The Scent Of Power

❤️ The Scent Of Power ❤️

"What are you doing here? Are you here to cause some nuisance?" Nasa flared up, her voice sharp with irritation. Even the arrival of the new person—possibly the emperor—wasn’t enough to distract her from confronting Nyxoria.

Nyxoria's smirk widened, curling into something both mocking and dangerous. Her voice dripped with venom as she replied, "You know exactly why I’m here. If I don’t succeed in making your face as twisted and ugly as your anger, then I’m not doing my job, am I?" She stepped closer, her tone as taunting as her glare. "Go ahead, start the fight. But let me remind you—last time you challenged me, it ended in disgrace for you. Surely, you don’t want history repeating itself, do you?"

Her words were like a blade, cutting deep, and the venomous glare she shot her cousin made it clear she was ready for a fight.

Dika, standing beside Nyxoria, reached out and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. The simple touch broke through Nyxoria’s fiery focus. When she turned to look at her friend, Dika’s eyes flicked toward something—or someone—behind her. Without saying a word, she urged Nyxoria to look back.

When she did, her throat went dry.

Standing at the entrance was a man unlike any she had ever seen. His presence filled the room like a storm brewing in silence, heavy and suffocating. He was breathtakingly handsome, his features sharp and commanding, yet there was a darkness to him that was impossible to ignore.

His skin, a mesmerizing balance between light and dark, seemed to glow faintly under the sun coming through the window. But it was his eyes that stopped her breath. They were dark, impossibly dark, as if the irises themselves were alive, swirling with shadows that seemed almost otherworldly. They held a weight that made her feel exposed, as though he could see right through her.

Nyxoria felt her pulse quicken. Something about him felt hauntingly familiar, like a half-forgotten memory that teased the edges of her mind. She struggled to place it, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that they had crossed paths before, though she couldn’t place where.

His gaze wasn’t soft, though. It was burning with barely restrained anger. It wasn’t just his striking looks or his commanding presence—it was something deeper, something primal. His aura radiated both danger and allure, and it tugged at something within her that she didn’t fully understand.

For Tharros, the moment he stepped into the room, her scent had already gripped him. It was intoxicating, a divine aroma that wrapped around him, making it impossible to think clearly. It was as if the air itself had shifted, pulling him toward her with an invisible force just like the first day he had met her. And he hates those pullings.

But as he stared at her and her eyes didn't show any signs of knowing hin, his fists clenched at his sides, his anger surged. He didn’t know if it was the way her smirk lingered as she dismissed Nasa so casually, or the undeniable pull she seemed to have on him. Either way, it infuriated him.

When she finally turned to face him, his eyes locked with hers, a storm of emotions raging behind his steady glare—anger, confusion, and something darker, something he wasn’t ready to admit. Didn't she recognize him? Was she pretending not to?

Nyxoria felt the heat of his glare, and instead of backing down, she grinned. Her defiance was intoxicating, and her confidence only seemed to fuel the tension between them. Dismissing Nasa with a wave, she took a deliberate step forward, her attention fully on Tharros now.

"Well, well," she purred, her voice soft but teasing. "Who do we have here? A shadow ready to pounce?"

Her words hung in the air like a challenge. It was as if the room had shrunk, leaving just the two of them locked in a silent battle of wills. Tharros’s jaw tightened, his anger warring with the undeniable pull he felt toward her.

Nyxoria’s eyes sparkled with curiosity and challenge, her heart pounding as she stepped into the storm she had just invited.

Tharros wanted to respond, to unleash a sharp retort and cuss the living daylight out of her, but he stopped himself. Restraining his simmering anger, he tore his gaze away from Nyxoria's teasing eyes and redirected it toward the centaur teacher, who had been silent the entire time, clearly hoping to remain unnoticed.

The teacher’s attempt to make himself invisible had failed miserably. Tharros’s piercing stare landed on him like a hammer. "Don't your students know how to greet their Emperor?" he said, his voice cold and commanding, every word laced with authority. "Or should I use you as an example of how one should greet me when I am present?"

The centaur teacher froze, his face draining of all color. He looked as pale as snow, as if every drop of blood had abandoned him. It was clear that fear had taken hold.

"I am so sorry, my Emperor," the teacher stammered, dropping to his knees with a haste that bordered on desperation and gesture for his students to do the same which they did all except for Nyxoria. His voice trembled as he continued, "I wasn’t expecting your arrival so soon. Please, forgive my negligence."

The classroom hung in tense silence for a moment, and then, almost simultaneously, both Tharros and Nyxoria snorted. The unexpected synchronicity of their reactions cut through the tension, though for very different reasons.

Tharros’s snort was one of cold disdain, as if the teacher’s groveling was hardly worth his attention. Nyxoria’s, on the other hand, was full of amusement. Her lips curled into a smirk, and her eyes sparkled with mischief as she glanced back at Tharros.

"Well," she said softly, her voice laced with mockery even though she tried to hide the hurt that gutted her when he didn't try to make a conversation, "looks like you’ve got everyone shaking in their boots." She gave a low, mocking bow, though the smirk never left her face.

Tharros didn’t reply, but the tension in his jaw and the flicker in his eyes suggested her words had only added fuel to the fire burning within him. The centaur teacher and others remained on their knees, especially the teacher, utterly silent, as if he feared any sound he made might earn him further wrath.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked, his voice a low, commanding growl as he closed the distance between them.

Nyxoria tilted her head slightly, her smirk unfazed, but her eyes glinted with something that bordered on challenge. She pointed casually at the kneeling centaur. "He just called you 'Emperor,' so if my brain is working properly, you must be the emperor who rules over us."

Tharros’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he stopped right in front of her, the proximity forcing her to look up to meet his gaze. "Then what does it say when one of my subjects refuses to kneel before me?" he asked, his voice laced with quiet menace. For some reasons he doesn't want to use his power and forces her to kneel down.

Nyxoria arched a brow, her expression still defiant. "He or she will be flogged a hundred strokes in public," she replied matter-of-factly, before letting out a short, mocking snort. She leaned forward, her lips brushing against his ear in a gesture that felt both intimate and incendiary. Her voice dropped to a whisper, laced with amusement. "Do you think I would be scared of that?"

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze again, her smirk daring him to respond. Her eyes searched his face, sharp and unwavering, but her breath hitched when she fully registered the sheer size difference between them. He towered over her by at least three feet, his presence almost overwhelming, like a force of nature.

For a moment, their eyes locked, the tension between them crackling like a live wire. Then Tharros tilted his head slightly, studying her as though she were a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.

"So you don’t remember me, do you?" he muttered, his voice low and almost bitter.

Nyxoria frowned, genuinely caught off guard. Her smirk faltered, the confidence she wore like armor slipping ever so slightly.

"Should I?" she asked, her voice steady despite the uncertainty creeping in. If they had met before, why couldn’t she remember him? Surely, she wouldn’t have forgotten such a strikingly handsome face—one that exuded both power and danger.

Before Tharros could respond, Nasa’s irritatingly shrill voice cut through the charged silence that had filled the room. "My Emperor, please ignore my selfish cousin," she said, her tone dripping with fake sweetness, desperate to draw attention back to herself.

Tharros didn’t even glance at Nasa. His focus remained locked on Nyxoria, his eyes dark with something unreadable. Leaning in slightly, he spoke with quiet intensity, his words cutting through the air like a blade.

"Since you don’t remember me," he said, his voice low and menacing, "just watch your back."

His warning hung in the air, chilling and unmistakable. Nyxoria’s breath caught in her throat as his towering form loomed over her for one more heartbeat before he turned and walked away.

Her confidence wavered briefly, but she refused to let it crumble completely. Narrowing her eyes, she watched him leave, the echo of his words lingering in her mind. A part of her burned with curiosity, while another part bristled at the audacity of his threat.

“Watch my back?” she murmured to herself, a small smirk returning to her lips. “Let’s see who ends up watching who's back.”