“Why? Is it awkward to play the flute? Can you wield it in an emergency?” Kennard quizzed with a playful glint in his eye, observing Elena’s discomfort.
“Well, should such a dire moment arise, I suppose I could manage,” Elena replied, her cheeks betraying her unease.
“Why can’t you play now? Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed because I’m in front of you?” Kennard teased, noting the telltale flush creeping across Elena’s face.
Caught off guard by Kennard’s proximity, Elena instinctively attempted to retreat, only to find herself ensnared as his arm encircled her waist, his fingers deftly entwining with hers, flute in hand.
“Your Grace!” Elena protested, her voice a mixture of shock and alarm.
Ignoring her protests, Kennard closed the distance between them, his gaze fixed upon Elena’s ethereal gray eyes. With a gentle yet determined motion, he guided her hand, bringing it to his lips in a tender caress.
“Your Grace!” Elena’s protestations grew more urgent as she felt the warmth of his breath against her skin, his lips brushing lightly against her fingertips.
Undeterred, Kennard’s lips parted in a whispered assurance as he continued to press his advances, his focus unwavering. But then, amidst the charged atmosphere, a sudden shrill note pierced the air, disrupting the intimate moment.
Elena winced, her eyes snapping shut as she instinctively covered her ears with her free hand, her body recoiling from the cacophony. With a pained expression, she huddled against herself, as if seeking refuge from the discordant sound, her features contorted in discomfort and embarrassment.
As the haunting melody of the flute faded into the air, the silence was abruptly shattered by the forceful intrusion of the door bursting open, the sound reverberating through the room like a thunderclap.
In a flurry of motion, armored knights flooded into the chamber, swords drawn and eyes ablaze with readiness, only to halt abruptly at the sight that greeted them.
“Your Grace, what’s the matter?” one of the knights inquired, his voice laden with concern.
“Did you hear that?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the knights chorused in unison, their gaze darting between their sovereign and the bewildered maiden.
“If you ever hear that sound again, you are to pursue it without hesitation,” Kennard commanded.
“A signal for help,” he continued. “Chase it without fail.”
As Kennard’s gaze bore down upon them, the knights snapped to attention, their movements crisp and precise under his watchful eye.
“Dismissed,” Kennard declared, waving a dismissive hand towards the door.
“Um, sir…” one of the knights hesitated, casting a furtive glance at Elena nestled in Kennard’s arms.
“That will be all,” Kennard interrupted tersely. With a nervous chuckle and a hasty retreat, the knights filed out of the room, leaving Kennard and Elena alone once more.
Turning his attention back to Elena, Kennard’s gaze softened ever so slightly, his expression unreadable as he observed her bewildered state.
“Do you understand?” he queried, his voice gentle yet firm.
“Pardon?” Elena blinked, her senses still reeling from the unexpected turn of events.
“This is how you act in an emergency,” Kennard clarified, his hand guiding Elena’s own to her lips, the flute’s mouthpiece poised delicately against her mouth.
Releasing her from his embrace, Kennard stepped back. Leaving Elena, Kennard turned away, his footsteps echoing softly against the chamber floor as he departed.
As the door groaned open and they emerged into the corridor, the knights stood at attention, their movements betraying their surprise.
With each step down the lengthening corridor, Kennard felt the weight of the knights’ scrutiny, their gazes lingering on him like silent sentinels. He could almost sense the questions brewing in their minds.
Doing something I’ve never done before is driving me crazy, Kennard admitted silently to himself, his tongue darting out to moisten his dry lips in a nervous gesture.
Despite what he told Elena, the prospect of leaving her alone gnawed at him incessantly. Whether she remained within the safety of the castle walls or ventured into the village below, his protective instincts remained steadfast. The threat posed by the White Fox Tribe or any other adversaries seemed insignificant in comparison to the growing unease that gnawed at him from within.
Ever since his encounter with the rumored witch’s dwelling, a sense of disquiet had settled over him like a suffocating shroud. The image of the grotesque figure painted in blood, its details etched into his memory like a nightmare he couldn’t shake, haunted him relentlessly.
“Red hair ablaze like flames, eyes as enchanting as the depths of the ocean,” Sernin’s cryptic words echoed in Kennard’s mind, stirring a furrow in his brow. Elena’s own appearance bore an unsettling resemblance to the description, igniting a spark of suspicion that threatened to consume him whole.
“No, it can’t be,” Kennard muttered to himself, shaking his head as if to dispel the troubling thoughts that plagued him.
Lost in contemplation, Kennard descended the stone staircase leading to his office, only to be greeted by an unwelcome sight awaiting him below.
“I bid you greeting, Your Grace,” a voice interrupted his reverie, drawing Kennard’s attention downward.
Hazel ascended the stone steps, her presence accompanied by Carmen, her attire still adorned with cryptic symbols and elaborate embellishments.
Kennard’s brow furrowed in suspicion. What does she want now?
