In the hushed embrace of the night, a gentle rapping filled the air, drawing Cura’s presence into the room.
“Are you still awake?” Cura’s voice floated in softly, carrying a hint of concern.
Elena, nestled against the plush cushions of the headboard, watched as Cura approached, her figure outlined by the faint glow of candlelight.
“Back already?” Elena greeted.
Cura, weariness etched into her movements, settled into the chair by the bedside with a weary sigh. Frowning, she absently nibbled at her thumbnail, lost in thought.
“Troubling news, perhaps?” Elena ventured, her brows furrowing in sympathy.
Anxiety prickled at Elena’s senses, wondering if her own desires had inadvertently caused strife for Cura. She pondered if she should have taken matters into her own hands instead of relying on another.
“Why the solemn expression?” Elena prodded gently, reaching out to comfort her friend.
Cura hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the strands of her braided hair. Then, with a cautious glance, she leaned in closer, her voice lowered to a whisper.
“Miss Elena,” she began, her words laden with urgency, “I believe you should be made aware of Miss Hazel’s true intentions. When I conveyed your wishes to her, she found amusement in them, claiming they were her own ideas from the start.”
Elena’s suspicions unfurled into certainty. From the outset, Hazel’s demeanor had betrayed her disdain for Elena’s presence, resenting any attention diverted from her own pursuits.
The realization settled heavily upon Elena, mingling with the regret for possibly burdening Cura with her own concerns.
“Thank you for informing me, Cura,” Elena murmured, her thoughts swirling with apprehension for the days ahead.
Hazel’s intentions loomed palpably in the air—a desire for Elena’s support, a bid for acknowledgment of her superiority.
“She even expects you to seek approval from the Grand Duke yourself, claiming she doesn’t wish to incur his displeasure,” Cura remarked, her tone laced with incredulity.
Though Elena hadn’t vocalized her suspicions to Cura, she had anticipated Hazel’s maneuvering.
“But what bothers me is, it seemed like she was expecting me to come to her,” Cura said, a flicker of annoyance dancing behind her eyes.
Elena’s thoughts wandered to Kennard, his absence a weight on her spirit. “Is the Grand Duke out hunting?” she pondered aloud.
Even a brief hiatus from their encounters felt interminable, each passing moment a reminder of his absence. Images of his silhouette bathed in moonlight, a frequent visitor to her dreams, teased her consciousness.
“Perhaps he’s gone on another nocturnal excursion with Serin and Irish,” Cura speculated. “But the Grand Duke’s recent activities remain a mystery.”
Cura busied herself with stoking the fireplace, the crackle of flames punctuating the silence.
“Rest for today,” Cura urged, concern etched into her features. “You’ll need all your strength for tomorrow’s meeting with the Grand Duke. Surely, he’ll be angry and oppose it. Ah, just thinking about being overwhelmed by the Grand Duke’s pheromones…”
Elena nodded in agreement, a sense of solidarity passing between them. “I share your sentiments,” she confessed softly, a smile of understanding curving her lips.
“Perhaps reconsider your stance,” Cura suggested gently. “You needn’t subject yourself to Hazel’s demands, nor must you court the Grand Duke’s disfavor.”
***
“Your Grace!”
The sentries stationed outside Elena’s chamber snapped to attention at the sight of Kennard, offering a crisp salute.
“Is everything alright?” Kennard inquired, his gaze sweeping over the guards, noting their subdued demeanor.
“Indeed, Your Grace,” came the swift response, tinged with a subtle hint of uncertainty that did not escape Kennard’s notice.
“Open the door,” Kennard commanded.
The knight closest to the entrance promptly turned the knob, swinging the door inward to grant Kennard passage.
Stepping into the room, Kennard felt a surge of nostalgia wash over him, despite the mere days that had passed since he last stood within those walls. The intervening time had been marked by upheaval and turmoil, leaving an indelible mark on the atmosphere.
“Your Grace,” Cura greeted, her surprise evident as she paused in her task of straightening the bedcovers. Her eyes widened momentarily before she averted her gaze, a faint flush coloring her cheeks.
Kennard raised a hand, forestalling any further words from Cura. He sensed Elena’s absence, her presence elusive within the confines of the room. Before he could venture further, a figure emerged from the terrace, drawing his attention like a beacon in the sunlight.
Elena stood before him, swathed in a thick cloak that shielded her from the chill of the morning air. Her fiery locks glimmered in the sunlight, casting an ethereal glow upon her porcelain skin.