Chapter 46

Serin settled into the chair opposite and idly toyed with the lid of the box holding dried bananas.

“Do you remember when we encountered the White Fox Tribe in the forest? I asked Elena if she knew why they attacked us,” Serin mentioned.

“Why dredge up those memories? It only brings pain, not to mention the injuries,” Kennard interjected.

“I also mentioned the presence of a White Fox Tribe in the village. Leto seemed to have omitted that detail,” Serin added.

“There’s no need to bring up such matters intentionally,” Kennard remarked.

“But if Elena had known, perhaps she wouldn’t have agreed to visit the village,” Serin explained.

Kennard paused, lowering his teacup to peer at Serin. “So you informed her?”

“Yes,” Serin confirmed.

“What’s driving you? You’re not particularly fond of Elena either. If she’s leaving, why bother convincing her to do something she didn’t request?” Kennard questioned.

“It’s different. I simply didn’t want His Grace stewing in anger because of Elena. Besides, if Elena had been aware earlier, she might not have chosen to leave the castle, sparing us the need to confine her to her room. Hazel wouldn’t have attempted to venture out, and today’s incident might have been avoided…” Serin trailed off as Kennard chuckled softly, signaling the end of the conversation. It wasn’t meant to be resolved so easily. Serin desired a resolution more than anyone. To confine Elena, of all people, was preposterous. Yet, it was a necessary action.

“Even if Elena knew, her mind wouldn’t change,” Kennard remarked.

“How can you be so sure?” Serin inquired.

“Sure?” Kennard reclined in his chair, placing his teacup down. His fingers grazed the cup’s rim absentmindedly. “I just know.”

Serin furrowed his brow, puzzled, and regarded Kennard with a quizzical expression. “You just know? Are you implying you can read Elena’s thoughts or something?”

Kennard offered a smile tinged with a sigh. “I can sense it when I look into her eyes.”

As Serin remained silent, he glanced up to find Kennard staring at him, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“What?” Serin asked, his arms crossing defensively as he rubbed his forearms against his chest. “His Grace has been acting strange lately. How do you manage to say such vexing things without altering your expression?”

“What?” Kennard echoed innocently. He silently questioned if Serin was beginning his antics again. It seemed he was subtly trying to provoke him with leading inquiries. However, what followed was entirely unexpected.

“I’ve been meaning to ask for some time,” Serin started.

“What is it now?” Kennard responded, expecting another round of Serin’s usual banter.

“It’s not just anything. Have you imprinted on Elena?”

Kennard was on the verge of dismissing Serin’s nonsensical question, but he found himself speechless instead.

“Surely not, right?” Serin persisted, noticing Kennard’s silence.

Kennard remained quiet, his expression tightening slightly.

“Have you truly imprinted?” Serin pressed on.

“Enough,” Kennard finally interjected, his tone firm.

“Really? When did it happen? Imprinting occurs upon first meeting, correct? Was it the day you found Elena collapsed in the forest? Or perhaps when you discovered her conscious in the castle?” Serin continued, undeterred.

“Just stop it,” Kennard commanded, his patience wearing thin.

“Your Grace!” Serin’s voice called out as Kennard abruptly stood up and made his way to the bed. He roughly removed the fur covering and leaned over, but from behind, Serin’s voice persisted, soft yet insistent.

“As I’ve mentioned before, no one should know, right? It’s problematic if it’s revealed that Your Grace holds Elena in special regard, but imprinting is an entirely different matter. No, it’s a grave issue.”

Kennard glanced over at Serin, who had settled onto the bed, propping himself up on one elbow.

“What is it now?” Kennard asked, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

“Do you grasp your predicament? Your Grace faces greater expectations from the populace than even His Majesty,” Serin explained.

Kennard let out a deep sigh, his frustration evident. “If you’re just going to lecture, you might as well leave.”

“No, please hear me out. No matter who becomes imprinted with Your Grace, they won’t escape scrutiny. Perhaps someone like Miss Hazel might attract less attention. But then again, who can predict the politics in the capital? Even if it were someone like the Duke of Blade’s daughter, who is not inherently a duke by blood, there could still be opposition,” Serin continued.

“I refuse to be linked with Hazel in any way,” Kennard interjected firmly.

“That’s beside the point. The issue is that Your Grace has already imprinted on Elena,” Serin persisted.

In response, Kennard grabbed a large cushion from the bed and flung it at Serin. Dodging the incoming cushion, Serin caught it and hugged it to his chest. “You understand better than anyone why I’m saying this,” Serin sighed, tapping the cushion gently as he approached the bed.

Kennard settled onto his side, propping himself up on one arm, while Serin returned the cushion to its original position.

“Once Elena realizes she’s been imprinted by Your Grace, regardless of her status or memory loss, there will be those who seek to harm her. Your Grace wouldn’t want that. So, before others find out…” Serin trailed off, implying his suggestion.

“Release Elena? Is that what you’re proposing?” 

“Yes.” 

After a brief pause, Kennard responded with a sigh, laden with resignation. “I have no intention of forcibly keeping Elena by my side.”

“Do you think that’s the truth given the current circumstances? Especially with knights surrounding her constantly?” Serin pressed on.

Kennard had no inclination to heed Serin’s suggestion of releasing Elena. Yet, he harbored a fervent hope that she would choose to remain by his side above all.

“She must come to me willingly,” Kennard stated firmly.

Serin’s brow twitched at Kennard’s words. “So, you’re knowingly turning a blind eye to her suffering, hoping she’ll seek your aid? You truly are a terrifying man, Your Grace, though you’re fully aware,” Serin remarked with a mix of admiration and concern.

As Kennard remained silent, allowing the weight of the moment to linger, Serin extinguished one lamp after another in the room before sighing and departing.

Kennard remained still, keeping his eyes closed until he detected the soft click of the door as Serin departed. The room plunged into darkness, except for the dancing flames in the fireplace.

“A terrifying man…” Kennard muttered, pondering Serin’s parting words. A hollow laugh escaped him involuntarily, as if echoing in the dimness. In the shadows, Elena’s image flickered, her delicate features and tear-filled gray eyes haunting his thoughts. It seemed as if she were there before him, her presence palpable enough to almost feel her breath against his skin.

Raising his hand as if to caress Elena’s cheek, Kennard pondered aloud, “A price for breaking our promise. It’s only fair to allow this much, isn’t it?”

***

“Why are we having tea outdoors in this freezing weather?” Cura complained, her lower lip jutting out in a pout. She spoke in a hushed tone, mindful of the nearby handmaids accompanying Hazel.

“At least it’s in a greenhouse,” Elena remarked, her words punctuated by the frosty air. Her breath billowed out like smoke with each word she uttered in response. Despite her thick coat and gloves covering her velvet dress, the cold still gnawed at her bones.

Cura sighed, lifting and then lowering the silver tray carrying the tea set. “You seemed surprised when they mentioned it was an outdoor garden initially.”

“Yeah. It was lucky that Lassino managed to persuade them.”

Stepping into the greenhouse, a wave of warmth enveloped them, akin to a gentle breeze. A momentary flush graced their pale cheeks, and their fingertips, numbed from carrying the tray, tingled in response.

At the heart of the greenhouse, Hazel and Carmen sat across from each other at a circular tea table. The tablecloth draped over it was adorned with intricate white flower embroidery, reminiscent of snowflakes, cascading down to the ground. Serin’s careful cultivation was evident in the transparent glass vases showcasing the greenhouse’s flowers, positioned at the table’s center.

The handmaids swiftly arranged plates of bread, butter, and biscuits onto the table, while Elena placed the tray with teacups and the teapot on a nearby surface. Her hand trembled as she reached for the teapot handle, threatening to spill its contents.

Hazel observed Elena with lowered eyelids, her gaze intense. Elena, avoiding eye contact, poured tea into another cup, the fragrant steam and robust aroma filling the air as the cup filled with herbal tea. With utmost concentration, Elena placed the teacup before Hazel and Carmen, ensuring a gentle touch to avoid any clinking sound as the cup met its saucer.