𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ᵉ*ᵗᵐ

25 ┃ 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞'𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐡

━ ⭑─⭒━

━ ⭒─⭑━

At the royal table, Telemachus sat stiffly between his mother and Andreia, the rich tapestry of the feast unfolding around him. His plate was mostly untouched, save for a few bites he'd forced himself to take to avoid suspicion.

The air was thick with the mingling scents of roasted meats, spiced wine, and honeyed fruits, but none of it managed to stir his appetite.

To his left, Andreia was in the midst of an animated conversation, her voice melodic but sharp enough to cut through the hum of the gathering. Her hands moved gracefully as she spoke, her words punctuated with occasional laughs that were as polished as the silverware on the table. 

To anyone observing, she might have seemed the picture of charm and grace—a perfect guest, a potential match for Ithaca's prince.

But Telemachus wasn't paying attention to her.

His eyes drifted past the shimmering goblets, past the dazzling decorations that adorned the courtyard, and locked onto the one figure he couldn't seem to tear himself away from.

You.

You were on the dance floor, your laughter ringing out like a bell amidst the music, your blue dress twirling as you moved effortlessly with the rhythm of the song. A group of dancers surrounded you, including Kieran and Callias, their faces flushed with excitement and joy.

But for Telemachus, it was as if the entire scene blurred into the background, leaving only you in sharp focus.

Your smile—so bright, so genuine—was a stark contrast to the carefully crafted expressions of the nobles and guests seated around him. There was no artifice in the way your eyes lit up, no calculated charm in the way you threw your head back in laughter when Kieran spun you around too fast and nearly stumbled.

It was real. You were real.

Andreia's voice broke into his reverie, her words cutting through like an unwelcome breeze. "Prince Telemachus," she said smoothly, leaning slightly toward him. Her tone was light, but the undercurrent of expectation was unmistakable. "What do you think of the decorations? The blending of Ithaca's colors with Bronte's—it's quite striking, isn't it?"

Telemachus blinked, forcing his gaze back to her. He nodded absently, the words barely registering. "Yes, quite," he murmured, his tone devoid of the enthusiasm she likely hoped for.

Andreia tilted her head, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she studied him. "You seem distracted," she observed, a hint of something sharper creeping into her voice. "Is everything alright?"