Kennard climbed over Elena’s legs, capturing her chin in one hand and turning her to face him. Elena tried her best to avoid looking down at the intimate position they were in, meeting his gaze instead. Her reflection was held in his intense golden eyes, filled with a strange, almost feral gleam.
“If you wanted to see a wolf transform,” he murmured, his voice low, tinged with restrained anger, “you could have simply asked.”
The truth was, Elena yearned to see Kennard transform more than anyone else. But she hadn’t dared to ask.
“How could I possibly make such a request…?” she stammered.
“Possibly?” Kennard cut her off with a growl. “So, it’s too much to ask of me, but you can easily ask those other men?”
“It wasn’t easy,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper. She hadn’t asked directly, and if not for Cura, this situation wouldn’t even have arisen. But she couldn’t admit that to Kennard, who was visibly furious. This was something Cura had arranged for her, and she didn’t want her friend to suffer because of her.
“So it wasn’t easy, but you still did it. And while I was away from the castle, no less.” Kennard leaned in until their faces were mere inches apart.
“I-I’m sorry,” Elena whispered, struggling to meet his angry gaze. His grip on her chin was firm, but not forceful. She could easily pull away if she turned her head, but she felt rooted in place.
“I can’t believe you’d throw yourself into a crowd of eager young men without a second thought.”
“They’re your knights…”
“You trusted them?” he interrupted again. Elena nodded slowly.
Narrowing his eyes, Kennard studied her, then let out a sigh through clenched teeth. “You don’t understand how dangerous they are. All they know is war and training; they’d jump at the sight of any woman. If it weren’t for you, they might have been tempted to make advances. Luckily, the ones protecting you were chosen by Serin.”
The image of the knights, frozen in shock rather than making any moves when Cura and she had entered, flashed through her mind. No matter how hard she tried, Elena couldn’t imagine those knights ever behaving inappropriately toward her. But she said nothing. As Kennard suggested, it seemed that being under his protection—and Cura being Serin’s sister—was what kept them in line.
“I’m sorry,” Elena apologized again, looking at Kennard. Realizing his anger stemmed from worry about her, her fear faded.
“Surely, none of them dared touch you or harass you?” Kennard asked.
“No, none at all,” Elena replied quickly, shaking her head. The knights hadn’t even come close to touching her; they kept their distance.
“From now on, stay far away from them when I’m not around,” Kennard ordered.
“Yes,” Elena nodded.
“And that goes for everyone else too. If anything like this happens again, I’ll rip them apart, no matter who it is,” he muttered darkly, then leaned down to press his lips to hers. He cradled her neck and chin, his mouth capturing hers with a deep, consuming intensity.
As his lips drew her in, he lightly bit her lower lip, and Elena gasped as Kennard’s tongue boldly slid deep into her mouth, exploring every corner. His tongue traced the soft inside of her mouth, then brushed along her teeth. Kennard’s kiss grew more passionate, and Elena’s arms weakened until she collapsed back onto the bed, her red hair fanning out over the sheets like peacock feathers.
Kennard’s weight pressed fully against her, his body a solid warmth over hers. Elena felt something firm near her thigh, and her eyes widened in surprise.
“Your Grace…” she whispered, her breath catching during a fleeting pause. But his lips soon covered hers again, consuming her words, her breath. His unyielding kisses left her dizzy, unable to draw a steady breath as his mouth moved over hers, relentless. Each kiss stole her air, her pulse racing as her vision began to blur.
“Please…Your Grace, I—can’t breathe…” she whispered, turning her head with a quiet plea. But Kennard didn’t pause; his mouth claimed hers once more, his hand drifting down to her neck and shoulder, then firmly wrapping around her waist. Even through her dress, she could feel the burn of his touch.
His hands traced their way back up, skimming along her form, the fabric shifting with each caress. The motion sent her dress slipping, baring fleeting glimpses of skin as the soft material moved under his touch.
