Chapter 27: The Scent of Memories

Chapter 27: Chapter 27: The Scent of Memories

Vaelen stared at her, fury simmering beneath the surface.

"You never used to be like this," he said coldly. "Yet today, you deliberately made a fool out of me. Why? Because I refused to marry you!?"

The shop assistant, who had been preparing to step in and calm the situation, froze.

After hearing that, he quietly retreated several steps.

Some disputes were not meant for commoners to witness.

Elysia looked at Vaelen as though he had lost his mind.

"What did you just say?"

A bitter smile tugged at his lips.

"Am I wrong?"

His gaze sharpened.

"Who was it that followed me everywhere? Every pastry, every sweet cake you made somehow found its way to me. Who kept bothering Sylrienne, asking what I liked, what I preferred? What would make me happy?"

His voice grew harsher with every word.

"Elysia, have you already forgotten how desperately you used to chase after me? How shameless and clingy you have been—"

Smack!

The slap echoed through the shop.

Everything went silent.

Vaelen’s head snapped sideways.

For several heartbeats, he simply stood there.

Motionless.

Disbelieving.

He was the Crown Prince.

The future ruler of Aveanlor.

No one had ever struck him before.

Slowly, he turned back.

Shock lingered in his eyes.

Elysia’s hand trembled slightly at her side.

Not from fear.

From pure rage.

"If I had known this day would come," she said, her voice shaking, "I never would have pushed you out of the way of that carriage."

The words hit him harder than the slap.

Vaelen frowned.

"What?"

"My knee."

Her fingers tightened around her skirts.

"The day that carriage charged toward us, I shoved you aside."

A bitter laugh escaped her.

"I fell so hard."

For the first time, uncertainty appeared on his face.

"My knee was injured badly enough that I never recovered."

Her eyes reddened.

"You know what I wanted when I was younger?"

She smiled faintly.

It wasn’t a happy smile.

"I wanted to ride into the battlefield beside my father and brothers."

She had dreamed of galloping across open fields, sword at her side, carrying the Hartwell banner into battle.

She had dreamed of earning glory alongside her family.

"That dream died the day I injured my knee."

Her voice softened.

"Now if I stand too long, it aches. If I overexert myself, the pain becomes unbearable. I was never able to ride a horse ever again."

Her gaze dropped briefly.

"On rainy nights, the pain keeps me awake until dawn."

Vaelen stared at her.

The burning sting on his cheek disappeared entirely.

He hadn’t known.

Not once.

Not in this life.

Not in the previous one.

Elysia had never mentioned it.

Never complained.

Never used it to gain sympathy.

She had simply endured it alone.

Something twisted painfully inside his chest.

"You..."

The word died before it could leave his lips.

Elysia looked up.

Her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"You have no heart, Vaelen."

The accusation landed with terrifying simplicity.

"You take sacrifice for granted. You accept devotion as though it’s your birthright."

Her voice grew colder.

"If merely saving you cost me my dream..."

A bitter smile curved her lips.

"...can you imagine what marrying you would’ve cost me?"

Vaelen felt as though the ground beneath him had shifted.

Every instinct urged him to deny it.

To argue.

To defend himself.

Yet not a single word came.

Elysia drew a slow breath.

"I don’t resent you because you refused to marry me."

She shook her head.

"In truth, I thank the gods every day for letting me marry your uncle instead."

The words struck harder than any blade.

Vaelen’s fingers curled tightly.

For the first time in his life, he experienced something he had never truly known before.

Loss.

The loss of someone he had always assumed would remain.

Someone he had never imagined could walk away.

Yet now she was doing exactly that.

And there was nothing he could do to stop her.

Elysia pulled her wrist free.

Without another glance, she turned and left.

This time, she did not look back.

—

By the time she returned to the tavern, the storyteller was reaching the end of his tale.

The audience erupted into applause.

Coins clinked onto trays.

Laughter and conversation filled the room.

Elysia took out the money she had earned earlier and counted half of it into Clara’s hands.

"Take this downstairs."

Clara blinked.

"My lady?"

"Give it to the storyteller."

The maid stared at the generous amount.

"Where did all this come from?"

Elysia waved dismissively.

"A profitable exchange."

Clara looked even more confused but obeyed.

When she left, Elysia remained alone.

The room suddenly felt quiet.

Her gaze drifted toward her knee.

The old injury.

The reminder of a choice she had once made willingly.

A choice she no longer regretted.

The tea had grown cold.

She drank it anyway.

Then picked up a pastry.

The familiar taste spread across her tongue.

Warm.

Comforting.

Unmistakable.

Her aunt’s recipe.

Just like before.

"My lady."

Clara returned.

Elysia was about to rise when another voice spoke from the doorway.

Gentle.

Warm.

Familiar.

"Is this the Duchess of Draevenor?"

Elysia froze.

Her heartbeat stumbled.

No.

Not now.

Please not now.

Of all the people she wasn’t prepared to face today...

She kept her back turned.

The voice continued softly.

"Your Grace left the most generous reward of the afternoon."

A pause.

"I felt I should thank you personally."

Elysia lowered her voice.

"It’s nothing."

She waved a hand.

"You’ve already been compensated. There’s no need."

But the woman didn’t leave.

"I also brought some pastries."

A small smile touched her lips.

"I hoped Your Grace might take them home."

Still, Elysia refused to turn around.

"Give them to my maid."

Silence followed.

Then came a quiet sigh.

One filled with affection and sadness.

"Don’t tell me..."

The woman’s voice trembled slightly.

"...you no longer wish to acknowledge me, Elysia?"

The world seemed to stop.

Elysia’s throat tightened instantly.

Slowly, she turned.

And met a pair of warm, familiar eyes.

Eyes she had missed for far too long.

"Aunt Imogen..."

The words came out as little more than a whisper.

Imogen smiled.

Tears shimmered in her eyes.

Yet her expression remained gentle.

"Yes."

She held out a tray of delicate pastries.

"I’m here."

Her voice was exactly as Elysia remembered.

Soft.

Warm.

Entrenched with the feeling of home.

"I’ve been working on some new recipes." She smiled.

"Won’t you taste them for me?"

Elysia’s vision blurred.

She nodded.

Unable to trust her voice.

Imogen sat beside her.

The faint scent of flour, vanilla, and lavender drifted through the air.

For a moment, Elysia wasn’t the Duchess of Draevenor.

She wasn’t a reborn woman carrying the burdens of two lifetimes.

She was simply a little girl again.

Standing in the kitchens of Hartwell Manor.

Watching her aunt knead dough with patient hands.

Safe.

Loved.

Home.