Atticus hadn't been wrong after all.
He played with Daphne's cool blonde hair, admiring the soft strands in between his fingers. When he brought the long strands closer to his nose and sniffed in, his thoughts were confirmed.
While he might've been drunk last night, he was way more sober than he had acted. Atticus was sure about what he had smelled last night, and it wasn't any bath soap or the usual milky scent that clung to Daphne's skin.
No, it was the smell of the sewage system hidden beneath the palace.
Daphne had been out at night, most probably. Atticus had a strong feeling where it was she had spent her hours before he showed up at her doorstep.
Crawling out of bed, Atticus grabbed the silk robe that had been lying on the back of an armchair. He pulled it on, slowly tying the strings into a simple knot before he turned back, taking one last glance at Daphne on the bed.
