The Princess of Panem | Finnick Odair x oc

XLV

It's been a few weeks since the victory party, and life in the Capitol has settled back into its usual routine of extravagance and manipulation. I've spent most of my days walking through the palace halls, trying to piece together what my grandfather has been scheming. The games may be over, but the real game—his game—never ends. And now, with the announcement of Katniss and Peeta's engagement, I can feel the threads of control tightening all around them.

I knew it the moment I saw them on screen, smiling for the cameras, hand in hand, announcing their love to the world. The Capitol roared with approval, celebrating what they believed to be a beautiful romance born out of the Games. But I knew better.

I wasn't there when my grandfather made it happen, but I could sense his hand in it. His silent manipulation, always lurking just beneath the surface. No doubt he had something to do with this sudden proposal. Why else would they rush into something like this? It wasn't that they didn't love each other. Anyone with eyes could see the way Peeta looked at Katniss, with so much devotion it hurt. But Katniss... Katniss seemed lost, as if she hadn't fully realized what she'd been forced into.

My chest tightens with dread every time I think about it. Whatever threats Snow used to push them into this engagement, I fear they were grave. He wouldn't hesitate to dangle their loved ones over their heads or manipulate them in ways they couldn't fight. It's what he does. It's what he's always done.

And I... I can't stop it.

My reflection in the palace mirror looks as composed as ever—dark blonde hair tumbling in waves, lips painted a soft pink, and not a single sign of the exhaustion that's been gnawing at me for weeks. No one can see the fear beneath the surface, the constant worry that Katniss and Peeta are being forced down a path they're not ready for, a path they can't escape.

Even Finnick knows what's happening. I see it in the way his eyes darken whenever he hears their names. But he doesn't say anything. None of us can. Not openly.

Speaking of Finnick...

My eyes drift to the door. How many nights has he stayed here now? It's become routine—a silent arrangement that neither of us speaks about. He doesn't sleep in my room, of course. I just "book" him like anyone else would, offering him an escape from whatever horrors the Capitol has planned for him. I pay for his services, but nothing happens. We don't talk. We don't touch. He simply stays in one of the palace rooms for the night, away from anyone who might actually take advantage of him.

It's the only way I know how to protect him.

I've watched him walk through these doors more times than I can count, his face always emotionless, his steps heavy with the burden of his situation. He never stays long, just enough time to rest, and then he leaves before the sun rises. It's become something of a ritual—one that neither of us acknowledges out loud.

Tonight, he'll be here again. I know it without needing confirmation. I've already instructed Cecilia to prepare one of the guest rooms. He'll come in, we'll exchange a nod, and he'll disappear into the shadows like a ghost. He never speaks of why he's here, and I never ask. But the silence between us carries the weight of a thousand unspoken words.

I lean against the window, watching the lights of the Capitol glitter beneath me. It's beautiful from up here, but that beauty is hollow, tainted by the games we're all forced to play. Somewhere out there, Katniss and Peeta are preparing for a life neither of them chose. And Finnick... he's trapped in this city, forced into the role of a plaything, even though every bone in his body must be screaming for freedom.

I can't help but wonder how long any of us can keep pretending. How long before it all falls apart?

A soft knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts. Cecilia steps in, her hands clasped neatly in front of her, her eyes cautious.