The moment they halt for the day, the entire camp knows. Something is going to happen, just like any other day.
The air is thick with it, an unspoken heaviness, a slow-burning heat that coils around Roxanne like a second skin. Her scent, usually sharp and commanding, has deepened and grown richer and more intoxicating. The pheromones roll off her in waves, saturating the space around her. The crew doesn't need to be told what's coming. They feel it in their bones.
Tents are pitched at a careful distance from the Grand Duke and her wife, granting them privacy. A wooden tub has already been prepared, filled with water warmed by Afrit's reluctant but steady flames, coaxed into cooperation by Vivianne's soft request. Undine's presence lingers in the steam, her magic ensuring the heat remains just right, enough to soothe, but not to scald.
