“Oh my!”
Cura, who had been squatting down, was so startled that she toppled backward onto the floor.
“Cura!”
Beside her, Elena jumped in surprise, instinctively reaching out to steady Cura. But instead of helping, her hand caught the wide hem of her own dress, which was spread out like a fan on the floor.
“Ah!” Elena gasped as she lost her balance. She reached out, desperate to brace herself, but her fingertips barely grazed the ground before her body tipped backward.
In that fleeting moment, as she teetered on the edge of an ungraceful fall, a familiar scent brushed past her senses—Kennard’s pheromones.
Before she could comprehend what was happening, the sharp impact she’d braced for never came. Her body, which had been about to collide nose-first with the floor, was suddenly suspended in midair.
“What now?”
The low, clipped tone pulled her attention. Turning her head, she found herself staring into Kennard’s narrowed eyes. His expression was cool, displeased, and unwavering as his arm, strong and steady, wrapped securely around her waist.
“Y-Your Grace,” Elena stammered, her voice faltering.
“We greet Your Grace!”
Cura scrambled to her feet, her face flushed with embarrassment, and bowed deeply toward Kennard.
It wasn’t just her.
Startled by the Duke’s sudden arrival, the attendants hastily rose from their seats, their movements hurried and awkward as they bent into deep bows.
“We greet Your Grace,” they echoed in unison, their voices laced with a mix of respect and apprehension.
Kennard’s gaze shifted toward Leto, who stood among the attendants with a casual air.
Removing his hat, Leto pressed it to his chest in a gesture of respect, though the deepening furrow in Kennard’s brow suggested the display didn’t impress him.
“Leto,” Kennard said, his tone edged with cool authority. “What brings you here? Haven’t you only ever appeared reluctantly when summoned?”
“Ah, well…” Leto replied, scratching the back of his head with an awkward smile.
“I went fishing for the first time in a long while and ended up catching more than I expected,” he explained, his fingers idly stroking the long, white beard that cascaded to his chest. He gestured toward a large wooden barrel beside him.
Kennard’s eyes flicked to it, his expression unreadable. Inside, the barrel brimmed with fish, each one plump and gleaming, their size surpassing a grown man’s forearm.
Elena, still firmly held against Kennard’s chest, watched the interaction in silence. His arm remained snug around her waist, an arrangement she found increasingly mortifying as she noticed the subtle glances from the attendants—and Leto’s unabashed stare.
She didn’t need a mirror to know her face was aflame. The heat crawled across her cheeks, spread to her ears, and even reached the tips of her fingers.
Don’t react, she told herself, willing her hands not to move. Fanning her cheeks or attempting to cover her embarrassment would only draw more attention to her already precarious situation.
As Kennard leaned slightly to inspect the fish, Elena seized the opportunity to subtly attempt to free herself from his grasp. Her hand lightly touched his arm, pushing gently.
But before she could succeed, his head snapped toward her with startling speed, his golden eyes gleaming beneath long, dark lashes. The scar etched along his right eye twitched, as if betraying his displeasure.
“Don’t,” Kennard said softly, his voice low and commanding. His arm tightened fractionally around her waist, an unspoken warning not to test his patience.
Elena held her breath, caught in the spell of Kennard’s gaze. Her reflection was vividly mirrored in his golden eyes, yet it felt as though she was being pulled into their depths, drowning in an intensity she couldn’t escape.
“Were you watching this?” Kennard’s voice was soft but probing, his gaze on her sharpening even further.
“Yes. It was… fascinating,” Elena murmured, her lips barely moving, as though she were entranced.
“What’s so fascinating about it? Have you never seen a fish before?”
Elena hesitated. “I’ve never seen one… this big before.”
The words tumbled out before she could stop them, but she caught herself just in time from admitting more—that she had no memory of seeing a fish at all.
Kennard’s expression didn’t betray whether he noticed her slip, but his eyes lingered on her for a moment longer, scanning her as if searching for something beneath her composed exterior. Then, without another word, he turned back to the barrel of fish.
“Leto,” Kennard began, his tone sharp, “where did you catch these?”
“Pardon?” Leto blinked, startled by the abrupt question.
“I’m asking where you went fishing,” Kennard repeated, his voice edged with impatience.
Leto’s eyes darted briefly to Elena, who stood motionless in Kennard’s firm grasp, before lowering his gaze. “The river on the way up to Seven Point Hill, Your Grace.”
“You mean near the hot springs?” Kennard asked, his brow arching slightly.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Kennard frowned. “If there are hot springs, wouldn’t the water be too warm for fish to thrive?”
“The summit has the hot springs,” Leto explained, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “But the lower areas have cooler waters. In places like Terra Demorte, where winters are long, such conditions are perfect for fish habitats.”
“Hmm.” Kennard’s free hand moved to his chin, stroking it as he considered the explanation. His other arm remained snug around Elena’s waist, her body still pressed lightly against him.
