Chapter 137: Lessons Bound in Ink and Expectation
Chapter 136: Lessons Bound in Ink and Expectation
Lyria’s POV
I blinked at him.
For a moment, I was not entirely certain I had understood his question.
Was there... something else?
To me, scent had always meant something simple. Something bought. Something worn. Perfume, perhaps. Or scented soaps, if one could afford such things. Things I had never truly had access to.
Even the faintest hint of fragrance had always belonged to someone else.
Not me.
My fingers curled lightly against my skirt.
"I do n-not... u-understand, y-your Grace," I admitted softly.
Duke Thorncrest watched me for a moment, then tilted his head slightly, as though considering how best to phrase his thoughts.
"Apart from the wolfless," he said, his tone easy, "everyone carries a scent."
My breath stilled.
"And yet," he continued, one brow lifting faintly, "you look rather surprised by that fact."
Something inside me tightened.
Wolfless.
The word passed over me as though it belonged to someone else. As though it did not sit quietly at the center of everything I was.
He did not know.
Of course he did not know.
None of them did.
And for a moment, I wondered what his expression would be if he did.
I wondered if it would change.
If the ease in his voice would disappear.
If the curiosity would turn into something else entirely.
I lowered my gaze slightly.
"I-I..." I hesitated, then forced a small, careful breath. "I h-had f-forgotten."
It was not entirely a lie.
There were many things I tried not to think about.
"I do not use p-perfume," I continued quietly, my fingers tightening faintly against my skirts. "Nor scented s-soaps... or c-candles."
A small pause followed before I added, softer still,
"I cannot a-afford s-such luxuries, after all."
I lifted my gaze just slightly.
"So I thought... perhaps... y-you were r-referring to s-something like that."
Duke Thorncrest studied me for a moment longer.
Then his expression shifted—not into amusement this time, but into something more understanding.
"That is not what I meant," he said, his tone gentler now.
"But," he added with a small nod, "I can see why you would assume as much."
I nodded faintly in return.
The conversation might have continued.
Perhaps he would have explained further.
Perhaps he would have said something that would have forced me to think more deeply about what he meant.
But before he could speak again, a presence returned to the space between us.
I turned instinctively.
Baron Redwick had come back.
He was carrying a book.
No—calling it a book felt insufficient.
It was enormous.
The thing rested firmly in his hands, its thick spine worn with age, its cover dark and unadorned, save for faint embossing that caught the light as he moved. It looked heavy—far heavier than anything I had ever attempted to hold for long.
For a moment, I simply stared.
Duke Thorncrest did not bother hiding his reaction.
His eyes widened slightly as he looked at the object in the baron’s hands.
"...Surely," he said slowly, "that is not intended for Her Highness."
Baron Redwick stopped just short of us, his expression unchanged.
"I beg your pardon?" he asked.
Duke Thorncrest gestured loosely toward the book.
"That," he said, "appears less like a guide and more like a punishment devised for those who have lived particularly sinful lives and must now atone for them in the afterlife."
I blinked.
Then, before I could stop myself, a small sound escaped me.
It was not quite a laugh.
But it was very close.
Baron Redwick, for his part, looked entirely unimpressed.
"You exaggerate," he said plainly.
Duke Thorncrest placed a hand lightly over his chest.
"I do no such thing," he replied. "I merely observe what is plainly before me."
Baron Redwick ignored him.
Instead, he shifted his attention to me, adjusting his grip on the book slightly.
"It is indeed heavy," he said, as though acknowledging the obvious, "but it contains everything one might require."
His tone changed as he spoke further.
It became more animated.
More engaged.
"This," he continued, lifting the book just slightly, "is one of the most comprehensive volumes on etiquette within the kingdom."
His eyes sharpened faintly behind his spectacles.
"It details posture, movement, comportment—how to bow, how to sit, how to walk, how to speak within formal settings."
I found myself listening more closely.
Despite the weight of the book.
Despite the intimidation it inspired.
"Not merely the actions themselves," he went on, "but the reasoning behind them. The expectations tied to each gesture. The subtle distinctions between ranks."
There was a faint light in his eyes now.
One that had not been there before.
"It is thorough," he said. "Exceptionally so."
Duke Thorncrest leaned slightly to the side, glancing at the cover.
"And what precisely is this... formidable text called?" he asked.
Baron Redwick adjusted his hold once more before answering.
"The Royal Compendium of Courtly Conduct and Noble Etiquette," he said.
The name alone felt... heavy.
I swallowed softly.
Baron Redwick continued, his voice gaining a touch of quiet enthusiasm.
"There was a time," he said, "when this volume—or rather, earlier editions of it—were used across multiple territories."
He paused briefly, as though recalling something.
He inclined his head.
"Those who were trained properly," he said. "Those expected to move within courtly society."
His fingers brushed lightly against the spine of the book.
"It established a standard," he continued. "A shared understanding of conduct."
I could not help the way my attention fixed on it now.
On the weight of it.
On what it represented.
Everything I did not know.
Everything I needed to learn.
Duke Thorncrest let out a low hum.
"How fascinating," he said lightly.
Then, after a brief pause, he added,
"Tell me, Redwick... was this the very book you used to learn your... impeccable manners?"
Baron Redwick blinked.
"Of course," he replied without hesitation.
Duke Thorncrest turned his head toward me then, a smile tugging faintly at his lips.
"Why does that not surprise me?" he said.
And this time, I did laugh.
Before I could stop myself.
