Chapter 22: The Scent of Secrets

Annora

The bandage was gone.

Prince Edric’s hands moved with meticulous care, his fingers gliding over the hollow of my shoulder where the bite had once burned like fire. Now, the skin there was smooth. Unbroken. No swelling. No mark.

“You heal fast,” he murmured, his brows drawing low in quiet suspicion. “Too fast.”

His touch lingered a moment longer, as though the absence of a wound made less sense than its presence. His thumb skimmed once more over the area, like he didn’t quite believe what he saw.

I didn’t speak.

My breath caught somewhere between nerves and something else. Something warmer, darker. A heat coiled low in my belly, tight and unfamiliar.

He leaned in, torchlight gilding the sharp lines of his face, and studied my skin as if it might confess something my words would not. “Not even a shadow left,” he said softly. “And no raised flesh. That’s not normal.”

I shifted under the weight of his stare.

My complexion, sun-warmed bronze laced with the heritage of both my mother and father should have shown something. A scar. A blemish. Even a trace of bruising. But it was as if nothing had happened.

As if Alaric had never touched me.

Only I knew better.

He had been there, in the hush of my chamber just last night. Not as a figment. Not a fading dream.

Real.

His hands tangled in my hair. His mouth brushing mine with a hunger held on a leash. That kiss still lived in my bones, seared into the marrow. Intimate, reverent. and almost… desperate.

He hadn’t bitten me again.

But it had been close.

And I hadn’t wanted him to stop.

“Relax,” Edric said with a grin, catching the shift in my posture. “You’re not going to burst into flames. Not yet.”

His voice was teasing, but there was something behind it. An edge of knowing that made my heart tick faster.

Then, he leaned in again.

Just enough to breathe me in.

His lashes lowered as he inhaled, his nose brushing the air just inches from my throat, and for a heartbeat, I forgot how to stand still.

Then he pulled back, the moment gone, replaced with a low, thoughtful hum. “The oil worked. Your scent’s dulled. Almost completely.”

Almost.

His grin returned. “Still sweet, though.”

I shot him a look, dry and unimpressed. “Is that your professional opinion?”

“Oh no,” he said smoothly, voice dipped in mischief. “That was entirely personal.”

I rolled my eyes, but my heart didn’t settle. It fluttered. Not with irritation, but with something far more impatient. Restless.

Not because of Edric.

Because I hadn’t seen him since the kiss.

“How much longer?” I asked, softer now. “Until I can see him?”

Edric raised a brow. “Someone’s eager.”

His tone was playful, but there was something behind it, an edge beneath the banter. His gaze searched mine like he was weighing how deep this went. “You weren’t this desperate when I was the one babysitting you.”

“You were never the one I was thinking about.”

He pressed a hand to his chest, mock-wounded. “Cruel. And here I thought we were bonding.”

I tried to smile. But it was forced. Tight.

Because the truth was. I didn’t feel cruel.

I felt scorched. Every hour without Alaric pulled taut beneath my skin, sharper than absence, louder than longing. It was ache, raw, aching hunger that logic could no longer soothe. Something had shifted in me that night, something primal. Unspoken. And now it clawed just beneath the surface, relentless and wild.

Edric’s expression shifted. The grin faded, softening into something more honest. More cautious.

“He wants to see you too, you know,” he said after a pause. “But the timing...it’s complicated. The Council didn’t come for pleasantries. They’re ancient. Bound to law and fear and blood. If they sense even a whisper of something unusual…”

I nodded. “I understand.”

“Do you?” he asked, sharper now. “Because being the king’s favorite might sound poetic to you but to them, it’s an opening. A vulnerability. And if they suspect you’re more than just a preference…”

He didn’t finish the thought.

He didn’t have to.

“I’m not stupid,” I whispered. “I know what I am to them.”

Edric looked at me then. Really looked.

Something flickered in his eyes, respect, maybe. Or pity. He leaned back against the edge of the table, voice low but firm.

“Then let me say this plainly: when you’re introduced, you must be discreet. Polite. Quiet. No questions. No cleverness. Don’t give them reason to look twice.”

He paused.

“Let them believe you’re soft.”

“You mean lie.”

“I mean survive,” he said gently.

I looked down at my hands.

They didn’t feel soft. Not anymore.

Edric pushed off the table and crossed the room. But just before reaching the door, he paused. Glanced back with that familiar, lopsided grin that never quite reached his eyes.

“You know,” he said, voice light, “if he doesn’t come to his senses soon… I’m still available. And considerably less brooding.”

“Goodbye, Edric.”

He chuckled, unbothered, and disappeared down the corridor.

The day passed like molasses, slow and clinging.

I spent most of it in the gardens, by suggestion, not choice. The scent of lavender clung to the breeze, tangled with the sharp green of ash trees. It should have been calming.

But there was something else on the wind. Something colder. Heavier. A stillness that didn’t belong.

That’s when she appeared.

Lady Clotilda.

Regal. Poised. Perfectly wrong.

“Annora,” she greeted, her voice smooth as silk drawn over the edge of a blade. “You look well.”

I stood slowly from the bench, uncertain whether I should bow or speak. She motioned for me to remain seated with the gentle flick of her fingers.

“No need for formality,” she said, smiling too softly. “I imagine all the attention lately must be... exhausting.”

I blinked. “Attention, my lady?”

She laughed, a lilting, effortless sound that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Oh, come now. You’re the talk of the lower halls. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

I hadn’t.

But I didn’t like that she had.

Clotilda began to circle the bench, the hem of her gown whispering over the stone path like secrets being dragged along the ground. “It’s rare, you know,” she said lightly, “for someone of your station to be so… noticed.”

My pulse quickened. “I only do as I’m told.”

“Of course,” she said sweetly. “That’s what makes you so valuable.”

There was something in her tone. Something too smooth, too sweet. Like fruit left out too long. Beautiful, but rotting underneath. My fingers curled in my lap.

She stopped behind me. Out of sight, but not out of mind. Her presence loomed like a shadow against my spine.

“I imagine you’ll be meeting the Council soon,” she murmured. “You’ll want to be careful how you present yourself. They’re very particular. Very… old-fashioned.”

My breath caught, but I forced a nod. “Thank you.”

Her hand drifted across my shoulder. Barely a touch. Too light to be kind.

“Just looking out for you, dear.”

And then she was gone.

But the tension she carried did not leave with her.

It stayed, coiled tight beneath my skin like a thread pulled too far. My body sat rigid long after she’d vanished, the echo of her touch lingering like the brush of cobwebs across my collarbone. A warning, wrapped in velvet.

By the time I returned to my chambers, the light had shifted. The room was quiet, dim. But I could still feel her shadow in the air.

I was brushing my hair when the knock came.

Soft.

Deliberate.

My breath caught.

“Come in,” I whispered.

The door opened.

And there he was.