At Elena’s reassurance, a fresh wave of tears welled in Cura’s eyes.
“No, please,” Cura choked out, her voice thick with emotion. “You must have been far more terrified, Elena.”
Witnessing Cura’s trembling sobs, a lump formed in Elena’s throat. She, too, had been caught off guard by the ordeal. But compared to the recent traumas she’d faced, this felt…manageable.
Elena, heavy with guilt for causing the young girl such distress, reached out and squeezed Cura’s hand. “I’m truly sorry, Cura. This is all my fault.”
“Don’t even say that,” Cura countered, her voice rising in protest. “Miss Hazel has tormented you for so long. You’ve tolerated her cruelty only to be thrust into this danger. It’s infuriating!”
Elena offered a weak smile, then attempted to rise from the bed. A groan escaped her lips as a wave of pain washed over her. Her entire body felt like it had been pummeled.
The gash on her chest, inflicted by Hazel, wasn’t life-threatening, but it throbbed with a dull ache. “Let me tend to your wound,” Cura said, her voice laced with concern. “Just rest for a moment.”
Hurrying to the table beside the bed, Cura retrieved a delicate porcelain box. Lifting the lid, she scooped out a spoonful of a greenish paste with a comforting herbal scent.
Cura’s touch was gentle as she began applying the paste to Elena’s wound. With each press, Elena flinched, the sting a sharp counterpoint to the throbbing pain.
“Does it hurt?” Cura’s brow furrowed with concern as she dabbed the paste on Elena’s wound.
“I’m alright,” Elena mumbled, her gaze distant. “But what about Miss Carmen?”
Cura’s hand stilled. “Sir Leto administered the antidote, but…” she trailed off, her voice heavy. “It seems it might be too late.”
“And the doctor?” Elena pressed.
“He came,” Cura confirmed. “But since you…” she hesitated, then continued softly, “since you left with Sir Leto, he hasn’t returned to the castle.”
Elena winced, not just from the sting of the paste, but from a pang of guilt. “What about Miss Hazel?”
Cura shook her head. “I haven’t heard. But with the Grand Duke’s orders, she’s likely packing for her return to the capital.”
After a moment, Cura wiped the wound clean with a warm cloth. The scent of chamomile mingled with the earthy aroma of the paste. She carefully adjusted Elena’s chemise and secured the lid on the ceramic jar filled with the herbal remedy.
Elena watched Cura move in a daze. A knot of worry tightened in her stomach. With everything that had happened, she hadn’t had time to think. Now, calming down, a wave of anxieties crashed over her. What if Miss Carmen died or Miss Hazel was expelled? Wouldn’t His Grace be in trouble because of her?
Cura draped a soft robe over Elena’s shoulders, gently tucking her hair beneath the collar. A flicker of worry crossed Cura’s eyes, mirroring Elena’s own turmoil. “That might be the case,” she murmured, her voice laced with concern.
“Because of me…” Elena began, her voice barely a whisper.
Cura quickly cut her off, shaking her head. “No, you mustn’t think that way. His Grace holds immense power. Even His Majesty wouldn’t dare cross Duke Kennard lightly,” she whispered, her voice laced with concern.
Elena barely registered Cura drawing the heavy drapes shut, the world outside fading into a blurry canvas of worry.
The door creaked open, revealing Kennard in a state of barely contained energy. Damp tendrils of dark hair clung to his forehead, and his thin shirt barely contained the breadth of his muscular chest.
“Your Grace.” Elena rose from the sofa as she saw Cura bow her head in greeting.
“Cura, you should go and rest now.” Kennard gestured towards the door, his voice a low rumble.
Cura hesitated. “But it’s still early…”
“Serin has been restless,” Kennard cut in, his gaze flickering to Elena for a fleeting moment. “Go show your face, at least.”
Cura looked at Elena, seeking guidance. Elena offered a small, hesitant nod. “I’ll be fine.”
Reluctantly, Cura dipped her head in another curtsy and left the room, the heavy oak door sighing shut behind her.
Although Elena had said she was fine, she regretted not keeping Cura with her a bit longer.
With only a few lamps and the fireplace illuminating the dark room, being alone with Kennard made even standing still feel awkward.
Elena gnawed on her lip, a sliver of regret pricking at her for dismissing Cura. Now, alone with Kennard in the cavernous room, the silence stretched, thick with unspoken tension. The fire cast long, dancing shadows across the walls, the only light competing with the dim glow of a few scattered lamps.
A sudden gust of wind seemed to follow Kennard as he crossed the room, the flames in the fireplace flickering wildly. “How are you feeling?”
His golden eyes, reflecting the firelight, looked down at her intensely. Startled, Elena’s heart hammered against her ribs. She instinctively stepped back, only to find herself trapped between Kennard’s imposing form and the fireplace.