Lassino, who was carefully arranging appetizers in front of Kennard, stumbled upon Elena’s presence and froze mid-motion. The room fell into a hushed stillness as everyone’s attention shifted to the unexpected guest.
The occupants of the table swiftly gauged Kennard’s reaction, trying to decipher his inscrutable expression. In unison, they turned their heads towards Elena, who stood beside Carmen, seemingly caught in a moment of hesitation.
Serin, displaying a mix of surprise and curiosity, gaped at the unfolding scene, while Kennard maintained a poker face directed at Elena. Hazel, observant and composed, alternated her gaze between the two and emitted a subtle, knowing smile.
“Come in,” Carmen whispered as she took a deliberate step toward the table. However, Elena remained immobile, as if turned to stone by the intensity of the situation.
Carmen offered a simple apology for her tardiness, bending her knees in greeting to Kennard before turning her attention to Hazel, who was seated nearby. Meanwhile, Lassino approached, pulled out a chair for Carmen, and discreetly stepped back, leaving her to settle behind Kennard.
“Elena, come and sit too,” Hazel suggested with a warm smile, attempting to diffuse the tension. Turning to Lassino, she added, “Will you prepare a meal for Miss Elena as well?”
Rather than responding immediately, Lassino’s eyes darted toward Kennard’s back, indicating his hesitancy to proceed without a clear signal. The room remained in a state of bewilderment, with everyone, including the servants, exchanging silent glances in response to Elena’s sudden and unexpected presence.
Under the scrutinizing gazes fixated upon her, Elena felt as though she were being pierced by arrows. Regret surged within her, a bitter acknowledgment that it was too late to retract her presence. She had exposed herself to their scrutiny willingly.
Interrupting the tense atmosphere, Kennard set down his fork and queried, “What’s going on?” His deliberate, slow-spoken words cut through the air with a chill reminiscent of the snow-covered plains of Terra Demorte. In Kennard’s cold tone, Elena once again recognized her status as an unwelcome guest.
She hadn’t followed Carmen’s lead. Despite any orders from Hazel and even if Carmen had clung to the bedroom, Elena should have refused. Though she had foreseen this situation, facing it now, she felt an overwhelming urge to hide, even if it were just her head.
“Serin?”
Kennard’s question lingered in the air, met with Serin’s denial.
“No, it’s not me,” Serin clarified, shaking his head in response to Kennard’s inquiry. Kennard, seemingly dismissing the possibility that Serin might be responsible, allowed a heavy silence to descend, enveloping the space.
Hazel, unfazed, calmly lifted her glass, breaking the silence with a composed revelation. “I asked her to come.”
Kennard’s icy gaze turned towards Hazel, seeking an explanation. In response, Hazel continued, “I’ve been here for several days, and I haven’t had a meal with Miss Elena yet. Wouldn’t it be better to dine together here than eating alone in the room?”
“Elena is not feeling well, so I intentionally arranged for her to have her meal in her room,” Serin interjected. Despite Hazel’s words, Serin’s expression remained rigid.
“She’s a guest of the Grand Duke. Shouldn’t we keep her from being lonely by herself?” Hazel persisted, attempting to justify her decision.
“Well, Elena is injured, so…” Serin began to explain, but his words were abruptly cut off by Kennard’s commanding voice. “Enough!” Kennard’s tone brooked no further discussion. “Lassino, prepare a meal for Elena.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Lassino acknowledged promptly. With a subtle gesture, he signaled the attendants standing behind him to withdraw. “Elena, come this way,” he beckoned, pulling out the chair beside Serin.
Swallowing the dry lump in her throat, Elena hesitated for a moment before tentatively taking a step forward. “Thank you,” she uttered as she seated herself and extended her greetings. Lassino responded with a reassuring smile.
Elena’s gaze remained fixed on the blank expanse of the white tablecloth before her. The silence around her was palpable, creating an uncomfortable atmosphere as if she were in a place meant for finality. Even the prospect of having a meal seemed daunting, with doubts about her ability to swallow properly lingering in her mind.
Breaking the silence, attendants returned from outside among the servants, efficiently setting the tableware in front of Elena. The clinking of utensils and the gentle movements around her formed a stark contrast to the quiet tension that enveloped the table.
Upon the ceramic plate, they meticulously arranged a napkin and a solitary flower. On the left side, a dinner fork, a salad fork, and a salad plate found their place. On the opposing side, a dinner knife, a teaspoon, and a soup spoon were methodically laid out, followed by a teacup and saucer. Just when it seemed the orchestration was complete, above the central plate, a dessert fork and spoon were paired with a butter knife and a small glass dish, flanking either side.
Elena’s eyes widened in awe at the formal tableau, an experience wholly unfamiliar even during her private dining moments in the bedroom. “When you have the salad, use the plate on the far left and the small fork. For the main course, use the fork next to it and the knife on this side,” Lassino explained in a hushed tone while gracefully pouring water.
“Thank you,” Elena responded with a gentle nod, her attempt at a smile appearing strained, her facial muscles betraying subtle twitches. The ensuing meal became a blur in her memory, with only the metallic clinks of utensils breaking the static atmosphere. Even the sounds of chewing were stifled, Elena forcing each swallow through a constricted throat.
