Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 91 - Ninety One

The estate was deep in the grip of the night. A heavy, profound silence lay over the manicured gardens and the grand, shadowed halls. In the west wing, the light in the Grand Duke’s study had been extinguished for hours. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

The door, heavy and carved, creaked open, a sliver of darkness in the moonlight-striped corridor.

A figure, small and silent as a ghost, slipped inside. It was Senna. She was dressed in a simple, dark, silk robe, her feet bare on the cold, polished floor. Her face, in the dim moonlight, was cold, determined, and an almost fanatical resolve.

She moved with a dancer’s silent grace to the large, ornate, silver incense burner that stood by the window. She produced a small, leather pouch from her robe. With trembling, but steady, fingers, she opened it and sprinkled a dark, glittering, herbal-looking powder into the fresh, unlit incense.

She then took a match, her hand cupped to hide the flare, and lit the incense.

A wisp of thick, heavy, and unusually sweet-smelling smoke began to rise, curling in the dark, unmoving air. Senna knelt before it, her eyes closed, her hands clasped.

"Smoke of the false-eye," she whispered, her voice a low, hypnotic, rhythmic chant. "By the blood I have given, by the love I am denied." Her Western-region magic, the art she had so carefully denied, was the only weapon she has. "Twist his sight, and blind his mind. Let him see what he desires to find."

She rocked slightly, her chant growing faster. "When the silver bell rings, his will is mine. He will see his true love... but his body will be mine."

She finished her murmur. The spell was cast. The trap was set. She rose, a dark, satisfied smile on her lips, and slipped out of the room as silently as she had entered, leaving the heavy, sweet, magical smoke to fill the air, waiting for its victim.

A few minutes later, Derek entered the study. He was... quiet. Thoughtful. He needed to work.

He closed the door, a habit, and sat down at his massive desk. He unrolled the map of the northern territories. Strathmore, he thought, his mind forcing itself back to the problem at hand. Commander Leon. Theodore and The palace.

He had to get to Strathmore, and he had to do it without alerting the Crown Prince, Liam, who was, he was now certain, the one who had sent the guards, the one who had silenced Leon. He needed a cover, a reason to travel.

As he was making his plans, the scent of the incense, which he was sure he didn’t not lit, reached him. It was a new smell. Heavy, cloying, and unnaturally sweet, almost like overripe fruit. He frowned, pushing the burner away. A new servant, perhaps, with poor taste.

He tried to focus on the map, but the room felt... hot. A strange, uncomfortable, and deeply unwelcome heat was blooming in his chest, in his stomach, spreading through his veins like a warm, slow poison.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, a wave of sudden dizziness washing over him. "What is wrong with me?" he asked himself, his voice a low, rough growl. The map was blurring at the edges.

The heat was becoming unbearable. It was not just heat; it was a raw, physical, and sudden need. A wave of desire, so strong and so out of place, that it made him feel sick. He unbuttoned his cravat, pulling it free, then his shirt, the buttons fumbling under his fingers, until it was open to his waist, hoping the cool night air would calm the fire in his blood.

It only seemed to make it worse. The smoke was wrapping around him, clinging to him.

He stood up, his legs feeling strangely weak, his breath coming in short, heavy gasps. He had to get out, to get fresh air.

As he staggered, he saw someone entering the study.

His mind, foggy and thick, couldn’t understand. I locked the door. I know I locked it. Did I?

His sight was blurry, but he was sure he saw a woman’s silhouette, a soft, graceful shape gliding toward him through the smoky, dim light.

"Your Grace..."

The voice was a low, seductive purr, a sound that seemed to bypass his ears and stroke directly at the raw, new, and agonizing need in his body.

"I’m here." The voice continued.

His legs lost their balance. He didn’t fall; he slumped, collapsing back into his heavy, leather chair, his body suddenly too weak to hold him.

He watched, as if in a dream, as the figure glided behind his chair. He felt a soft, light touch on his shoulders, fingers tracing the bare skin of his neck. He shuddered. A hot whisper tickled his ear.

"Usually, you are so indifferent... so cold," the voice purred.

He felt the rustle of silk, the shift of a light weight. The figure moved, and then she was sitting on his lap, sideways, her body pressed against his bare chest. It was a shocking, bold, and unbelievably intimate act. Her arms, slender and warm, wrapped around his neck, pulling his face close to hers.

The scent of her perfume, the heavy, sweet, and intoxicating smell from the Golden Swan, flooded his senses.

"Tonight," she whispered, her lips almost touching his, "let me show you what true pleasure is."

She leaned in to kiss him.

NO.

His mind, though foggy, drugged, and burning, still had one, last, cold spark of clarity. This was Senna.

He turned his head, a sharp, angry, instinctive rejection. Her kiss, meant for his lips, landed hotly on his cheek.

Senna, her face so close to his, did not look pleased. Her soft, "loving" expression faltered, a flash of cold, reptilian anger in her eyes. He had rejected her. Again.

"Are you rejecting me now, Your Grace?" she purred, her voice taking on a wounded, dangerous edge. "Am I not good enough for you?"