Elara's brows knit ever so slightly, not in confusion but calculation. "If you begin from the start," she asked, "how long will it take?"
He paused, tapping a finger lightly against his arm as if sorting through memories. "Not long," he replied after a moment. "At least, not if I spare you the unnecessary details. I can give you a version… concise enough to keep your interest."
Her gaze did not soften, but there was a quiet permission in it now. A silent command.
"Then begin."
For a brief second, the air between them shifted—his smile thinning, losing its earlier ease. Whatever he was about to say, it was no longer just a story.
"The starting point isn't much, you know," Ken began, his voice surprisingly soft, lacking the rough, hoarse edge she had heard when he begged to touch her. "Just ten, maybe twenty years ago, we started to feel discomfort. It started with a knight who fell in love with your father's sister—your aunt."
