“I asked what happened. Why are your clothes and hair drenched?'” Kennard’s calm voice dipped to a near whisper.
Elena clutched the sodden hem of her dress tightly, struggling to find the words. She couldn’t bring herself to admit that Hazel had pushed her. It wasn’t solely out of embarrassment, but also due to her apprehension about Kennard’s reaction. Perhaps, revealing the truth could alter Kennard’s dynamic with Hazel. All the patience she had mustered over the past few days might become futile in an instant.
“It’s nothing, Your Grace. I simply tripped and fell,” she finally managed to say, forcing a casual tone into her voice.
Kennard’s gaze intensified as he studied Elena, his pumpkin-colored irises piercing through his thick lashes. His eyebrows quirked dramatically as he observed Elena’s furrowed brow.
“Where did you fall?” he inquired further, his tone gentle but probing.
“In the bathroom,” Elena replied, her voice barely audible.
“You don’t use the bathroom here,” Kennard pointed out, casting a glance around the corridor where the knights and Cura stood aside, creating a subtle barrier. His gaze then shifted beyond them to the bathroom designated for Hazel’s use, where Carmen and a maid were emerging from the top of the stairs, frozen in surprise at the scene unfolding before them.
Quickly composing themselves, Carmen and the maid bowed respectfully to Kennard, acknowledging his presence with deference.
As Kennard’s silence stretched, Carmen took charge, leading the maid into the bathroom with a swift yet composed demeanor. Kennard’s gaze remained fixed on them, his expression inscrutable.
“Surely you’re not responsible for Hazel’s bath time,” Kennard redirected his attention back to Elena, his voice a low rumble that seemed to fill the corridor with an eerie weight. Despite the absence of overt anger or raised tones, the quiet intensity of his words hung heavy in the air, almost suffocating.
“Today was the first time,” Elena confessed, her voice barely above a whisper, tinged with a hint of apprehension. “I’m not accustomed to it, hence the mishap. Please, don’t hold it against Hazel.”
“Elena!” Kennard’s sudden exclamation cut through the tense atmosphere, his grip on her arm tightening, fingers pressing into her skin with an almost painful force. Startled, Elena met his gaze, finding herself uncomfortably close to his face, his breath warm against her skin.
“Are you lying to me?”
“No, Your Grace,” Elena rushed to assure him, her throat tight with nerves, each swallow sounding like a thunderclap in her ears.
“Return to your room,” Kennard commanded with a weary sigh, running a hand through his already tousled hair. The strands fell haphazardly across his forehead, accentuating the intensity of his expression.
Elena felt a rush of panic as if all vitality drained from her in an instant. The thought of being confined to her room once more sent a shiver down her spine, uncertainty clouding her mind like a thick fog.
“Your Grace!” She blurted out, instinctively clutching Kennard’s hand that gripped her arm. His touch, though firm, radiated a reassuring warmth. Elena couldn’t help but acknowledge the solace she found in his touch, even in the midst of such turmoil.
Kennard’s gaze flickered down to their joined hands, then slowly lifted to meet Elena’s. In the depths of his pumpkin-colored eyes, fleeting flames danced and vanished, swallowed by an abyss of darkness.
Elena knew she had to sway Kennard’s resolve, yet her mind seemed to draw a blank, her lips unable to form coherent words. All she could muster was a pleading gaze, beseeching him silently for understanding.
For a prolonged moment, Kennard studied Elena in silence, the tension gradually dissipating from his rigid frame as he released a deep sigh.
“I didn’t mean to lock you up again, I just meant that it’s getting late and you should go back to your room.” Kennard’s words washed over Elena like a soothing balm, easing the knot of anxiety in her chest. His gaze seemed to penetrate her very soul as she exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
With a gentle touch, he brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, his fingers lingering near her neck, tentative yet tender, as if unsure of their own intentions.
Kennard’s movements unfolded in a languid, almost ethereal manner, each gesture deliberate and unhurried, as if time itself had slowed to a crawl. Elena averted her gaze, a sudden rush of self-consciousness flooding her senses upon meeting his deeply locked eyes. Yet, the glimpse she caught of Kennard’s exposed upper body beneath his robe stole her attention momentarily, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest a mesmerizing sight.
