Chapter 87: The Scent That Beckons
Chapter 86: The Scent That Beckons
Julian crossed the distance immediately.
Lyria’s arms were raised above her head, her movements frantic and uncoordinated as she tried, with very little success, to ward off the swarm of bees that circled her with relentless persistence. Her breathing came in sharp, uneven bursts—too fast, too shallow—and though she attempted to retreat, there was nowhere to go that did not seem equally occupied by the low, insistent hum of wings.
"P-p-please g-go away," she cried.
Julian stepped in front of her.
"Miss," he said, his voice cutting cleanly through the chaos, firm in a way that demanded attention. "You must be still."
Lyria did not appear to hear him.
Her eyes were wide, unfocused, her attention caught entirely in the frantic attempt to defend herself against something she could neither predict nor control. A bee darted too close to her cheek and she flinched violently, her breath hitching as panic tightened its hold.
Julian glanced at the maids then, when he realized nothing he was doing would calm her down. He could call her by her name, but that would result in unwarranted scrutiny, and it wasn’t proper for a man of his standing to know the name of a maid, one who likely worked with the princess too.
"What’s her name?" he asked them.
The maids just turned to each other with frowns on their faces.
"What’s her name?!" Julian asked again.
No one said anything until a broken voice came out, and he turned to face Lyria.
Tears were streaming down her face, and he felt compelled to wipe them off, to reassure her that she was going to be okay.
"M-my name is L-L-Lyria," she said.
He nodded, his gaze on hers, and he knew this was not the time to admire her, especially given her predicament, but he couldn’t help it.
She was beautiful. Her eyes were filled with intelligence. She looked malnourished, but that did nothing to diminish her beauty. There was a scar on her face that he wanted to run his hands over, to ask what happened... he shook his head slightly, willing himself to focus.
"Lyria," he called softly. "Keep your gaze on me."
She nodded, obeying.
He noticed how her hands shook, how scared she was.
"Moving makes it worse," he said calmly. "Bees react to panic. The more you move, the more agitated they become. Stay still."
Her breathing was still ragged.
"Breathe slowly," he said. "In through the nose."
She tried. It came out broken.
"Again."
She tried again. It was better this time.
"Good. Keep going."
He watched her chest rise and fall, slower now, more controlled. The crying hadn’t stopped, but the hyperventilating was easing.
He looked at the bees.
They were still circling her.
He had stepped directly into their path, and they had barely acknowledged him. That was strange. A disturbed swarm would have turned on anyone nearby. These hadn’t. They were focused entirely on Lyria.
Something was drawing them to her specifically.
"Are you holding anything?" he asked. "In your hands. Your pockets."
She shook her head.
"A-anything like w-what?" Her stammer was worse than he had heard it before. Her voice was shaking badly.
"Anything sweet. Food. Perfume."
"N-no. I d-don’t—I have n-nothing."
"All right." He turned to the maids standing uselessly at the edge of the situation. "Send for help."
Nobody moved.
He looked at the nearest one directly.
"Now," he growled, and that was when she moved, her eyes uncertain.
He turned back to Lyria.
"Keep your arms down," he said. "I know it feels wrong, but keep them down."
Slowly, she lowered her arms.
He scanned her clothing quickly.
There had to be something. Bees did not behave like this without reason. His eyes moved over her dress, checking the fabric, the folds, the hem—
There.
A stain on the side of her skirt. It was small and easy to miss, slightly darker than the surrounding fabric, with a faint sheen to it.
He knew what it was immediately.
"Focus on me," he said. "Stay calm."
She looked at him.
He moved to her side, took hold of the fabric where the stain was, and tore it.
The sound was sharp and clean.
Immediately, the bees shifted toward the cloth in his hand.
He moved carefully, drawing them away from Lyria step by step, holding the fabric out and to the side, keeping his movements slow and deliberate.
"My Lord!" Jacinta called out in alarm. "You will be stung!"
He kept moving, not minding her.
He held the cloth at a distance from Lyria, drawing the swarm away inch by inch. The bees followed—as he had anticipated they would—their attention shifting toward the source of the scent.
The maids stirred in renewed urgency now, Jacinta’s earlier command echoing through them.
"Fetch help immediately!" she ordered, her composure fraying at the edges. "Do not stand idle—he will be injured!"
Julian held his position, drawing the swarm further from the group with careful, measured steps, the cloth held steady in his hand.
Within minutes, two groundskeepers arrived.
They approached with caution, taking the cloth from Julian carefully, drawing the bees further away and dispersing them with practiced efficiency.
Julian gave quiet instructions—measured, exact—ensuring the matter was handled properly before stepping back at last.
Only then did he return.
His gloves bore faint marks where the bees had brushed against them, though he appeared otherwise unharmed.
He adjusted his spectacles.
And then his gaze settled on Lyria.
She stood exactly where he had left her.
Head bowed.
Hands trembling faintly at her sides.
"The matter has been resolved," he said calmly.
Lyria nodded. "T-thank you, my lord," she said softly.
"You are quite welcome, though I would suggest you be quite careful. It appears someone may have laid a trap for you," he said quietly.
Her head came up slightly.
"The stain on your dress," he said. "It was diluted royal jelly. The scent is irresistible to them. It would have been pressed into the fabric deliberately." He paused. "It was not an accident."
Lyria said nothing. It was quite obvious that it had been placed there deliberately. Now that she was a bit calmer, she realized that she had been the only one attacked by the bees. Could this be Jacinta at work? Or maybe Kyia?
Jacinta stood a few feet away, parasol in hand, her expression arranged into something pleasant.
Her eyes said something else.
They moved from Julian’s face to Lyria’s and back again, and there was a tightness around them that the smile did not quite cover.
"How fortunate," she said pleasantly, "that you were here, Baron Redwick."
She looked at Lyria then.
"You are dismissed," she said.
