Chapter 5 Prince's Pure Scent & A

Elowyn didn't sleep.

She lay there and didn't notice her candle burn out finally.

She lay stiff on her king-sized bed, eyes wide open in the dark, listening to the night - breathing slow, steady, like a beast content after a hunt.

Baron.

His face flashed before her eyes and she shut it tightly for a short moment.

His green eyes. His smirk. Everything.

And suddenly his scent filled the room harder, curling in the air, and hers... stayed suppressed. For now.

Instinctively, she raised her face and sniffed long. And then, her chest pushed up and her head pressed back onto the bed.

Elowyn bit her lip and clawed at her duvet.

She was pooling.

"Oh no...." She rasped helplessly. Her legs twitched.

"Hold yourself, Elowyn. He could be around."

She tried. She really tried.

Elowyn tossed to look towards the door.

And her door came open with no warning.

She stilled instantly and her eyes shut.

But she knew who it was.

Baron.

He didn't say a word. Just walked in like he owned the room - because he did. The floor creaked beneath his weight, and Elowyn's heart beat against her ribcage like it was trying to escape.

She kept her eyes shut, praying he'd just grab something and leave.

But no. Baron wouldn't.

The bed dipped.

He had come to sit on her bed. Her scent is faint but rising. Suspicion.

Her body screamed 'don't react' but the scent she'd tried so hard to hide seemed to be shifting. Blooming.

Elowyn's eyes flicked open the smallest inch, just in time to see him reach down toward something on her floor - a fallen towel, maybe.

Then he paused.

He sniffed it.

"You awake?" he asked, voice low and smooth. Too smooth.

She didn't respond. Couldn't. Her throat was tight.

"Smells.... off in here."

A pause.

"You sweating, Froste?"

He was messing with her. Or maybe.... maybe testing.

She couldn't - couldn't afford to lose.

Baron leaned in. A cruel curiosity.

And he was sniffing again. Once. Twice. He stopped.

Her thighs clenched involuntarily, a raw ache blooming there she didn't ask for.

"Maybe it's fear of me?" He murmured, lips so close to her ear now that she felt the heat of his breath. "Yes, you should be scared."

Her body tightened beneath the sheets.

"You're really twitchy for someone trying to sleep after a long journey."

"Please don't find me out." Elowyn's head prayed.

Then - just as suddenly - he stood up.

Then, the door clicked shut behind him.

Elowyn exhaled like she'd surfaced from drowning. Her entire body was damp with heat, and her thighs were trembling.

She stared at the ceiling and pressed the her hands over her face.

This was only day one.

She hurriedly ran towards her vanity and reached under it to retrieve her binding flask.

She sipped twice.

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It was 5:00am already.

Morning came with no warning - just a loud ring that shortly ended from Baron's bedside table and a simultaneous knock at the dorm door.

BANG. BANG.

"Dorm 3B. Gathering Field. Now."

Baron groaned and muttered something about biting whoever dared wake him.

Elowyn was already up, dressing silently, adjusting her chest wrap, checking her forged ID, dressing up.. Every second she stayed undiscovered felt like stolen time.

And finally she was gulping from her binding flask and shoving it gently into her bag.

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The field was massive - tall cold stone wall, a faint hum of dominance in the air. Students lined up in rows, most in their final growth years, thick with power.

Elowyn stood straight, shoulders squared. Her voice still disguised. Her scent still masked.

Then the farther gate in front opened. Silence fell.

A tall man stepped in, silver-streaked hair pulled back, long black robes brushing the floor. He looked like a king and moved like a predator. His name echoed like a warning in whispered voices.

Senior Caelan Volke. The Chosen Alpha Head.

"He can smell lies, you know." Someone whispered behind her and when she looked back, she instantly recognized him.

"No one cheats the system when he's around."

Bree looked away apprehensively. He was the male she'd seen when she'd first come in with the illusions yesterday.

"Is he talking to me?" She cried in her head.

Fear rose.

"Am I giving something away?"

Caelan paced slowly through the rows of students, sharp blue eyes flicking across faces like he was reading their soul.

Then... he paused.

Right in front of her.

"Name," he said without even looking at his list.

Elowyn's mouth went dry. "Elyan Froste," she replied evenly.

His gaze met hers.

Too sharp. Too slow. Like he was cataloguing every twitch in her face.

"Clan?"

"Eastern Draven," she answered.

Caelan's head tilted. He stepped slightly closer - uncomfortably so. She felt the heat of his aura slam into hers like a wave.

"Interesting. My father once taught your father." he murmured.

Her stomach dropped. She fought to keep her expression still. "He spoke of such." she lied.

Caelan didn't blink.

Then, he inhaled.

A long, deep sniff. Like a beast confirming prey.

The room tensed. Baron, watching from across the hall, actually straightened.

"Your scent...." Caelan said slowly, " ....is rare."

Elowyn's heart thudded.

"I often get such comments but I reckon it's the herbs and so long a journey." She said, trying to sound casual and regal at the same time. "Our clan uses herbs for purification."

Caelan's gaze lingered.

Then, slowly, he smiled. Not kind. Not believing.

"Be careful with rituals, Prince Froste. They can purify many things... but never for long."

He moved on.

But Elowyn's hands wouldn't stop shaking.

††††

Every story has a scent.

This one smelled like courage masked in fear.

It reeks of secrets, survival, sweat... and a forbidden kind of softness.

It lingers in our head like the scent of a room you're not sure you belong in - but enter anyway.

This is that room.

This is where I thank the ones who dared to open the door with me.

To the ones who understood that Elowyn's heartbeat was more than fiction, thank you. You saw through her, and maybe through me.

To every reader who paused and whispered, "She's hiding something,"

to those who rooted for the girl behind the prince, this is your story too.

To my late-night plot warriors, my scene testers, my silent cheerleaders, you made this harder to give up on.

To those who made me feel like my words weren't too much, my lore wasn't too strange, and my characters weren't "too soft or too sharp", I owe you more than I can write.

And to Mia,

the friend we all pray for in silence,

thank you for showing up in ink. You are real in so many ways.

To anyone out there hiding in someone else's skin just to survive:

You're not alone.

Keep scenting the room with truth even when the air gets heavy.

With a thankful heart,

AuthorVianelli

Still figuring it all out, but writing through it anyway.