“The Grand Duke is an esteemed person. His life is often in danger. It wouldn’t be acceptable to have suspicious individuals around. Moreover, he will be my future husband, so it is my duty to ensure his safety,” Hazel replied, directing her gaze towards Serin with the same condescending look she had given Elena.
“The Grand Duke has stated that he has no intention of accepting a marriage to a member of House Blade, so you have no authority to do this, Miss Hazel,” Serin countered.
“That remains to be seen.”
“Miss Hazel!” A flame ignited in Serin’s eyes, a departure from his usual grumbling and nagging demeanor. Elena felt a sense of discomfort as it seemed a commotion was unfolding because of her. She sensed the need to somehow defuse the situation.
“Ser…”
“Serin!”
Just as Elena was about to intervene, another commanding voice drowned out her attempt. The owner of the deep, resonant voice was none other than Kennard.
As Kennard descended the stairs at the corridor’s end, Hazel promptly turned her body and lowered her head. “Greetings, Your Highness,” she spoke respectfully. Carmen, who had been restraining Cura’s arm behind her back, swiftly released her hold and also bowed her head in deference.
Surveying the gathered crowd in the corridor with an intensity emanating from his deeply-set pumpkin-colored eyes, Kennard remained silent. His piercing gaze flicked momentarily towards Elena, cradled by Serin, before he turned his head away.
“Serin, come to the office,” he instructed calmly.
“Your Highness!” A startled Serin called out to him as Kennard began to descend the stairs. He didn’t turn his head, pausing only momentarily to leave behind a stern directive: “Don’t cause any trouble.”
***
“Even if they’re nobles, it’s just too much,” Cura grumbled, her eyes reddened as if tears might spill at any moment. Dipping a cloth into warm water, she delicately wiped the wounds on Elena’s shoulders.
“What should I do? The bleeding won’t stop. Why hasn’t the doctor come yet?” she lamented, pressing a clean, dry cloth firmly against Elena’s shoulder.
Elena lay motionless, staring blankly into space. Cura, having applied herbal ointment and rewound the bandage on Elena’s wrist and arm, used the back of her hand to gently brush away any rough edges. Although Elena had endured injuries before, the shock this time seemed substantial, likely exacerbated by Hazel’s actions.
“Even if the Duke is known for his temper, he’s never treated lower-ranking people so recklessly, especially being a guest. What’s going on? And why did the Duke just leave like that?” Cura voiced her confusion, and Elena, in silent agreement, closed her eyes. She pondered the same questions as Cura but found herself unable to outwardly express her feelings, given her perceived lack of qualification.
A distinct thud marked the opening of the bedroom door, resonating with the entrance of someone familiar. Elena could now identify the person solely by their scent.
“Teacher, it’s been a while since we saw each other. Why are you here now?” Leto’s voice filled the room as he entered. Elena opened her eyes and directed her gaze toward him. Leto had placed a sizable bag on the chair, his breath heavy and beard, which cascaded to his chest, rising and falling dramatically with each breath. A faint scent of alcohol and tobacco lingered on his clothes, suggesting a recent visit to a tavern.
“Elena is not fully recovered yet. Why did you go to the village again?” Cura inquired with concern.
“The wounds were almost healed. You just needed to apply herbs and bandages, so I came back. Anyway, let’s save the nagging for later and focus on the wounds.” Leto leaned towards Elena, tilting his upper body.
Examining the cloth that had covered the wounds, Leto frowned, his forehead creasing even more deeply.
“Wait, why did the wounds reopen? Elena, didn’t I tell you not to overexert yourself and rest?” Leto retrieved various herbs from a pocket and a small leather bag from the substantial one on the table, muttering to himself.
“Elena did nothing wrong. It was Hazel who suddenly grabbed Elena’s arm.” Cura grumbled, pursing her lips in frustration while assisting Leto and retrieving treatment tools from the table.
Upon hearing this, one of Leto’s eyebrows rose. “What? Why did that happen?”
“I don’t know. We ran into her in the corridor, and she suddenly did that. She questioned why Elena, who isn’t a noble, was wearing an expensive dress. She even dared to question what His Grace had granted.”
“Hmm.” Leto brushed his beard with his hand, letting out a bitter laugh. “I understand that they may not be aware of Elena’s situation, but…”
“I clearly told them that Elena was injured and to let her go. Despite that, they continued to tightly grip her arm like this.” Cura expressed her discontent as if she had personally experienced her arm being caught, allowing her grievances to flow like a burst dam.
