The silvery silk shimmered softly, embroidered with red and blue roses so intricately detailed that tiny diamonds sparkled like morning dew scattered across the petals.
Her wavy black hair tumbled freely to her chest, crowned by a grand blue hat adorned with ornate feathers that fluttered lightly with every breath of air.
In one gloved hand—white as freshly fallen snow—she gripped a long parasol, delicately crocheted from blue lace that perfectly matched her hat.
Yet it was her eyes that held Elena captive—turquoise pools gleaming like a still mountain lake, brimming with quiet curiosity and fixed unwaveringly on her.
“Who… are you?”
Elena had been staring, momentarily mesmerized, but snapped back to herself and forced the words out.
A sudden thought struck her sharply—after Hazel’s reluctant departure, could the emperor have sent another noblewoman to be Kennard’s new match?
Her mouth went dry. Her heart felt as though it were being crushed in a vise.
The woman watched silently as Elena’s expression darkened with each passing second, then slowly curved her lips into a long, deliberate smile.
With every step she took forward, the sharp click-clack of her heels echoed sharply through the quiet room, each sound punctuating the growing tension.
Up close, she was taller than Elena had anticipated—her presence imposing and unyielding.
She stopped just inches away, leaning down until the tips of their noses nearly brushed.
Elena’s hand instinctively pressed against the window frame, her upper body recoiling just slightly as she swallowed hard, dry and tense.
There was nowhere left to retreat. Yet, inexplicably, she found herself rooted in place, unable to step aside.
Trapped, Elena had no choice but to meet the woman’s gaze head-on.
“Who are you?”
Her voice trembled despite herself, but the question demanded an answer. She had to know who this enigmatic intruder was, appearing so suddenly, so confidently.
“You’re Elena?”
The woman tilted her head further, whispering the name with a sharp, almost mocking edge.
She was so close that Elena could feel her breath, faint and cool, as if their lips might brush at any moment.
Frozen, Elena’s heart pounded as the woman’s voice—thin, high-pitched—sent a strange chill down her spine.
Something was off.
And when Elena looked more closely…
***
Like a shadow leaping through space, Kennard thundered down the hallway—and in an instant, shifted into his black wolf form.
“Your Grace?!”
Serin’s startled cry behind him, almost a scream, barely registered.
Serin, too, had transformed into a wolf and was close on Kennard’s heels, but Kennard paid him no mind.
A suffocating dread clung to him like thorny vines wrapped tight around his chest.
His legs felt as if wading through a swamp—each step sluggish and heavy.
But that was only Kennard’s illusion.
The wind whipped up in his wake, fierce and wild, making the lanterns lining the corridor sway violently before flickering out altogether.
Servants passing through the hallway froze in terror at the sight of two wolves barreling past and scattered like startled birds.
Some pressed themselves flat against the walls, desperate to avoid the powerful beasts.
“Your Grace, who is this person—who brought His Majesty’s letter and caused all this chaos?” Serin glanced toward the fleeing servants as he raced after Kennard.
Kennard said nothing. He focused solely on the scent—the sharp pheromone trail that led him forward.
Soon, Kennard reached his destination, pivoted sharply, and surged inside.
Exactly as he had feared—Elena stood frozen by the study window, terror etched on her face, while the flamboyantly dressed figure leaned in dangerously close, as if about to kiss her.
“If you don’t step back…!”
Kennard’s voice thundered through the room, laced with cold, murderous intent.
Elena’s eyes, pale and haunted, met his.
Without hesitation, Kennard lunged at the man.
Since he had dared touch Elena, Kennard meant to tear his throat out.
But just as he had sensed the man’s pheromones outside, the man shifted instantly—transforming into a black wolf—and deftly dodged Kennard’s attack.
“Want to die, huh?” Kennard bared his razor-sharp fangs and let out a low, menacing growl.
He crouched on his front legs, muscles coiled like a spring, ready to strike again.
“No way.” The man chuckled darkly, eyes sharp and unyielding, every muscle tense and prepared for Kennard’s next move.
Without hesitation, Kennard lunged forward, jaws snapping—but the man slipped away with a sinuous grace, sliding like a snake beneath his attack once more.
Yet, startled by Kennard’s relentless ferocity, the man stumbled, crashing hard into the study’s bookshelf.
The collision sent a thunderous cascade of books tumbling down, their dense, heavy bodies crashing noisily around Elena and scattering across the floor.
“Ah!”
Elena screamed, clutching her head in panic.
Kennard abandoned his attack instantly, springing over her protectively as a shield.
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