The Scent That Stayed
Prince Lucian's Point of View
He dismissed the guards at the door with a single look and reached for the handle.
Then he stopped.
Something was in the air. Faint, but real. The kind of scent that does not belong to furniture or fabric or the general smell of a guest room that has been prepared and closed up for hours. This was something living. Something warm.
There was someone inside.
He stood with his hand on the handle and pieced it together quickly. The she-wolf scent. The way Oliver Hayes had leaned toward him at the end of the banquet with that poorly disguised smile. The carefully vague words about a gift and a good night. The ambiguous wink that the man had clearly believed was subtle.
He had understood at the time. He had chosen not to engage with it.
