╰┈➤𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ━━ ❝You've always been my little muse.❞
𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛- you're the object of many powerful men desires; from gods to warriors...they all want 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ 🇵🇴🇸🇹-ᴇᴘɪᴄ: ᴛᴍ!ᴀᴜ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙
📖A mythic slow-burn, spiralin...
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: here's a bit of extra scenes/plot to 35 ┃ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧 ; the long awaited pov you all have been waiting for; hope you enjoy a peek into our fav pyscho's mind ❤️
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The sun was still high in the sky as Andreia reclined upon the chaise lounge on her private balcony, teacup balanced daintily between two fingers.
The air held that strange duality only Ithaca could offer this time of year—late season warmth that clung to the daylight hours like a fading lover, while the creeping chill of oncoming night whispered along the edges.
The breeze wasn't biting just yet, but it carried a quiet warning. Still, Andreia remained seated comfortably, her long seafoam robe draped artfully across her legs, the fabric as silky as her expression.
Her balcony faced the palace courtyard, a clever architectural decision that had proved increasingly useful. From her vantage point, she could observe most of the kingdom's daily rhythm without ever setting foot among it.
She took another slow sip of her rosehip tea, eyes lazily scanning the world below.
The servants moved like ants, small and forgettable—scurrying from wing to wing, some bent beneath baskets of fruit, others sloshing water from buckets they barely seemed strong enough to carry.
Her gaze drifted briefly to the training grounds, where several soldiers were sparring, their grunts and the clash of wooden weapons faint against the lull of midafternoon winds.
But it wasn't the servants or the soldiers she focused on when she sat out there.
It was you.
From her elevated perch above the courtyard, Andreia had found the perfect vantage point—not just to enjoy the Ithacan sun, but to watch. To observe. To study.
Lately, she had made a deliberate habit of keeping to herself more often. At least on the surface.
She had taken the queen's polite suggestion of rest to heart, cloaking her moments of silence as grace and reflection. A grieving sister. A dutiful guest. A princess with composure. She wore the role well.
But underneath it all, she was planning. Waiting.
Calculating her next move.
Whenever you flitted about the courtyard below, flanked by servants or brushing shoulders with noblemen, Andreia watched. The way your hair caught the light, the way your skirts moved when you turned too quickly, the way those around you seemed to lighten in your presence.
