Aria entered the king's chambers with steady hands.
She told herself it was only another room. Larger. Darker. More dangerous—but still stone, still dust, still work meant for a maid.
The doors closed behind her with a soft, final sound.
The chamber was dim, curtains half-drawn, candlelight low. The air carried a scent that made her pause mid-step—warm water, clean skin, and something deeper. Something that curled low in her stomach before she could stop it.
Lucien.
She swallowed and moved forward anyway.
She set her bucket down, wrung out her cloth, and began at the nearest table. Her movements were quiet, practiced. She did not rush. She did not linger.
Then she sensed him.
Not heard—felt.
"You're thorough," Lucien said from the shadows.
Aria stiffened but did not turn immediately. She lowered her head in respect. "It is my duty, my king."
