Azel's nose had never deceived him—not once, not ever. And today, he was as certain as always that his sense of smell hadn't failed him, not in the least.
The maid who had poured tea for him had met his eyes and blushed. He didn't mind it; it was a common reaction whenever he was around women.
Yet, there was something else in her eyes, something similar to recognition… and it seemed strange.
Still, he didn't pay too much attention to it. Many people knew him, and many had dared to steal glances at him. He was, after all, famous.
No one could shake up a filthy Empire like he could… no one else but him could make an Empire like Dalniar be wary of a single man.
He brushed off the maid's recognition and her flustered face, but there was one thing he couldn't dismiss— and it was the scent that followed...
The smell of jealousy.
