This world is a stage built upon a grand deception called Essentia.
They say scent is the vibration of the soul. Something etched from your very first breath—an identity you cannot manipulate. In this world, you are what you breathe. Scent betrays the contents of your heart, your social standing, and the magnitude of the magic you wield. Essentia is everything—the foundation of a civilization that worships the fragrant and discards the foul.
And the law? It is far more maddening.
There exists a blood pact, bound by Duke Cassian and the late Emperor. A destiny forced from the heavens: the firstborn of the House of D'Amore is the legitimate fiancé to the heir of the Helios Empire.
Unfortunately, the universe decided to play a cruel joke the moment I was born.
To the world, a human without a scent—a Blank—is a Taboo. A soulless creature, a harbinger of misfortune, a stain to be eradicated from the face of the earth. And I was that anomaly. The eldest daughter born into a silence of scent, while my twin sister, Bianca, was born with an explosion of Black Rose—an aroma so intoxicating it could bring men to their knees.
That night, my father chose to rewrite history with blood. He silenced the witnesses, erased my existence, and traded our fates.
Bianca became the adored petal. And I? I was merely the thorn forced to rot beneath the earth.
Clink...
The sunlight filtering through the stained glass of this greenhouse felt like needles piercing my eyes. I blinked, staring at the figure lying amidst a bed of white Black Roses before me.
Bianca. She was still there, drifting in her endless coma.
My nose twitched. The smell of roses in this room was beginning to rot—a sickening sweetness, like flesh beginning to oxidize. The cursed side effect of my heightened senses; I possess no scent of my own, yet I can smell everything sharper than anyone else. Including the scent of betrayal.
"You're daydreaming again, Agatha."
A heavy voice shattered my silence. Without needing to turn, I knew the stoic man was there. Exactly three paces behind me—a distance he always maintained, as if I were a wild beast that could snap at any moment.
Pungent sandalwood, the smell of freshly sharpened steel armor, and a faint hint of cedarwood. That was his identity. Cyrus Valen. He was the only one the Duke permitted to set foot here. He was my 'Guardian' and my 'Jailer.'
"I wasn't daydreaming," I snapped.
I rubbed my neck, loathing the sticky sensation of the rose essential oil forced onto my skin every morning. A pathetic attempt by my father to manufacture a fake Black Rose scent so I would smell like Bianca. To me, this fragrance felt like a scream choking my breath.
Cyrus stepped closer. His hand, encased in a black leather glove, adjusted my collar with the sternness of an instructor. He did not bow like a common servant; instead, he looked at me as if I were a blade he had to hone.
"This isn't about comfort," he whispered lowly, his voice as cold as metal. "This is about your existence. Tomorrow, you must become Bianca completely."
He held a silver mirror before my face. I froze. The girl in the reflection wasn't Agatha. It was Bianca. Elegant, pale, and flawless. I turned away. The mirror seemed to mock me, reminding me that I had to 'die' to bring another's identity to life.
"Your father is waiting in the study," Cyrus said, adjusting his spaulders, the scent of Cold Iron pungent—a reminder of his authority as the keeper of my golden cage. "The Imperial envoys arrive tomorrow. They are coming to ensure their 'Crown Princess Candidate' is beyond reproach."
I stood up, forcing my body to move with a slow, gliding gait—Bianca's graceful movement that made her seem as if she were floating on water. Yet inside, I felt like kicking the table in front of us.
Ting.
A single wrong chime from the small bell on the floor. My step was too firm. Too wild. Too much like Agatha.
Cyrus closed his eyes, his sigh heavy with exasperation. He stepped forward, blocking my path with absolute authority.
"Repeat it. If you fail here, you won't survive a single second before the Crown Prince."
He stared at me intensely, as if looking at a ghost trying to wear human skin.
"The Crown Prince is not a man to be fooled by cosmetics. He will flay your secrets just from the way you breathe. If he discovers you are a Taboo in disguise, there is no place in this world deep enough to hide you."
I fell silent. That cunning Sun. I had to face him with an empty body and a stolen identity.
"Fine," I replied with a smirk—a sharp smile Bianca would never show. "Let us make this puppet show perfect. Because if I fail—"
BAM!
The greenhouse doors slammed open. A senior maid burst in, her face deathly pale. She ignored Cyrus and fell to her knees before me, her body trembling violently.
"My Lady... Lady Bianca!" her voice was hoarse with terror. "The Crown Prince... He did not wait for tomorrow. His carriage has already entered the main gates!"
My heart seemed to stop. I looked at Cyrus, whose jaw tightened instantly, his hand reflexively gripping the hilt of his sword.
Outside the window, the gate bell tolled three times—the signal for the arrival of the highest authority. The heavy, rhythmic thud of hoofbeats echoed across the stone courtyard, followed by the sound of hundreds of people falling to their knees in unison.
He was already here.
And my time to prepare had run out.