The castle corridors whispered with the sound of their own stillness. Stone walls, pale beneath the torchlight, seemed to breathe faintly, as though the very air waited for something to happen. Zelda could hear her own heartbeat as she walked behind Prince Wayden, each step measured, each breath a trespass. There was something about him something rigid and distant that made her afraid to even swallow.
She did not know why his presence unsettled her. Perhaps it was his silence, or the way his shadow seemed to walk a pace ahead of him. Perhaps it was his question still lingered like a splinter in her mind. Are you always this good at pretending?
Pretending what, though she hardly knew what he meant by it. The thought pricked her temple with a dull ache.
Somewhere ahead, something shattered, sharp, like the cry of glass against stone
A sudden crack split the air. Glass, maybe. Or porcelain.
Another sound followed, louder—something heavy meeting the floor.
Zelda flinched. The corridor swallowed the echo, leaving only her quickened breath. The sound of shattering glass tearing through the quiet. It echoed down the hall like thunder over ice. Another crash followed, louder, angrier and then another, until the corridor seemed to tremble with it.
Wayden's head turned sharply, his expression tightening like a drawn bow. "Stay here," he said lowly, already striding toward the sound. "We'll settle this between us later," His voice was quiet, but it carried command, heavy enough to still her feet where she stood. He had to talk to Zelda about this. Could this be her twin? Why act so clueless? I'll get to the bottom of this.
Zelda froze as he strode toward the noise, his cloak sweeping over the cold floor. His tone wasn't harsh, yet it held a finality that made disobedience feel impossible.
But her pulse would not let her stand still.
She moved after him, drawn forward despite herself. The air grew warmer as she neared the end of the corridor. A soft, golden flicker spilled through a door left ajar—the light trembling, as though frightened by the chaos inside.
The noise had come from Oden's chamber. The door stood half open, the warm light within spilling in a jagged line across the floor.
Zelda stopped just short of the threshold.
Prince Wayden pushed the door wide and stepped inside.
The room was ruin. A table lay overturned, the rug beneath it soaked in dark wine like blood spilled in haste. Papers littered the floor, fluttering in the draught from a broken window. Candles had been knocked down and guttered out, their wax streaking the floor like the aftermath of grief.
Oden stood in the center of it all. His hair was a tangle, his breath uneven. His eyes wide, glassy, and frantic, found his brother's at once. His fingers twitched as though his body itself betrayed him.
Wayden stopped a few paces inside, saying nothing at first. His presence filled the room, quiet yet commanding.
"What happened?" His voice was even, but the stillness beneath it was sharp.
Oden's lips parted. No words came. He only shook his head and pressed his palms to his temples.
"Use your words," y said, firmer now. The command came firm but not cruel. Still, it made Oden flinch. His lips parted soundlessly. His hands rose to his ears, pressing hard, his head shaking as if the world itself roared too loudly inside him.
"I—" Oden's throat worked around the sound. "I can't—" His breathing quickened. He dragged his hands through his hair, eyes wide and glistening. as though the noise of his own thoughts pained him "I can't… can't…"
Wayden's tone remained even, though tension bled into his jaw. "Can't do what?"
Oden's breath shuddered. Then, suddenly, he shouted, "I cannot do this!" His voice cracked through the chamber, raw with fury and despair.
Wayden took a slow breath, his patience wearing thin. "What can you not do?"
"The wedding!" Oden's voice trembled with anguish. "I cannot marry her—I cannot do this!"
The words hung heavy in the air. Zelda's heart lurched.
From her place in the shadows, she pressed a hand to her lips, willing herself not to make a sound. Do this to her. The words struck like arrows.
Wayden's voice fell to a cold whisper. "Lower your voice."
"I care do not care!*" Oden's eyes glistened as he clenched his fists. "You do not understand! I cannot…will not–bind her to me!"
Wayden's voice fell to a cold whisper. "You will lower your voice."
"I can't, Wayden! I can't do this I don't want to!" Oden's words spilled raw. "It's not right!"
Zelda's throat tightened. She could hear every heartbeat in her chest, every thread of her gown whispering against stone.
Oden's breath came ragged. "I won't go through with it…I won't "
"Stop."
The word carried such force that it silenced the room.
But oden only shook his head "You don't understand." He said in a whisper
Zelda's hand slipped from the wall. A single tear threatened to fall, but she brushed it away before it could betray her.
Wayden's calm grew darker, quieter. He took another step closer, the sound of his boots steady against the chaos. "What you cannot do," he said evenly, "*is behave like this so loudly."
For a heartbeat, silence ruled. Even the air felt heavy enough to crush her.
Then Wayden moved closer. "What you will do," he said softly, "is compose yourself before Father hears."
Oden's laugh came out broken. "You always sound so sure. Tell me—does it help? Not feeling a damned thing?"
The words stung, though Wayden's face showed nothing. He turned away, his jaw tight. "Pull yourself together," he said, voice clipped. "I will not clean your mess again."
He started for the door. As he stepped into the light, his eyes met Zelda's. For an instant, they held, his gaze dark and unspoken, hers trembling under it. Then he moved past her without a word, the weight of him trailing like cold air.
Her breath faltered. The scent of spilled wine and extinguished candles filled her lungs.
Oden stood near the fireplace, his hair unkempt, his knuckles white where they gripped the edge of a table. The air smelled faintly of smoke and spilled wine. His reflection trembled in the mirror—a young man who looked like he'd been at war with himself.
"Oden…" she whispered.
He turned, startled. His shoulders slumped as though the strength had left him entirely.
"Zelda. You shouldn't be here." His voice sounded worn, raw at the edges.
"I heard you." Her words trembled as they came. "You said you can't do this to me."
His lips parted, then closed again. His gaze flickered away.
"Why?" Her voice cracked. "Is marrying me so unbearable?"
"Zelda—"
"I thought you wanted this," she interrupted, stepping closer, her body trembling "All those promises, all those letters, was any of it true?"
He dragged a shaking hand across his face. "It's not what you think."
"Then what is it?" Her voice rose. "Tell me what it is, Oden!"
But he said nothing. He only shook his head, his hands trembling at his sides, his eyes full of something she could not name.
She stared at him, waiting for an answer that never came. Her chest felt hollow. The silence between them burned worse than any confession.
At last, she drew in a breath that trembled against her ribs. "Then perhaps I'm the one with cold feet."
She turned before he could speak, her skirts brushing the broken glass as she fled.
Her steps echoed down the corridor, uneven and fast. The torchlight warped around her, gold and shadow blurring with her tears.
She had believed him. Every word, every line he had ever written. She had built her hopes upon those letters, those tender phrases that now felt like a cruel trick.
He didn't love her. He never did.
Gods, the look in his eyes—it was as though the thought of marrying her pained him more than death.
She slowed only when she reached the long hall leading toward the eastern wing. The air there was cooler, the torches fewer.
A woman stood in the dim end of the corridor, half-veiled in shadow. Her gown shimmered faintly, deep green with threads that caught what little light there was. Her frame was slender, her poise too still. And her eyes green, bright as emerald flame, watched Zelda without blinking.
Zelda stopped. The world seemed to narrow around the two of them.
"Who…" she began softly, but the words trailed off when a voice called behind her.
"My lady?"
It was her maid—gentle, familiar—carrying folded linens. Zelda turned, her heart pounding. When she looked back, the woman was gone.
"Did you see someone...never mind," Zelda murmured, shaking her head.
The maid frowned. "Are you well, my lady?"
Zelda hesitated, then sighed. "No… I am not."
They walked together toward a quieter hall. Zelda sank onto a window seat, the moonlight pooling at her feet. The words came unbidden. "He said he cannot marry me. That he cannot do this to me."
The maid's eyes softened. "Prince Oden said such a thing?"
Zelda nodded, tears glimmering at the corners of her lashes.
"His Highness loves you," the maid said gently. "Sometimes love brings more fear than comfort."
Zelda said nothing. Her throat felt too tight to speak.
"Zelda!"
The voice rang bright and careless down the corridor. Lady Mirinda swept toward them, her skirts whispering like silk, her golden hair catching the light.
"There you are! Everyone has been asking after you."
When Zelda did not answer, Mirinda's smile faltered. "What is it? You look stricken."
"Oden said he cannot marry me," Zelda whispered.
Mirinda blinked, then laughed, a light, careless sound. "Men say foolish things when they are frightened. Tomorrow he will be begging your forgiveness, you'll see. Do not trouble yourself over it."
She gave Zelda's arm a reassuring pat and drifted away, humming.
Zelda turned her gaze toward the window. The night stretched vast and black beyond it. The courtyard below shimmered with moonlight—and there, in the middle of the stones, stood the woman.
The same dark gown.
The same stillness.
The same green, gleaming eyes fixed on her.
"She's there," Zelda whispered.
The maid followed her gaze. "Who, my lady?"
But when Zelda looked again, the courtyard was empty.
The maid placed a soft hand on her shoulder. "You should rest. Morning will bring clearer thoughts."
Zelda nodded faintly, but her eyes lingered on the glass, where her reflection stared back at her—pale, hollow, trembling.
Her voice came barely audible.
"What if he does not want to marry me at all?"