After the Duke's "gift," like a devil's brand, Elara was thrown back into the tower cell, as if the suffocating "audience" had never happened. Her lips were swollen and painful, bearing clear teeth marks and dried blood, a constant reminder of that man's cruelty and perversion.
However, a few days later, a new "arrangement" arrived. Frau Helga informed her expressionlessly that, starting that day, she was permitted one hour each afternoon to "exercise" in the small courtyard behind the tower, "accompanied" by the silent knight, Kaelen, who was like the Duke's shadow.
Elara's feelings were extremely complicated. Stepping out of the cell, even just into a courtyard equally enclosed by high walls, was a luxury she hadn't dared hope for. But Knight Kaelen's "accompaniment" felt like an invisible shackle, preventing her from relaxing her guard for even a moment.
The first time she stepped into the so-called courtyard, the afternoon sun, though not particularly strong, almost hurt Elara's eyes. The courtyard was small, paved with rough gravel, barren except for a few leafless, nameless dead trees and a patch of stubborn weeds growing in a corner. High stone walls cut it off from the rest of the castle; looking up, she could only see a small, fragmented patch of sky.
Knight Kaelen, just as Frau Helga had said, stood like a cold wall at the courtyard's only entrance. He wore practical black chainmail covered by an unadorned dark surcoat, a sharp-looking longsword hanging at his hip. He was tall and well-built, broad-shouldered, his face as stern as if carved from granite, with harsh lines. His grey-blue eyes were sharp and calm, like a frozen lake, betraying no emotion. He stood there silently, his gaze scanning the surroundings, and... scanning Elara.
He never approached, never spoke. Whether Elara paced slowly along the wall, absorbing the tiny breath of freedom, or sat wearily on the cold stone steps, staring blankly at the sky, Kaelen maintained a fixed, neither-too-close-nor-too-far distance. His very presence was a silent warning and surveillance.
Elara tried to observe him. She wanted to find a trace of humanity in this most trusted guard of the Duke, or... find a weakness she could exploit. But Kaelen was like a perfect machine. His posture was always erect, his gaze always vigilant, his expression always... frozen.
Only on extremely rare occasions did Elara catch minuscule changes. For instance, once, a cold gust of wind kicked up dust and grit from the ground. Elara instinctively raised a hand to shield her eyes. She thought she saw Kaelen's brow furrow almost imperceptibly, his gaze lingering on her for a fraction of a second before quickly returning to its usual indifference. Another time, feeling dizzy from standing too long, she swayed slightly. She felt Kaelen might have... shifted almost imperceptibly? But when she steadied herself and looked, he was still standing like a statue in the same spot.
These tiny "reactions"—perhaps even products of her own imagination—made Elara's feelings about Kaelen even more complex. On one hand, he represented the Duke's will, the tool of her imprisonment and surveillance, making her feel suffocated and pressured. On the other hand, his presence did seem to ward off other potential troubles. At least, during this one hour, no other servants dared approach this area, let alone subject her to the kind of jealous torment someone like Isabelle might inflict (though Elara hadn't encountered her yet). It was an extremely strange, passive "safety," built upon stricter surveillance and greater intimidation.
Elara didn't know what Kaelen truly thought. Did he know what the Duke had done to her? Did he... feel even a shred of pity for her? Or was he really just a loyal, cold weapon?
She didn't dare test him, didn't dare harbor any illusions. She could only regard Kaelen as part of this iron cage—a cold, solid wall, yet one holding some unknown potential.
And she, the trapped thorn bird, could only gather her strength under the gaze of this ice wall, waiting for the next storm.