Chapter 98: Of Scent and Stubborn Company
Chapter 97: Of Scent and Stubborn Company
Lucian stood motionless in the centre of the small chamber.
It was not the room that held his attention, though.
It was her.
It always had been.
Even now, as she stood across from him with a knife still loosely held at her side, her shoulders drawn with quiet tension, there was something about her presence that settled into him in a way he could neither deny nor explain.
It had always been this way.
From the very beginning.
There was a scent she carried—no, it was not perfume, nor was it anything artificial or adorned—but something softer, warmer, and familiar too.
It reached him now, subtle yet unmistakable, threading through his senses like a memory half-forgotten yet deeply known.
It calmed him.
Steadied something restless within his chest.
His heartbeat, which had been sharp with the risk of being discovered, began to ease.
Slower.
Quieter.
As though her mere presence commanded it to behave.
He exhaled softly, almost without realising it.
He had noticed it when they were children.
That same quiet pull. That same inexplicable sense of peace whenever he lingered near her, even when she would not look at him.
Especially then.
Because she never had.
Not in the way he had wanted.
Not in the way he had foolishly sought.
She had ignored him, as though he were nothing more than another passing shadow in the corridors when they were younger.
And so, he had done the only thing a boy of poor sense and poorer restraint could think to do.
He had made himself impossible to ignore.
Even if it meant earning her displeasure.
Even if it meant being... cruel.
The thought sat heavily now, years too late to be undone.
His gaze drifted over her face before he could stop it.
The familiar shape of it.
The way her brows drew together when she was displeased. The faint flush that rose so easily to her cheeks.
Even the stammer he had once mocked was endearing.
It was entirely hers.
And her eyes—
He lingered there longer than he should have.
They were the same as he remembered—hazel eyes that were expressive, dangerous in a way he had not understood before.
One could lose themselves in them if one were not careful.
He very nearly did.
The soft clearing of her throat drew him sharply back.
Lucian blinked once.
Then again.
Ah.
He had been staring.
"That was... most unseemly of me," he said lightly, recovering with practiced ease, though a trace of embarrassment lingered beneath it. "Would you be so kind as to repeat what you said?"
Lyria did not look amused.
Her gaze remained steady.
"You n-need to leave," she said.
There was no hesitation in it now.
No uncertainty.
"I a-appreciate the s-sentiment," she continued, her tone careful but firm, "but that does not a-alter the f-fact that you are a Duke."
Lucian tilted his head slightly, studying her.
"A-and also, it is i-improper for you to be here," she replied at once. "If a-anyone sees—"
"My valet knows where I am," he interrupted gently. "He is keeping watch."
Her expression did not soften.
"And besides," he added, "I have masked my scent. That should be enough, right?"
That earned him a sharp look.
"That is not e-enough," she said.
Lucian regarded her for a moment.
Then tilted his head further, almost curiously.
"Are you quite certain it is not?"
Her glare sharpened.
He smiled.
It was small, but it brought with it the faintest appearance of a dimple in his cheek.
"I shall leave," he said at last, "once I am assured that you have eaten."
She stared at him.
Utterly unimpressed.
A long breath escaped her then, and with it, some fragment of her resistance seemed to loosen, in reluctant acceptance of a reality she could not easily alter.
"I d-do not have an e-extra chair," she said flatly.
Lucian glanced briefly about the room.
"That is quite all right," he replied. "We may use the bed."
Her expression did not change.
At all.
After a moment, she spoke again.
"There is nothing I m-may say that will c-convince y-you to leave, is there?"
He considered that for precisely half a second.
Then shook his head.
"No."
He lifted the parcel slightly.
"But if you insist, I may very well take the cherry pie with me, even though you love it very much—to the point of obsession..."
Lyria’s gaze moved to the parcel. It had been over a decade since she had last tasted cherry pie. Like Lucian had said, she had once been quite obsessed with it. And she had to admit—she was hungry.
Lucian watched her closely, taking in every subtle shift of expression on her face—the flicker of longing, the brief hesitation, the way her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.
Finally, she spoke.
"Y-you will sit on the c-chair," she said. "I will s-sit on the bed."
Lucian nodded, a quiet gratitude blooming in his chest.
"Thank the goddess," he murmured to himself, though he kept the words soft enough that she might not catch them.
At least Lyria had not sent him away outright. Perhaps it was because she was hungry, or perhaps she simply lacked the energy to continue insisting he leave. Either way, he would take the small victory.
She gestured toward the bare table.
Lucian removed his cloak with careful, unhurried movements, folding it neatly over the back of the single chair. He placed the parcel upon the table and untied the string with deliberate care.
The scent of fresh cherry pie rose at once—sweet, warm, and inviting.
Lyria unconsciously licked her lips at the sight of it, the beautiful deep red colour of the filling visible through the crust.
Her mouth watered, and she licked her lips unconsciously.
A low chuckle escaped Lucian.
She immediately schooled her expression and glared at him.
Lucian raised his hands in surrender, though the corner of his mouth still curved.
He cut a generous slice with the small knife he had brought for that purpose and extended it toward her on a clean square of parchment.
