“Miss Elena,” Cura’s voice cut through the silence as she placed a tray adorned with a meticulously prepared meal on the table before Elena. The flickering flames in the fireplace cast a warm glow on the room, creating a comforting atmosphere.
Elena, who had been lost in thought while seated on the sofa, raised her head in response to Cura’s call. The entrance of her loyal attendant had gone unnoticed.
Cura, concerned by Elena’s distant demeanor, assessed her complexion before unveiling the lid of the pottery stew dish. A delicate white smoke wafted upwards, carrying with it the delectable aroma of the carefully crafted meal. Even the freshly baked bread emanated a tempting scent, filling the room with a culinary symphony. However, Elena remained indifferent, her appetite seemingly absent.
“I don’t really feel like eating,” Elena admitted, drawing her legs onto the sofa and enveloping herself with both arms. The weight of her thoughts hung in the air as she spoke, and Cura couldn’t help but sigh.
“Still, please eat a little. If even Lady Elena doesn’t partake when the Duke abstains from his meals, what should we do?” Cura implored, her concern evident in her voice. Elena, unresponsive, closed her eyes and rested her head on her knees.
Two days had elapsed since Elena’s impulsive visit to Kennard’s study, where she had declared her intention to visit the village. In response, Kennard summoned Lassino, who escorted Elena to her room, assigning two knights to stand guard at the door. Elena’s movements were restricted, and only Cura was permitted entry.
Despite fears that tensions might escalate, Cura reassured Elena that, fortunately, no significant incidents had occurred—except for Leto’s return to the village that very night.
“Why did this happen? Suddenly, not allowing Lady Elena to leave the room. Was there any particular reason when she wasn’t there?” Once again, Elena remained silent, her inner turmoil evident in the furrowed lines on her forehead.
On the night when she ventured into Kennard’s study, she did so without confiding in Cura. The decision to accompany Leto to the village was entirely hers, driven by her own will. The more Kennard attended to her in this manner, the more her insignificant feelings seemed to burgeon. She felt an urgent need to evade his care, to escape the confines of his watchful eye.
But…
“You belong to me. Don’t think you can escape from me. The only one who can have you is me.”
Kennard’s words echoed in her mind, leaving her puzzled and unsettled. Did he harbor similar feelings? Could he have embraced her in his heart, even without the imprinting bond? The mere notion seemed implausible.
As she contemplated these thoughts, she forcefully shook her head to dispel such fanciful notions. A Duke like Kennard, showering care upon an individual of humble origin like herself—someone lacking both identity and memories—seemed inconceivable. Despite prolonged pondering, she found no answers, only confusion.
“Why is he doing this to me?” Elena mumbled, burying her head deeper between her knees and clenching her arms in a desperate attempt to find solace amid the chaos of her emotions.
***
“If there are no orders from His Grace… it is not allowed, how many times do I have to say it?”
Faint voices of conversation wafted in from beyond the door. Elena, seated on the sofa, leaned forward, curiosity etched across her features.
The knights, diligently taking turns at their guard duty throughout the day, had only caught glimpses of Cura through the open door when she entered. Normally, they refrained from peering inside, maintaining a stoic silence. However, today, an unusual tension hung in the air, as if a confrontation was underway.
Elena rose from the sofa, approaching the door with measured steps. She strained to identify the individuals outside, but a medley of various pheromones mingled, rendering it difficult to discern specific identities.
Pressing her ear to the door, Elena listened intently to the sounds emanating from the hallway. The voice engaged in conversation with the knights remained elusive, the words muffled and indistinct.
Unable to resist her curiosity any longer, Elena made a decisive choice. With a deliberate motion, she opened the door.
Abruptly, as the door swung open and Elena emerged, the knights guarding the entrance pivoted in surprise.
“You shouldn’t come out,” insisted an older-looking knight, attempting to gently guide Elena back into the room.
Another knight strategically positioned himself, obstructing Elena’s view and preventing her from glimpsing someone behind them. Beyond their shoulders, a dazzling hair ornament caught Elena’s attention, a distinctive accessory worn by only one person in the castle.
“Lady Hazel?”
At Elena’s call, the knights exchanged glances, a subtle sigh escaping their lips.
“Stop bothering, please,” someone irritably tapped the knight’s forearm with a fan.
