Sweet Scent

Something tickled her nose, something with bristles and a terrible smell. Meryl swatted at it, but it didn’t go away. She opened her eyes, but why was every part of her body aching so badly. Flash of memories rushed across her mind. The last she remembered was drinking that potion in the carriage, which Valerie gave her for fever. She had blacked out after that and now she found herself in darkness with something crawling on her face. She got up and her head hit a wooden board. “Ouch!” she pressed her hand to her head. Her hands fell back on… hay? Where the hell was she? Was she dreaming? And why was her skin so itchy?

Meryl blinked her eyes once and twice, but the darkness didn’t go. She touched around to understand the place she was in and all she could make out was that she was lying on hay. She scooted to her side to avoid the wooden plank over her head and got out to sit. The damp smell of the room hit her nostrils. When she touched her gown to scratch her neck, she realized that her gown was gone and she was now wearing a dress made out from the material they used for burlap sacks. She pierced her vision through the blackness and made out dark delineations of wooden rafters overhead. “Hello!” she shouted and got up. Her entire body was aching so much that she was shaking. 

No sound came from anywhere. Fear bloomed in her chest. She was supposed to come to Napane. Did the coachman abduct her? Did Valerie trick her? Where was Duke Alburn? “Helloooo!” she shouted again. There had to be someone. “Is someone there? Is the duke there?” Her words tumbled out in a squeak. Her throat was parched. “I need water.” But no one came. She felt the walls around her until she came to a wooden door. She banged it hard and shouted, “Open it!” Still, no response. She must have banged it real hard, because now her hands were bleeding. Meryl gave up after some time and then sat huddled in a corner, shivering with cold or fever—she didn’t know. Comprehension was messed up. She didn’t know what was happening to her anymore. Tears came out unbridled. An orphan who no one would pay attention to if she died. Her head pounded with intense headache. “Please, get me out…” she whimpered. 

After what seemed like eternity, the door creaked open and lights from the outside flooded the small room she was imprisoned in. Meryl huddled further back, her wide eyes looking at the man who had just entered. In a cold, ruthless voice he said, “Duke Napane wishes to see you.” He reached to her, grabbed her upper arm and pulled her up roughly. 

“Wh—who are you?” she rasped. So, thankfully she was in Napane. But why was she dressed like this, like a prisoner and why was she stuffed in a cell so cold. 

The man pulled her out of the small cell and slammed the door shut. With an unforgiving grip, he dragged her into the dimly lit alley towards a heavy double door. She heard the skies grumbling and rain falling heavily. The cold stone floor beneath her feet was not as bad as the rough, calloused hands, which were holding her. The man was too strong to be trifled with and looked just as ferocious. When they reached the double doors, the man shoved her roughly through it and into a room. Meryl found herself in a luxurious room with an expensive blue carpet that had exquisite feel and design. There was a chandelier hung on the ceiling that was lit with hundreds of candles. A large four-poster bed in the middle was covered on all sides with gauzy curtains, and she heard a woman’s soft sounds as if cuddling her baby. Beautiful paintings adorned the walls and a warm fire hearth was burning in the corner. 

The man caught her again and then threw her at the feet of a tall, raven-haired man with eyes like obsidian and a neatly trimmed beard. He was holding a goblet in his hand. “Here she is m’lord,” he said in a voice that marked his obedience to the man. 

The man narrowed his eyes as he looked at Meryl. “Valerie sent me—” he measured her up and down, “this?” He circled her like a predator. 

Meryl climbed up to her feet and looked at him as fear flickered through her body. “You are Duke Alburn?” 

The duke stopped and the man beside her flinched. The woman inside the gauzy curtains also stopped cooing the baby. 

“Valerie sent me to you to take over as the house manager. She sent me for a job, but your men—they put me in a prison and— and—” she touched her dress. “Look what they made me wear? I am Lady Meryl of Windley. Is that the way your men should behave with me?” When Meryl met Duke Alburn’s gaze, she saw darkness, anger and something indescribable. The man’s lips thinned and the next instant, he backhanded her. Shock rippled across her as she fell down and tasted blood. With wide eyes she swiveled her head to look at the duke and found him towering her. 

“My men did that to you because I ordered them to do that,” Duke Alburn hissed. “Now you are my servant—for life.” 

Meryl’s body went limp. She was stunned. “B— but Valerie said you would employ me for a month?” she said, her voice a mere whisper. Did Valerie trick her into this? Gods above. She was tricked into slavery? 

“Valerie did what she was told to do. I needed a servant and we got you.” He leaned over her, held her hair and yanked her head back. She gripped his wrist, her body trembling not because of fever. “You will be serving me from now on. I am your Master. Don’t even think of escaping, because if you escape, I am going to rip every limb from your body and feed them to vultures!” He shoved her head to the floor and it bumped against the cold stone. 

“Ah!” More blood. She scrambled back wondering how her life changed for the worse. Could she be this unlucky? She stared at the duke with fear in her eyes, her lips quivering.

“Take her to the servants’ quarters. She will be branded tomorrow.” 

“Branded?” Before she could speak another word, the man who had brought her to him, picked her up and dragged her towards another door, out into a cold alley. She resisted him, yanking back, but was too weak in her efforts. He took her to a room where there was a single bed, a pitcher on a table and a small closet. “I will come for you in an hour, be ready.” 

--- 

Brishor had come down to the meeting room early. Since yesterday night a sweet scent lingered in Duke’s mansion. It was exquisite, it was unique. It was of flowers… of jacaranda, of lemon… wrapped in fire… It was sensual, something that gripped his mind. He had come to find the source of that smell. Even Chezzal had felt it, but he warned him against going and searching for the source saying it could be a trap. The mansion was a maze of several Loreans and humans for the council meeting. Chezzal was still sleeping. 

Brishor’s feet took him towards the garden. 

“M’lord, you are up so early!” A sweet voice from behind came. Lady Susan, wife of Duke Alburn. 

Brishor stopped in his tracks.