Duke Reinhardt descended like a storm and departed just as swiftly. He had effortlessly crushed Hugo's malice, indifferently dealt with the two hidden assassins, and even inadvertently resolved the crisis Elara faced from spilling the tea.
It all happened too quickly, too impactfully, leaving Elara feeling as though she were trapped in a nightmare long after the Duke's figure had vanished.
However, the real-world repercussions washed over her like a cold tide, swift and overwhelming.
The Duke's "attention"—even if just a few brief, cold glances and seemingly unintentional "rescues"—had already caused a massive stir in this rigidly hierarchical, gossip-ridden hunting camp.
The most immediate change came from the surrounding servants and guards.
The previous gazes, tinged with varying degrees of contempt, jealousy, or indifference, now uniformly held palpable fear and distance. People avoided Elara like the plague, not even daring to make eye contact. It was as if she were contaminated with some ominous, dark aura emanating from the "Iron Duke," bringing misfortune to anyone who came near.
Even Thomas, the boy who had shown her a sliver of kindness before, now looked at her with complicated, evasive eyes, no longer daring to secretly pass her bread.
Elara became an uncanny "island" on the camp's edge. No one dared to bully her openly like Hugo or Martha anymore, but this isolation, born of fear and exclusion from everyone, felt more suffocating and unsettling than the previous torment.
She was like an object labeled "potentially of interest to the Duke." Everyone feared incurring the great lord's wrath by accidentally touching or damaging this "item."
Steward Gregor's attitude, however, grew more complex and dangerous.
The Duke's interventions, especially the final command to "control your people," had pushed Gregor's fear of Duke Reinhardt to its peak. He no longer dared to beat or curse Elara as freely as before, terrified the Duke might find out.
But simultaneously, a thought laced with greed and malice began to fester in his mind. How had this insignificant serf girl caught the Duke's attention? Was there something special about her? Or was His Grace merely... seeking a momentary diversion, a taste of something "wild"?
If... if he could use this girl to connect with the Duke... even just to make a slight impression on His Grace... wouldn't that mean...
The way Gregor looked at Elara became increasingly blatant, increasingly uncomfortable. His gaze was no longer just filled with simple disgust and spite, but now held the calculating scrutiny of someone appraising goods, mixed with a nauseating greed—the desire to use her to gain profit.
Elara keenly sensed this change, alarm bells screaming in her mind. She would rather face Gregor's previous fists and kicks than this gaze that felt like it wanted to strip her bare, exploit every last bit of value from her!
Yet, amidst the fear and unease, a delusion—one even she found absurd—began to quietly sprout in the depths of Elara's heart.
That Duke... he's so powerful, so aloof, like a god. He had dealt with Hugo so easily, crushed those two assassins, even the haughty Countess had to restrain her anger before him...
He was indeed cold, even cruel. But his every appearance seemed to occur "coincidentally" at her moments of greatest peril. Could it truly be coincidence?
Perhaps... he wasn't entirely indifferent to the suffering of the weak? Perhaps he simply maintained a certain order befitting the strong, in his own way? He couldn't stand low-level bullying like Hugo's, nor the Countess losing her composure over a trifle, and certainly wouldn't tolerate murder under his nose...
Elara couldn't help but start fantasizing. If... if this powerful Duke truly held even a tiny bit of "special" attention for her, did that mean... she had a chance at survival? Could she escape Gregor's control, escape this precarious fate?
She was like a person dying of thirst in the desert, seeing a mirage of water in the distance. Even knowing it might be an illusion, she couldn't resist the urge to approach, to grasp at that slim hope.
She began to deliberately recall the Duke's image—his tall figure, his icy face, those deep eyes that seemed to see through everything... Fear remained, but a morbid, almost worshipful admiration began to quietly grow.
She even started to romanticize his actions. Dealing with Hugo was "cleaning house"; making the Countess back down was "upholding justice"; killing the two thugs was "eradicating evil"...
She completely ignored the chilling coldness, indifference, and absolute desire for control inherent in his actions, seeing only the unparalleled power he displayed—the power to effortlessly crush any obstacle.
This power held a fatal allure for Elara, trapped in her desperate situation.
She naively began to believe she might have encountered a "protector"—cold, perhaps, but not entirely unreasonable. A different kind of "white knight."
She was utterly unaware that she was stepping onto the path towards a darker, more dangerous abyss. And the "prince" in whom she placed her absurd hopes was, in reality, a true predator who had taken a keen interest in his "fascinating little prey."