A Scent of Betrayal

Elira was taken aback by Kael's sudden honeymoon proposal. Especially when he mentioned the word wife in his statement. This was the second time he called her like that, and somehow each time it sent an uncomfortable twinge through her chest. His playfulness hid beneath his cold calculation. She could smell the affection in that word that shouldn't mean anything. It was a contracted marriage. Funny enough how she reminded herself about it when he called her his wife.

"Why do we need to act as blissful newlyweds for our undercover? I'm sure we have plenty of options to make the plan go smoothly," Elira tried to make an excuse just to reject his proposal.

"Oh right, give me one example," Kael nodded and smirked playfully at her remark, as if challenging her and sure that he would come out as the winner.

"Well!" Elira lifted her chin, determined to prove him wrong.

But after a long pause, even her sharp mind couldn't come up with anything. Kael's smirk grew wider.

"See? Honeymoon's perfect," he said. "We'll stay at your family's mansion where your father's people can watch us. We act like a real couple in public, then slip away when no one's looking. Think about it—if Malven's servants report back about our romantic getaway, won't that make him relax his guard? You said yourself he's careful. We need to be even more careful to trick him."

Elira exhaled loudly through her nose. She hated that he was right.

"We need to make full use of this marriage, Elira," Kael added.

"Ugh, fine!" she finally agreed.

Inside, she heard her wolf whine—not in warning, but in agreement with getting revenge on her father.

"I'll tell my father about our honeymoon plans," she said, putting heavy sarcasm on the word 'honeymoon.' "And I'll play the perfect, lovestruck wife in front of him." She practically spat the word 'wife.'

Her sarcastic tone somehow made Kael chuckle, which only annoyed Elira more. She glared as his shoulders shook with quiet laughter, his stupid handsome face looking way too pleased with himself.

______

The next morning, Elira went straight to Malven's estate to ask her father's permission for their stay at the Cinderfell mansion.

"Honeymoon?" Duke Malven raised an eyebrow. Elira's fingers tightened their grip on her gown behind her back.

"Yes, Father. Kael just returned from a long campaign. I thought a change of scenery might help his recovery... and improve our relationship." She carefully framed her words to appeal to his interests. "Since you wanted me to secure his support for your land proposal, I believe winning his affection should come first."

Duke Malven studied her with cold eyes.

"You refused this before. I see you've finally come to your senses. Very well, you may go. Just remember - I need his support before next month's council meeting." His finger tapped sharply against his desk, emphasizing the deadline.

Elira nodded politely and turned to leave when his voice stopped her.

"Make sure this honeymoon produces an heir. Two benefits at once." The calculating greed in his voice made her wolf snarl internally.

Elira felt physically sick at his words, but her face remained calm.

"Yes, Father." Her tone gave nothing away as she exited the estate and entered the Rennar carriage.

During the ride back, Elira's fingers wouldn't stay still. So many thoughts swirled through her mind. When they reached the central marketplace, she suddenly ordered the driver to stop at a restaurant.

"I'll take lunch here. See that I'm not disturbed," she instructed before sweeping inside with practiced grace—only to immediately slip through the kitchen’s back door into the bustling market.

She moved like a shadow between stalls until she found a cloth merchant. With quick, precise movements, she gathered her disguise:

Elira grabbed a pair of thick work pants first - the kind laborers wore, dark colored and rough to the touch. They hung loose on her, hiding the shape of her legs and hips. She pulled on tall boots that were old and cracked, the soles thin from too much walking. Rough cloth scratched her neck as she tied it over her hair, covering most of her face. Last came the knife, its weight familiar against her ankle when she slipped it into her boot.

The shopkeeper's greedy look appeared the moment he saw the gold coins.

"Your things will be safe here, my lady," he said fast, already gathering up her expensive clothes.

She didn't answer. Elira was already walking toward where the horses were kept. A plain brown horse waited there. In no time at all, she was riding west down the dirt road. The clothes she wore smelled like hard work and dust. She hunched her shoulders like a tired worker would. Anyone looking would see just another laborer on the road - no sign left that this was the noble Lady of Rennar, except for the determined set of her jaw.

The western outskirts looked like a place the kingdom had stopped caring about long ago. The paved road ended long before Elira got to the village. Just a leaning sign and a broken fence covered in weeds showed where it began. The whole place looked worn out, like it could barely stay standing.

Smoke filled the air, mixing with the stink of sickness and rot. The houses were thrown together with whatever people could find - boards, cloth, scraps. Nothing was built right. Roofs leaked. Dust covered everything and never left.

People here moved like they had no energy left. Old men coughed, sometimes spitting blood. Hungry kids with too-big eyes watched from the roadside, not sure if they should hope or be afraid. Women cooked watery soup, their arms no thicker than the sticks they burned.

Some people didn't move at all - just curled up against buildings or lay near doorways, barely breathing. Weak. Left behind. Waiting.

The whole place made Elira's heart feel heavy, like even the air made it hard to keep going. But not everyone here was as weak as they looked.

She noticed little things. A young man carrying firewood who moved too smooth for someone who should be starving. A sick-looking kid by the well whose eyes flashed yellow for just a second when he looked at her. An old woman who seemed blind but turned her head just right when Elira walked by, like she could hear something different about her steps.

They were mixed in with everyone else, quiet and careful. Like wolves hiding in a flock of sick sheep. No one talked about them, but Elira felt it in her bones. Something here wasn't right. Something wasn't human. This broken-down village was the perfect place to hide. No one came here. No one counted how many people lived in these falling-down houses.

She rode further, her horse moving slow until a familiar scent hit her - that warm, woodsy smell mixed with Thane's voice carrying through the air. Elira slid off her horse and walked toward the sound.

"And here... it's spelled 'western'," Thane's soft voice reached her as he taught the village kids.

He was crouched in the dirt, writing words with a stick while the children copied him. That easy smile of his stayed put as they followed along.

Then his head jerked up. He'd smelled her before she even called out. Thane was on his feet and turning toward her before she took another step.

"Hi," Elira said, the smile feeling stiff on her face.

Thane started moving toward her but froze halfway. His nose flared as he breathed deep, and that handsome face of his darkened.

"You smell different..." The words came out rough, like they hurt his throat. "You smell like him."

The hurt in his eyes was plain as day.