Serin pressed his lips together, keenly observing the subtle nuances in Kennard’s expression.
“What did Leto tell Elena to coax her into venturing to the village with him?” Kennard grumbled, the frustration evident in his tone.
“He must have dangled the village hot springs in front of her again. Ever since she arrived in Terra Demorte, she’s taken an interest in them. She asked me to pass on her request to stay in the village,” Serin explained.
Kennard couldn’t suppress his confusion about why someone with no recollection of their own identity would go out of their way to be considerate or express gratitude, pledging to return the favor. The entire affair seemed like a nonsensical puzzle to him.
Never once had he pressed her to recognize the debt she believed she owed him. It was him, and no one else, who wanted her to recall her memories. His initial plan had been to patiently await the return of her memories, but with each passing moment, impatience clawed at him.
And now, she was leaving.
Their footsteps echoed through the cave as they descended the spiral stone staircase. With each step, Kennard’s anger swelled.
“She’s leaving the castle for the allure of hot springs?” Kennard scoffed.
“Surely, it can’t be that simple. Perhaps my words were just a flimsy excuse,” Serin replied, his gaze locking with Kennard’s bewildered expression.
As the spiral descent continued, the anger within Kennard swelled.
“If hot springs are the obstacle, then we can construct them within the castle,” Kennard suggested.
Serin swiveled towards Kennard, his jaw slackened, eyes reflecting incredulity. “What’s this about building? Hot springs? You didn’t spill such nonsense to Elena, did you?”
Kennard scoffed, “Are you out of your mind? I mentioned it casually. But if push comes to shove, I can make it happen, can’t I?”
Serin, hand pressed to his forehead, emitted an audible sigh. “Your Grace, do you realize how strange you’ve become? Do you actually have feelings for Elena, or else why would you say such a ridiculous thing?”
Navigating the corridor leading to the study, Serin and Kennard walked in tandem, their strides synchronized. Kennard released a series of continuous sighs, prompting a sarcastic retort from Serin, “Take a breather before you run out of air.”
Kennard shot him a glare, clicking his tongue in response. He was fully aware of the absurdity of his statements.
“Don’t forget, Miss Hazel is in this castle right now.” Serin reminded him, taking a step forward before swinging open the door to the study. As Kennard entered, he followed suit, closing the door behind them. Kennard settled on the desk with only his backside, crossing his arms and massaging his temples with one hand.
“What does Hazel have to do with this?”
Serin approached, his fingers closing around a handbell resting on the side of the desk. A crisp chime filled the air, and the door to the adjoining room swung open with almost uncanny timing.
“Did you call, sir?” Lassino entered, offering a respectful bow of his head.
“Lassino, fetch the headache medicine Leto left behind,” Serin instructed, motioning toward Kennard. Lassino’s eyes shifted to Kennard.
“Understood.”
Swiftly assessing Kennard’s troubled expression, Lassino closed the door behind him and vanished from the study. Serin moved to a table bathed in the soft glow of daylight near the window, producing a cup of herbal tea.
“It might be a bit cold, but please have some tea for now,” Serin suggested as Kennard accepted the cup, downing its contents in a single gulp. The warmth had all but dissipated, leaving the bitter undertones more pronounced on Kennard’s tongue.
As Serin poured himself a cup of tea and approached Kennard, he began his discourse. “Regardless of your intentions towards Miss Hazel, the arrangement was made by His Majesty. It’s not a matter easily brushed aside.”
Kennard retorted, “No matter what His Majesty desires, if I don’t agree, it won’t happen. Spare me the repetition.”
“It’s not that straightforward, and therein lies the problem. If His Majesty misconstrues your refusal as being linked to Elena, what do you think will happen?” Serin’s words hung in the air, causing Kennard’s outstretched hand to freeze in mid-air.
Kennard, his gaze fixed on the tea, tinged with a reddish hue, fell into a contemplative silence. Even without hearing it, Serin knew exactly what he wanted to say.
“If the news spreads that Archduke Kennard den Devel has abandoned the dignity of his dukedom, fixating on a woman of unknown identity and a lost memory, what do you think the people of Baruchella will murmur?” Serin persisted.
“It doesn’t matter,” Kennard replied, his tone terse.
“Why doesn’t it matter? Isn’t that the reason you’re letting Miss Hazel meddle with Elena?”
“Nonsense.”
“Then why let it happen? You bristle every time their names are mentioned, yet you remain silent. I don’t understand.” Serin’s voice edged up a notch.
