The table had long been emptied of its noise, its silver clinks and honeyed laughter. Odessa remained still, her posture composed — though inside, her pulse was a quiet war drum. She didn't look at her siblings. Not as they rose from their seats one by one, nor when they passed her as if she were an empty chair, not a girl of royal blood.
She waited.
Only when the hall had returned to its silence, with just the High King and Queen seated at the far ends of the long table, did she lift her eyes.
She placed her fork down with a soft clink, the sound louder than she intended.
Her gaze found her father. He was looking elsewhere — into thought, into nothing.
"Your Highness," she said, voice careful, almost tremulous. "May I ask you something?"
The king turned his head. Slowly. His gaze landed on her, and she felt something shift in the weight of the room. For once, he looked. She didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until it escaped her in a rush.
He gave a nod — faint, yet it allowed her to continue.
Her fingers curled slightly against the table's edge. "The… Forged Crown."
His hand froze. A small flicker in muscle betrayed it — the way he tightened his hold on the silverware, just slightly, just enough to notice.
A breath passed before the Queen moved — her posture perfect, her voice cold and thin like wind over glass.
"Odessa," she said, "there's nothing about that you should concern yourself with."
"But Mother—"
Her sentence was sliced short by the queen's look — not a glare, not a raised voice, just a stare that turned her mouth to ash.
Odessa lowered her eyes. She nodded, softly, and stood.
"I beg your pardon," she said with as much dignity as she could gather, then left with one final glance toward her father.
He had not moved.
------
The hallways were full of whispers. Not voices — whispers in the marble, in the portraits, in the hanging vines. She didn't stop for any of them.
The palace felt tighter today, like its golden walls were breathing in.
Today, there was no academia. No classes. No expectation to sit in a line and be politely ignored.
She slipped into her chambers, stripped the silks from her skin, and exchanged them for leather: worn, dark, and light enough to move with. A belt slung low around her waist, her sword sheathed at her side. Not decorative — sharp. Real. Unnoticed by most, but not unused.
The window creaked open with a practiced groan. She grinned slightly — it was always just loose enough to allow escape, never enough to draw suspicion.
Like always, she didn't use the front doors. Or the hall. Or the gates guarded by fae warriors with too many questions.
Odessa knew the palace better than it knew her.
---
The forest stood like a waiting mouth beyond the last courtyard wall. It welcomed her in shadows and the soft crunch of dead leaves. It was not the dark that scared her — it was the silence that came with it.
But not today. Today the birds still chirped. The wind still moved. There was something… calming in it. Something ancient.
She walked deeper, until the trees thickened, until the green was heavy and the air dampened, thick with moss and quiet breath. Here, no one followed. No ears, no eyes.
She unsheathed the blade slowly, letting it catch a glint of filtered light.
The first stance came naturally. The second, sharper. Her feet danced between root and rock, and the world narrowed to her rhythm.
She spun, swung, turned again — blade slicing through nothing but air.
But then—
A breeze.
A whisper.
A flicker in the edge of her vision.
She paused, mid-step. Her eyes scanned the trees.
No bird.
No animal.
Just… red.
A bead of it on a nearby leaf.
Odessa blinked. Stepped forward.
It wasn't blood. Not quite.
It shimmered.
A drop of something unnatural.
Like the forest had wept a memory.
---