mind, yet she found herself unable to articulate the events of that day. Their words felt like a suffocating grip around her throat. And with Kennard’s reluctance to discuss the incident, Elena opted to keep her silence, albeit with a hopeful longing that Kennard wouldn’t suffer because of her.

The arrival of Hazel, Kennard’s betrothed, at the castle found Elena wrestling with a difficult decision.  Despite the Duke’s fearsome reputation, an undeniable fondness for him had bloomed within her.  But the painful reality of his arranged marriage settled heavy, a constant reminder of her own misplaced feelings.  The potential to further complicate his life became the deciding factor; Elena steeled herself to leave the castle.

“I couldn’t do anything,” she mumbled, the words more a description of her situation than an answer to Serin’s question.

Serin offered a sympathetic shrug. “I understand. In that moment, there were limited options.”  He paused, as if carefully choosing his next words.  “There’s something you need to know. The White Fox Tribe…they’re targeting you.”

Elena’s heart plummeted. Did Serin have an inkling of the Tribe’s motives for attacking her?  Yet, he made no mention of their cryptic words. Confusion gnawed at her.

“What…did you discover?” she managed, voice barely above a whisper.

“Details are scarce for now,” Serin hedged.  “The current situation makes traveling to the village unwise. It would be best not to test the Duke’s patience further.”

“But surely the White Fox Tribe wouldn’t venture that far,” Elena protested.

“We can’t be certain.  There are remnants of the Tribe still residing in Terra Demorte, those who chose not to flee.  They live under the watchful eyes of the Wolf Tribe from Montefiano.”

Surprise flickered across Elena’s face.  “What? The war didn’t drive them all out?”

Serin nodded, a furrow creasing his brow as he crossed his arms and rubbed his chin, perhaps lost in a memory of that conflict. “Winning a war doesn’t mean you have to throw them all out. Some refused to abandon their ancestral lands. The Duke, however, would have preferred a complete eradication.”

Serin furrowed his brow, tracing his finger along his chin as the memory surfaced. “Let me tell you, it wasn’t easy convincing him not to wipe them all out. The man can be ruthless.”

Despite his words, a gentle smile tugged at Serin’s lips. Even without saying it, Elena understood the deep respect and loyalty Serin held for Kennard. It was almost enviable, the way Serin effortlessly stood by the Duke’s side.

A pang of guilt shot through Elena. These are not the thoughts I should be having, she chastised herself.

“There’s always the chance some are collaborating with their kin outside,” Serin continued, his gaze lingering on Elena with a knowing glint.

“Rumors of Fox sightings near the border forest are rampant.  Imagine if you were in the village and they attacked.”

A vivid memory assaulted Elena. The feral glint of eyes, the searing pain that ripped through her as the White Fox Tribe descended upon her, fangs bared and ready to tear.  She squeezed her eyes shut, a tremor running through her. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around herself, seeking a semblance of comfort.

A gentle hand settled on her trembling shoulder. Serin’s touch, though light, seemed to anchor her.  Slowly, Elena peeked up at him, eyes blinking away the afterimages of the attack.

“If you’re so afraid,” he said, “why consider going to the village at all?”

Elena’s voice shook slightly.  “I… I didn’t know any of the White Fox Tribe were still living there.”

“Did Leto not mention it?”

She shook her head, the realization dawning.  Leto’s descriptions had been filled with details of lively taverns and relaxing hot springs, devoid of any mention of a lingering Fox presence.

“The rest are just ordinary folks, farmers or shopkeepers,” Serin explained. “They can’t talk to foxes anymore.  Their wildness has been bred out, though they can still be dangerous with a weapon in hand. Do you think you can handle them alone? That’s why the Duke doesn’t want you to go to the village.”

Elena felt a wave of suffocation press down on her.  Kennard’s concern, rather than comforting, sent a prickle of unease down her spine. Am I being unrealistic? she questioned internally.  What exactly am I hoping for?

A gentle pat on the shoulder startled her from her thoughts. “Hazel will be back in the capital soon,” Serin assured her, “and eventually, His Grace will likely allow you your previous freedoms.  Do you truly want to remain cooped up in your room?”

“Serin Elus!”

Before either could react, a thick, heavy scent filled the air.  Simultaneously, Kennard’s voice boomed through the corridor.  Elena and Serin whipped around, eyes wide with surprise.

Standing at the far end of the hallway, framed by flickering torchlight, was Kennard.  The flames danced erratically, as if disturbed by an unseen wind.  Even from a distance, Elena could detect a spark of youthfulness in his gaze, a spark brighter than the torches themselves.

“Your Grace!”  

Kennard’s approach was marked by the deep bows of the knights, maintaining their respectful posture. Like a predator traversing its domain at the apex of the food chain, he exuded both leisure and majesty, yet his eyes, even from a distance, held the glint of glacial ice.  As Kennard drew closer, an invisible pressure settled on Elena, pinning her to the spot.

“Haven’t you gone to bed?”  Serin’s voice, though attempting composure, betrayed a tremor at the Duke’s unexpected arrival.  Elena, however, was oblivious.  Her gaze remained fixed on Kennard, mesmerized and terrified in equal measure.

Gone was his usual cloak, replaced by a luxurious silk robe that offered little in the way of modesty.  Despite the sunless confines of Terra Demorte, his skin held a healthy bronze sheen, and the muscles beneath, sculpted with the precision of a sculptor’s knife, were on full display.  Elena gaped, unable to tear her eyes away. It wasn’t just the undeniable appeal of his exposed upper body, but the scars etched across his skin, a constellation of marks mirroring the ones hidden beneath her own clothing, that held her captive.

“Did you come here assuming I was still in bed?” Kennard growled as he approached them, his voice laden with accusation.

Serin offered an awkward smile. “Of course not. I just happened to pass by and had a brief conversation with Elena.” 

Kennard stared at them in silence for a moment before reaching towards Elena’s neck. Her body recoiled instinctively, a whimper trapped in her throat. But the scream that erupted belonged to Serin.

“Ugh. Your Grace!” Serin cried out as Kennard seized his wrist, which had been resting on Elena’s shoulder, and slowly raised it into the air. Blood drained from where Kennard’s grip held tight, turning Serin’s wrist a ghastly white. Below, his fingers seemed to dig into the flesh, pushing blood up, turning his palm and fingertips an angry red.

Veins bulged on Serin’s forehead, his eyes wide with astonishment. 

“Weren’t you supposed to be going through documents in the office?” Kennard’s voice was soft, almost a whisper, yet it carried more menace than a roar. 

“I was,” Serin replied, his voice strained.

“So why are you here? The office is downstairs. Serin Elus, did you dare to relocate the office without my permission in just one hour?” Kennard’s murmured words felt like a threat, uttered so close that it seemed his nose might touch Serin’s face at any moment.

Elena felt the urge to intervene and calm Kennard down, but she hesitated. Interfering between them felt similar to a small herbivore leaping between predators.

“It truly was by chance. I was just passing by, saw Elena, and stopped to talk,” Serin explained, gesturing towards Elena even as he endured the pain in his arm.

At his words, Kennard turned to look, and Elena instinctively took a step back. For some inexplicable reason, whenever Kennard’s gaze fell upon her, her body moved instinctively, as if sensing a threat, involuntarily trying to distance herself from him. Despite knowing that it only agitated Kennard further, she couldn’t help it. And it was the same this time too.

Observing Elena stepping back, one of Kennard’s eyebrows rose, the long scar running from his forehead through his eyebrow seeming to writhe more fiercely. 

“So?” Kennard released Serin’s hand as if nothing had happened and approached Elena. 

“Why are you in this condition again?”