Serin settled into the chair opposite and idly toyed with the lid of the box holding dried bananas.
“Do you remember when we encountered the White Fox Tribe in the forest? I asked Elena if she knew why they attacked us,” Serin mentioned.
“Why dredge up those memories? It only brings pain, not to mention the injuries,” Kennard interjected.
“I also mentioned the presence of a White Fox Tribe in the village. Leto seemed to have omitted that detail,” Serin added.
“There’s no need to bring up such matters intentionally,” Kennard remarked.
“But if Elena had known, perhaps she wouldn’t have agreed to visit the village,” Serin explained.
Kennard paused, lowering his teacup to peer at Serin. “So you informed her?”
“Yes,” Serin confirmed.
“What’s driving you? You’re not particularly fond of Elena either. If she’s leaving, why bother convincing her to do something she didn’t request?” Kennard questioned.
“It’s different. I simply didn’t want His Grace stewing in anger because of Elena. Besides, if Elena had been aware earlier, she might not have chosen to leave the castle, sparing us the need to confine her to her room. Hazel wouldn’t have attempted to venture out, and today’s incident might have been avoided…” Serin trailed off as Kennard chuckled softly, signaling the end of the conversation. It wasn’t meant to be resolved so easily. Serin desired a resolution more than anyone. To confine Elena, of all people, was preposterous. Yet, it was a necessary action.
“Even if Elena knew, her mind wouldn’t change,” Kennard remarked.
“How can you be so sure?” Serin inquired.
“Sure?” Kennard reclined in his chair, placing his teacup down. His fingers grazed the cup’s rim absentmindedly. “I just know.”
Serin furrowed his brow, puzzled, and regarded Kennard with a quizzical expression. “You just know? Are you implying you can read Elena’s thoughts or something?”
Kennard offered a smile tinged with a sigh. “I can sense it when I look into her eyes.”
As Serin remained silent, he glanced up to find Kennard staring at him, eyebrows raised expectantly.
“What?” Serin asked, his arms crossing defensively as he rubbed his forearms against his chest. “His Grace has been acting strange lately. How do you manage to say such vexing things without altering your expression?”
“What?” Kennard echoed innocently. He silently questioned if Serin was beginning his antics again. It seemed he was subtly trying to provoke him with leading inquiries. However, what followed was entirely unexpected.
“I’ve been meaning to ask for some time,” Serin started.
“What is it now?” Kennard responded, expecting another round of Serin’s usual banter.
“It’s not just anything. Have you imprinted on Elena?”
Kennard was on the verge of dismissing Serin’s nonsensical question, but he found himself speechless instead.
“Surely not, right?” Serin persisted, noticing Kennard’s silence.
Kennard remained quiet, his expression tightening slightly.
“Have you truly imprinted?” Serin pressed on.
“Enough,” Kennard finally interjected, his tone firm.
“Really? When did it happen? Imprinting occurs upon first meeting, correct? Was it the day you found Elena collapsed in the forest? Or perhaps when you discovered her conscious in the castle?” Serin continued, undeterred.
“Just stop it,” Kennard commanded, his patience wearing thin.
“Your Grace!” Serin’s voice called out as Kennard abruptly stood up and made his way to the bed. He roughly removed the fur covering and leaned over, but from behind, Serin’s voice persisted, soft yet insistent.
“As I’ve mentioned before, no one should know, right? It’s problematic if it’s revealed that Your Grace holds Elena in special regard, but imprinting is an entirely different matter. No, it’s a grave issue.”
Kennard glanced over at Serin, who had settled onto the bed, propping himself up on one elbow.
“What is it now?” Kennard asked, a hint of exasperation in his voice.
“Do you grasp your predicament? Your Grace faces greater expectations from the populace than even His Majesty,” Serin explained.
Kennard let out a deep sigh, his frustration evident. “If you’re just going to lecture, you might as well leave.”
“No, please hear me out. No matter who becomes imprinted with Your Grace, they won’t escape scrutiny. Perhaps someone like Miss Hazel might attract less attention. But then again, who can predict the politics in the capital? Even if it were someone like the Duke of Blade’s daughter, who is not inherently a duke by blood, there could still be opposition,” Serin continued.
