“And you, what are you doing popping out from there?” Serin asked Elena, confused. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Just as he thought Kennard would walk past, the duke stopped and turned back. Serin, rubbing his forehead in disbelief, looked up at Kennard.
“Titles,” Kennard stated, his tone firm.
“Pardon?” Serin asked, confused.
“Stop addressing Elena informally,” Kennard repeated.
“W-What?” Serin stammered, his voice rising in disbelief. “Your Grace, what are you saying…?”
Elena, startled by the sudden command, lowered her hands from her face. Even Cura, who had been following behind, halted in surprise. Serin’s eyes widened as he glanced between Elena and Kennard. Elena, feeling increasingly embarrassed, quickly covered her face again.
“Are… are you telling me to call her Lady Elena?” Serin asked, bewildered.
“Yes,” Kennard replied curtly, continuing his walk towards the castle, Elena still in his arms.
As they passed through the lobby and ascended the staircase, every attendant stared, their eyes wide with astonishment. Some even covered their mouths, whispering amongst themselves.
“Please, Your Grace, put me down,” Elena pleaded, her voice barely a whisper. But Kennard remained indifferent, his jaw clenched tightly, veins standing out along his sharp jawline. The sight of his restrained anger silenced her; she quickly realized it would be unwise to test his patience any further.
At some point, she had lost sight of Cura, who must have stopped following them. As they continued down the seemingly endless corridor, Elena struggled to breathe under the weight of Kennard’s fury radiating off him.
Still holding her, Kennard tilted his body to open the door to his chamber and stepped inside. Click. The room, though empty, was warmly lit, lanterns casting a soft glow while logs crackled quietly in the fireplace. Sunlight poured through wide-open windows, gently rustling the thick velvet curtains in the breeze.
Elena barely registered these details, tense as she was. Striding across the room, Kennard finally set her down on the bed. She placed her hands on the firm yet soft mattress, instinctively inching backward. Kennard looked down at her, his intense gaze unwavering as he slowly began to unbutton the frock adorned with the Baruchella Empire’s wolf emblem.
“Why did you go there?” Kennard’s voice was edged with irritation as he tilted his head slightly, his gaze shadowed by lowered eyelids and long lashes, still holding that cutting glint. The room, dimmer than the bright outdoors, made his eyes seem even colder under the muted light.
He shrugged off his frock coat, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud, then began unbuttoning his shirt. After undoing a few buttons, he pulled the fabric over his head, his sleek black hair falling messily across his forehead. As his bare torso was revealed, it seemed to pulse with intensity, his muscles taut and defined, as if no blade could pierce his solid form.
“I… I asked Cura to show me a wolf’s transformation. I wanted to see it,” Elena murmured, quickly turning her head away, her voice barely a whisper.
Just days before, she had seen every inch of him, vividly remembering how his body had pressed against hers. Yet now, even the sight of his bare chest left her struggling to find where to look. Heat flooded her cheeks, and her mouth felt parched.
Another soft sound echoed as something else fell to the floor, followed by the mattress dipping beside her. She stole a quick glance, only to turn away just as swiftly. Kennard, having discarded all his clothing, was now climbing onto the bed. He placed both hands on the mattress, approaching her on his knees, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey.
She couldn’t recall how she’d been breathing until now; the simple act of inhaling and exhaling suddenly felt strange and stilted, and her breaths grew shallow. A shiver rippled down her spine, spreading warmth throughout her entire body—a familiar sensation, though tinged with a thrill that was both unsettling and undeniable.
