Chapter 86

Elena wondered if she had misheard.

But the words had been soft—yet unmistakably clear.

“Your Grace… what did you just say?”

Kennard lifted his head, his piercing gaze locking onto hers before his fingers brushed against her cheek in a featherlight caress.

“Become my bride.”

Then, as if to carve the words into her very soul, he sealed them with a kiss.

The heat of his touch, the weight of his voice—everything blurred together, leaving her mind clouded. Yet his words cut through the haze like a blade, sharp and undeniable.

She couldn’t believe it.

There was no way—no possible way—that Kennard, Grand Duke of the Baruchella Empire, a man of such stature and power, would propose to someone like her.

Someone whose very identity was shrouded in mystery.

And yet, it was real.

Kennard—no one else but him—was asking for her hand in marriage.

She should have been overjoyed. And she was. So much so that it hardly felt real.

But as the rush of emotions surged through her, a chilling sense of dread coiled in its wake.

Her heart pounded, but instead of happiness, doubt and fear clawed at her chest, tightening their grip. Her body felt weightless, as though the very blood had drained from her veins, leaving her bones hollow and trembling.

Her mind went blank.

Kennard’s expression darkened as he watched the color fade from her face.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?”

He propped himself up on one arm, leaning in, his piercing stare pinning her in place.

The long scar slashing across his right eyebrow arched sharply, his displeasure laid bare.

The air between them turned frigid.

The sudden space between their bodies, once searing with heat, now brimmed with an unsettling chill.

A shiver ran through her, but she was too overwhelmed to even pull the covers around herself. Instead, she turned her head away from him.

“…Do you not want this?” Kennard caught her chin, his grip gentle but firm as he turned her face back toward him. His voice was low, edged with frustration, his words slipping through clenched teeth.

“I don’t… dislike it. I don’t… but…” Elena barely managed to part her lips to speak, shaking her head weakly. Yet she still couldn’t meet his gaze.

This was an entirely different matter from confessing their feelings for each other.

“Hah….” Kennard let out a deep sigh, the weight of it heavy in the air. Without another word, he threw off the sheets and rose from the bed.

Elena turned onto her side, watching his retreating figure.

She assumed he was disappointed—so much so that he no longer wanted to be near her.

Perhaps it was because they had spent countless nights indulging in each other without rest, but even the slightest physical distance now felt unbearably vast.

She wanted to beg him to stay, to not leave her like this.
But the words wouldn’t come.

She thought he was stepping away in disappointment, distancing himself from her entirely.
But she was wrong.

“…Ah!”

A startled gasp escaped her lips as her body was suddenly lifted into the air.

Before she could react, Kennard had pulled her into his arms, leaning back against the headboard with her cradled against him.

One strong arm wrapped securely around her waist, holding her in place, offering no room for escape. With a quiet rustle, he pulled the sheets up behind his back, cocooning them both beneath the warmth of the fabric. Reflexively, she placed a hand on his chest to steady herself, her fingers pressing against the firm expanse of muscle beneath his skin. His heartbeat pulsed steadily beneath her palm, grounding her in the moment.

Now, with not a single thread of clothing between them, she found herself curled up against him—small, vulnerable. The realization made her shrink even further into herself.

“What are you thinking about this time?” Kennard murmured, drawing her closer. He cupped her cheek, his lips brushing gently against her forehead.

Elena curled inward, crossing her arms over her chest in a feeble attempt to shield herself, to put space between them. But there was no escaping his warmth, no avoiding the undeniable presence beneath her.

The more she tried to pull away, the tighter his arms wound around her, drawing her back into his embrace.

“If you don’t dislike this, then why that expression? Don’t tell me you’re still thinking of pulling away from me.”

“That’s not it…”

Kennard tilted her chin upward, forcing her to meet his gaze. Their faces were so close that their lips and the tips of their noses nearly touched.

“Then what is it?” he asked once more.

“I’m already content knowing Your Grace’s feelings. How could I possibly dare to become your bride?”

Elena bit her lower lip, barely managing to voice the thoughts that weighed so heavily on her heart. And saying them aloud only made the ache in her chest unbearable.

Kennard’s sharp gaze lingered on her, his brows drawing together.

“If not you, then who do you think is fit to be my bride?”

“That’s…” Elena trailed off.

“A noblewoman, perhaps? Someone like Hazel?”

The moment he spoke Hazel’s name, Elena’s heart plummeted. She couldn’t even blink, her vacant gaze lowering to his chest. She could barely breathe.

“If that’s what you believe, then Hazel must be the perfect choice. After all, His Majesty personally declared her to be my match, didn’t he?”

Kennard tilted his chin slightly, as if picturing a future with Hazel.

As if waiting for Elena to agree—so he could make it a reality.

Elena found herself unable to utter a single word.

“…Haa. Elena, what am I going to do with you?” Kennard let out a deep sigh, glancing down at her before running a rough hand over his brow. “Would it truly not bother you if another woman stood by my side?”

“Your Grace, I’ve lost my memories. I don’t even know what race I belong to. How could someone like me possibly become your bride?”

“What do status and race matter?” Kennard’s voice sharpened before he caught himself, exhaling slowly as he reined in his temper.

“No matter how much I love you and keep you by my side, there will always be those who wish to harm you in my absence. You’ve already endured enough of that while Hazel was around.”

“Your Grace, that’s…”

“Do you think the future will be any different? If Hazel—or any other woman—torments you as my wife, will you finally tell me then? I know I’m not a good man, Elena. And I know you still fear me.”

“That’s not true, Your Grace.”

Elena shook her head frantically, denying his words. There were times when his presence unsettled her, when his intensity felt overwhelming. But she never wanted him to belittle himself because of her.

Kennard exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a brief moment before fixing his piercing gaze back on her.

“I knew Hazel was tormenting you. I saw it with my own eyes. And there are more eyes and ears in this palace than you realize. Even if you kept silent, word would eventually reach me.”

His voice was steady, yet beneath it lay something deeper—something almost regretful.

“But the reason I let it continue…” Kennard trailed off, his gaze unyielding, as if demanding she absorb every word. “…was because I wanted you to realize how you felt when another woman stood by my side.”

His fingers traced a slow path from her collarbone down to the top of her chest. Right over the spot where Hazel had scratched her with a reed in the greenhouse. The wound had long since healed, leaving no scar behind. But she knew exactly why he was touching that place.

“If you had just asked me for help, even once, I would have taken you away from that situation. But you never did. Instead, you tried to leave me for reasons that made no sense. And now, once again, you’re thinking of stepping away.”

“…Your Grace.” Elena turned toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck as she leaned into him.

Kennard pulled her closer, his arms tightening around her as if to keep her from slipping away again. Her chest was pressed firmly against his, but she didn’t care.

“If you want to resent me, then do it. If you want to hit me, I’ll let you.” His whisper brushed against her neck, raw and unguarded.

“No… I don’t resent you.”

Elena’s heart ached.

What had she done to deserve such overwhelming love?

And yet, a deeper reason kept her from accepting his proposal—an unshakable fear that weighed heavily on her chest.

“Your Grace.”

She swallowed hard, forcing down the lump rising in her throat.

“Promise me just one thing.”

Kennard lifted his head slowly, his eyes still clouded with unreadable emotion.

“What is it?”

“If… if even after marrying me, you one day find the person you are fated to…” 

She hesitated, biting her lip.

The words caught in her throat, twisting into knots she could barely untangle.
She swallowed them back over and over, afraid that if she spoke them, she would break apart.

“…Go on. I’m listening.”

Kennard’s hand moved in slow, soothing strokes along her back, urging her to continue.

“If that happens… if Your Grace ever finds the one you are truly destined for… please, let me go. That is my only request.”

Her voice trembled as she finally forced the words out.

Fear gripped her. Would he be angry? Would he pull away?

But it had to be said.

Kennard’s jaw tightened, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made it impossible to breathe.

A suffocating silence stretched between them.

Then, at last, his voice came, quiet but resolute.

“…That’s a conversation we can have after you regain your memories.”