Nyxion’s POV

The hall outside Aerila’s chambers was heavy with jasmine before I even reached her door. It seeped from beneath the seams of the carved oak, clinging to the air like a net. Sweet, cloying.

She always made sure her scent arrived before she did.

The corridor was cleared—her order, no doubt. Guards gone. Servants scattered. Privacy for her wasn’t about secrecy; it was about control. The fewer eyes that lingered, the more she could stage whatever performance she ...