“What did the letter say?” Serin’s eyes searched Kennard’s face, shadowed with worry.
But Kennard didn’t answer. Instead, his gaze shifted to Lassino. “Where is the man who delivered this?”
“We’ve shown him to the reception room,” Lassino replied calmly.
A flicker of unease crossed Serin’s face. “You mean the courier is still in the reception room? He didn’t leave immediately? Why?”
Lassino opened his mouth to respond, then abruptly closed it.
At that moment, Kennard rose abruptly from his chair.
“Did you confirm he entered the reception room?”
“Yes, Your Grace. I personally escorted him.”
Before Lassino could finish, Kennard had already strode out of the office.
“Your Grace, where are you going?” Serin called, flustered, rushing after him. The air seemed to whirl in the space Kennard had just vacated, his movements swift and purposeful.
“Aren’t you going to meet the courier? That’s the opposite direction of the reception room.”
Serin caught up, breathless, his words trailing off as he took in Kennard’s expression—taut with barely concealed fury.
***
“Lady Elena, how about going to your bedroom for some rest?”
Elena, dozing on the sofa by the fireplace, blinked awake at Cura’s gentle voice.
The book lay open on her lap, frozen on the last page she had read. She had no idea how long she’d been like this, but her legs had gone numb—heavy, almost as weighty as the book itself.
Rubbing her eyelids with the palm of her hand, she felt as though her entire body were soaked in thick, cold water, weighed down and sluggish. Drowsiness came in waves, relentless and pulling at her.
Her eyes stung, and it seemed she might drift off the moment she lay down. But every time she tried to sleep, exhaustion remained stubbornly awake within her, keeping true rest just out of reach.
“Cura, could you bring me a fresh cup of tea?” Elena asked, noticing her teacup was empty.
“You’re not going to rest?” Cura glanced back with concern.
“No. If I sleep now, I probably won’t be able to sleep at night.”
“Oh… but you don’t sleep well at night anyway…” Cura began, then abruptly clapped a hand over her mouth, cutting herself off.
Her cheeks flushed a bright crimson as she gave an awkward smile and lifted the teapot from the table.
“I’ll get it ready right away.”
Elena watched the study door close behind Cura, then bowed her head into her hands.
She knew exactly what Cura had almost said.
Alone, she rarely slept well. But with Kennard, she often fell into sleep as if completely spent—usually after losing all track of time, lost in each other’s embrace until their bodies gave out.
When she let herself be consumed by the heat radiating from Kennard, exhaustion would wash over her like a tidal wave—leaving her barely able to lift a finger. Once nestled in his warm embrace, sleep became not just inevitable, but utterly irresistible.
That Cura knew this intimate truth was a source of deep embarrassment. Not just Cura—likely everyone in the castle did.
She had once heard whispered rumors that whenever Kennard held her, his pheromones became so potent and heavy they seemed to saturate the entire castle. Some people complained of headaches, others were sickened, and in rare, extreme cases, even fainted.
When Cura had first told her this, Elena was mortified beyond measure. She’d locked herself away in her room for an entire day, unwilling to see anyone—not even Cura.
With a sharp slap to both cheeks—palms striking hard enough to echo—Elena rose from her seat.
As she moved toward the window, a cool breeze drifted in. The newly changed, thin curtains of the season fluttered softly, whispering against the frame.
Closing her eyes, Elena let the breeze brush gently across her face, a fleeting comfort on her flushed skin.
She lingered there a long moment before opening her eyes slowly.
She had tried to resist it—tried not to look, tried not to let her mind wander. But inevitably, her gaze was drawn toward the tower, as if some invisible force tugged at her very will.
It had been several days since she and Kennard had ascended to the topmost room of the tower, sealed behind cold iron grates.
Since then, neither had spoken a word about it.
Yet still, Elena often felt it—an icy presence, a silent summons—wrapping around her like a shadow, chilling her from within.
A sudden shiver ran down her spine, and Elena spun toward the study’s entrance.
She had caught a scent—a pheromone unlike anything she’d ever encountered in this place before.
Sure enough—
There, framed by the open doorway, stood a woman clad in an extravagant gown and an imposing hat, her gaze locked directly on Elena.
The dress revealed a daring plunging neckline, leaving her shoulders and décolletage bare. The bodice hugged her slender waist tightly, while the sleeves and skirt billowed out in lush, dramatic folds.
