Chapter 92

“Prison?” Elena’s voice was barely a whisper, her brow furrowing in confusion.

Kennard’s gaze darkened instantly. “They said it wasn’t a prison,” he muttered, “but it was no different from one.”

“Elena pressed, “They?” — searching his face for a clue as to whom he meant.

But Kennard’s lips pressed stubbornly shut, refusing to answer. His eyes glazed over, distant as if trapped in some far-off place.

Seeing him like that, Elena held her tongue. She simply stood beside him, waiting patiently for him to return to the present.

After what felt like an eternity of silence, Kennard finally broke it, turning slowly to her. “Do you want to go in?”

Elena hesitated, caught between curiosity and dread. What was inside that pulled at her so strongly? Why had he forbidden anyone to enter?

Fear fluttered in her chest.

Yes, I’m afraid. But why? she wondered, her thoughts twisting until the truth startled her into stillness.

“There’s no need to look inside,” Kennard warned quietly. “Once you see it, it might be hard for you.”

His voice held a pleading edge, as if urging her to turn away right then and there.

She wanted to ask why, wanted him to explain, but the words died in her throat.

Instead, she forced a small smile and met his gaze steadily. “His Grace is with me, so it’s alright.”

Her trust in Kennard outweighed the cold fingers of fear wrapping around her.

If anything happened, she knew he’d be the first to step forward and protect her.

At her words, a twitch—almost like a spasm—pulled at the corner of Kennard’s mouth. Without another word, he released the hand they had been holding.

Elena couldn’t bear the chill that crawled along her hand left hanging in the air, so she quickly wrapped it with her other hand, trying to hold onto some warmth. The simple fact that Kennard had let go sent a sudden wave of emptiness washing over her.

But he hadn’t actually stepped away. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small key, fingers deftly working to unlock the padlock that had been sealed tight for who knew how long.

With a sharp click, the lock gave way. Kennard gripped the thick iron handle that stretched across the heavy doorframe and pushed it sideways.

A long, grating squeeeak echoed through the silence.

Elena instinctively hunched against a cold wind that rushed in from the crack the door now revealed. Though winter had long since passed, the air spilling from within felt like a sudden plunge into a frozen abyss. The unlit stairs beyond the doorway were naturally cooler, but this wind was biting — as if she had stepped out into a bleak winter field.

Her vision blurred and her breaths came shallow, ragged.

Wrapping her arms tightly around herself, Elena gasped, struggling to draw air into her lungs.

Before she could collapse, strong arms encircled her, steadying her.

“Are you alright?” Kennard’s voice was low, filled with concern. “If it’s too much, we can turn back now.”

“No… I’m fine.” She swallowed the panic and grabbed hold of his arm, leaning on him for support.

Together, they stepped inside.

The cold seemed to seep into her bones, wrapping her in a chilling embrace. She could almost see her breath swirling in the stale air.

The room inside was surprisingly spacious, but sparsely furnished.

An old bed sagged against one wall. A wooden desk, rough and splintered, stood opposite it, accompanied by a rickety chair. The materials were crude and worn — nothing like the polished hardwood desks Kennard or she had been accustomed to. It looked as if a strong gust might send it crumbling to pieces.

Cobwebs hung like tattered curtains, draping every corner. Dust lay thick on every surface, settled like fresh snow.

There was no lamp in sight, only a cold fireplace choked with ashes of burnt-out logs.

A barred window faced outward, confirming what Elena had suspected — this was the very top room of the tower she had seen from afar.

Despite the eerie atmosphere, the ghosts of silence and decay, the space itself held nothing remarkable.

Yet standing there, the weight of the place pressed down on Elena’s chest, as if the very air sought to crush her spirit.

Why do I feel like this?

Elena stood motionless in the center of the room, her eyes fixed blankly on the barred window. Time slipped by, and with every passing second, the chill that sank deep into her bones grew heavier, more suffocating.

“Elena.”

Kennard’s voice cut through the silence as he turned toward her and pulled her gently into his arms. The sudden warmth radiating from him made her exhale a long, involuntary sigh of relief.

“Let’s stop. We should go back,” he whispered, his breath soft against her temple as he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.

She nodded, but her feet remained rooted to the spot. Instead, she surrendered completely to his strength, burying her face against the solid rise and fall of his chest.

“Your Grace,” she murmured, her voice trembling, “why did you forbid entry to this place?”

The hand that had been softly brushing through her hair stilled for a moment before sliding down to rest firmly on her waist, drawing her even closer.

“It’s a precious place to me,” Kennard said quietly, voice heavy with emotion. “And… a painful one as well.”

The weight of his words hit her like a blow. How could something be both so treasured and so tormenting?

“What exactly is this place that holds so much meaning for you?”

Elena lifted her eyes to meet his, searching for answers in the depths of his gaze.

Kennard caught her glance and gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Whether he sensed the storm of questions inside her or simply wished to comfort her, his fingers lingered, softly teasing her earlobe.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he tilted his head closer.

His lips met hers with a fierce hunger, as if trying to swallow her whole. His kiss was deep and demanding, his tongue weaving and tangling with hers in a passionate dance.

“Ahh, Your Grace…”

Kennard’s kiss pressed her backward, his hold tight and unyielding—so strong it bordered on pain, yet she didn’t want him to loosen.

“Your Grace.”

Elena broke away from his lips, struggling to catch her breath as urgency trembled in her voice.

“If I hold you here… will the memories change? Will only the happy ones remain?” 

Kennard buried his face in the hollow at the nape of her neck, mumbling softly—words she couldn’t quite make out.

His arms encircled her fragile frame as if she might shatter at any moment, never loosening their hold. It was as if loosening his grip would make her slip through his fingers, lost forever.

Though he was the one holding her, it felt like he was the one clinging desperately, afraid to let go.

A sharp ache bloomed deep inside Elena’s chest.

In this moment, Kennard’s broad shoulders and steady back seemed unbearably fragile—like glass trembling on the edge of breaking.

No matter what haunted his past, or who his memories belonged to—whether she was part of them or not—it didn’t matter.

Because right now, she thought fiercely, the one standing by His Grace’s side is me. At least for now, it’s me.

Elena tightened her arms around his back.

Through the curve of his shoulders, she stole a slow glance around the room.

The inexplicable fear still clung to the air like a shadow. The suffocating weight pressed down, and the unsettling sense of unseen eyes watching her lingered in the silence.

But she was safe.

Because Kennard was here.

Let’s never come back. And please, Your Grace… don’t come here again. Please, don’t.

***

Kennard took the documents Serin handed him and scanned them quickly.

Mining operations had resumed after the previous halt, with strict limits set on how much mineral they could extract at once. Today’s briefing covered the quantity mined so far and the ongoing processing methods.

“You called Taylor and his wife here together?” Kennard asked without looking up.

“Yes.” Serin’s voice was steady.

Kennard glanced at him briefly, then lowered his eyes back to the papers.

“Are you planning to tailor formal wear?”

Serin’s lips twitched in amusement. “Why ask if you already know?”

Without hesitation, Kennard signed the bottom of the document with a pen dipped in ink and handed it back.

“Are you really going to marry Elena?”

Serin took the papers with both hands, his displeasure clear as a deep furrow creased his brow.

Kennard leaned back heavily in his chair, crossing his arms. Raising an eyebrow, he fixed Serin with a sharp glare. Serin glanced away subtly but continued muttering under his breath.

“Your Grace, how long has it been since you sent Lady Hazel—whom His Grace designated as your match—away like that? And now you speak of marrying Elena? Besides, you must obtain the Emperor’s permission first.”

Kennard’s gaze didn’t waver. “I decide who my match is.”

“Are you—no less than His Grace the Grand Duke—really trying to break the laws of the Baruchella Empire? All high nobles require the Emperor’s approval to marry.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Kennard snapped. “That’s why so many with bonded marks keep their partners as mistresses.”

Serin’s voice dropped low, almost accusing. “You too, Your Grace…”

“If you’re going to tell me to keep Elena as a mistress, then shut your mouth—before I tear you limb from limb.”

Kennard clenched his jaw, suppressing the surge of anger. He would not tolerate Serin speaking about Elena like that.

Serin rubbed his forehead, sighing deeply. “Or why don’t you send a letter to the Emperor and petition him yourself?”

“And how do you suggest I handle the aftermath of that?” Kennard asked, voice cold and steady. “I’ll take care of it.”

Serin’s brow furrowed. “So how? If you defy the imperial command, you risk being branded a traitor.”

Kennard’s eyes darkened. “Then I’ll become independent.”

Serin’s hand froze mid-rub on his forehead. His teal eyes widened in shock as he stared at Kennard.

“Could it be… the independence I think you mean?”

Kennard’s lip curled in a faint smirk. “What do you think it is?”

“You mean freeing yourself from the Empire’s rule?” Serin’s voice was barely a whisper, astonished.

“Starting next week, increase mineral extraction by about one-third over current levels.”

“Increase the amount? Are you planning for war? Is that why you’ve resumed the previously forbidden mining?”

Serin’s gaze dropped to the documents in his hands before he slumped into his chair, the weight of Kennard’s words sinking in.

“Your Grace… just how far are you planning to go?”