“Why, all of a sudden, are you in the mood to go fishing?” Serin grumbled irritably, his voice laced with frustration. He was perched on a rock with a sour expression, clearly displeased with the entire situation.
Gripping the fishing rod firmly in one hand to keep it from slipping into the river, he tucked the handle under his arm for support. His other hand propped up his chin as he repeatedly flicked his wrist, his gaze fixed intently on the water.
Kennard cast a silent glare in Serin’s direction before turning back to the river. His posture was stiff, his focus seemingly unshaken. He, too, held a fishing rod, and beside him sat a large wooden barrel meant for their catch. Unfortunately, the barrel was still filled only with river water—they hadn’t caught a single fish in hours.
Elena, seated a short distance away on a large picnic blanket spread across the grassy field, watched the two men with quiet amusement. She leaned back slightly, her chin resting on her hand as her eyes moved between them.
“Hunting, I could understand,” Serin muttered again, his tone heavy with disdain. “But fishing? It just doesn’t suit you.”
Kennard’s jaw tightened. He finally frowned and turned toward Serin, his voice clipped and sharp. “Then who asked you to come along and partake in something that doesn’t suit you? If someone overheard, they’d think I dragged you here with a leash around your neck.”
“I wasn’t referring to myself,” Serin shot back, sarcasm dripping from every word. He tilted his head mockingly, his eyes narrowing. “I was talking about you, Your Grace.”
Kennard’s lips twitched into a scowl, but he said nothing further, instead returning his gaze to the still water.
Hearing the exchange, Elena’s quiet smile deepened. To her, neither man seemed suited to the tranquil art of fishing. The sight of their slender rods, so utterly foreign compared to the swords they usually wielded, was comical in its absurdity. She shook her head slightly, suppressing a laugh as she watched them bicker like children.
“And for the record, I already have an invisible leash around my neck,” Serin added, mimicking a tug at his throat with his finger as if pulling an imaginary collar. His tone was playfully sarcastic, though it only seemed to test Kennard’s already thin patience.
“What nonsense are you spouting now?” Kennard snapped, his sharp voice cutting through the calm riverside atmosphere.
“Your Grace, I never know when or where you’ll disappear next, and I have to chase after you in constant worry,” Serin retorted, throwing up his hands in mock exasperation. “Isn’t that as good as having a leash?”
Kennard’s glare could have turned stone to dust, but Serin, undeterred, exaggeratedly shrugged his shoulders.
“Thanks to you,” Serin continued, his voice dripping with theatrical complaint, “every day is a thrill. Honestly, these days feel more intense than wartime.”
Kennard, visibly nearing the breaking point, jerked his fishing rod up sharply before slamming it back down into the holder with a heavy sigh. The veins bulging at his temples and along his jawline spoke louder than words, and for a fleeting moment, Serin wisely fell silent.
The reprieve didn’t last long.
“Not a single fish! What happened to this being a river teeming with them? Leto, you didn’t lie to His Grace, did you?” Serin’s nagging tone shifted targets, landing squarely on the old man fishing a short distance away.
Leto, unfazed, stroked his beard thoughtfully before turning to glance at them. His fishing rod was just as still and silent as theirs, almost as if the fish they’d caught last time had been the river’s final remnants.
The attendants setting up tea and snacks nearby exchanged nervous glances, wary of Kennard’s mood. But when he remained silent, staring at the water with grim determination, they relaxed slightly and resumed their tasks.
“That old man, as usual,” Serin muttered under his breath, shaking his head before refocusing on the river.
Meanwhile, Lassino approached Elena with a warm smile, accompanied by Cura, who carried a teacup adorned with intricate patterns and a plate of cookies.
“Are you feeling cold?” Lassino asked, his voice soft with concern.
“I’m fine,” Elena replied, her smile polite as she accepted the teacup from Cura.
As she took a careful sip of the steaming Ervejo tea, the delicate warmth spread through her body, providing a welcome contrast to the brisk air. Cura placed the plate of cookies beside her, the sweet aroma mingling pleasantly with the tea’s fragrance.
When Elena set the teacup on her lap, Cura gently draped a thick shawl over her shoulders, her movements light and deliberate.
“Thank you, Cura,” Elena said warmly, her smile soft.
Cura returned the gesture with a toothy grin before heading back to the attendants. She balanced a tray of tea and snacks and carried it over to the knights standing guard nearby, her steps brisk but unhurried.
“Isn’t it nerve-wracking?” Lassino asked suddenly, his voice low yet thoughtful.
Elena blinked, lifting her gaze from the teacup. She followed Lassino’s line of sight and found his focus fixed on Kennard and Serin, still fishing.
“Do you mean those two?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. Lassino nodded, his lips curving into a faint, wry smile.
“Every time Sir Serin talks back to His Grace, it makes me anxious,” answered Elena. “I always worry His Grace might finally lose his temper.”
Leaning in slightly, Elena whispered, her tone conspiratorial, “I haven’t seen it often, but the few times I have… it’s unsettling.”
Her voice trailed off, her eyes clouding with memory. Each of those rare instances had left her heart pounding, her gaze fixed on Kennard’s face as though trying to decipher his every flicker of emotion.
