╰┈➤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 ch.43 ┃ 𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭; lolo i had to update this part it's criminal not to! kay about to go sleep (*read stay up and binge derry girls*)
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Telemachus didn't realize he was smiling until the cool air of the corridor hit his face.
He exhaled, long and slow, his back resting briefly against the wall outside your room. A shaky breath followed.
His heart was still fluttering—uneven and distracted—and his ears were tinged with warmth. It was almost funny, how rattled he was, how giddy. He looked dazed, not from battle or bloodshed, but from the way your voice had softened when you spoke, the way your fingers had curled at your sides as you flustered yourself into silence.
You'd been the one who'd started it—teasing, flirtatious, sharper than he'd expected—but the second he gave it back, just a little, you were done for. He couldn't help but laugh under his breath, the sound low and light.
Gods, you're ridiculous. Sweet, though. Sweet in a way that crept under his skin and nestled there, snug and stubborn.
And he hoped it never stopped.
He peeled himself away from the wall, running a hand through his hair as he walked toward his chambers, still caught in that quiet haze. He was already imagining what might happen next—if you'd look at him the same way during dinner, if you'd fluster again, if—
"Prince Telemachus!"
The voice snapped the moment like glass.
He turned, startled, and found a servant rushing toward him, panting, his tunic half-untucked and face flushed from exertion.
"Your father and mother—they've summoned you. Both of them. They're in the study."
The soft hum inside him shifted immediately.
He nodded once, sharply. "Understood."
There was no need for further questions, but still—both of them, at this hour? Something was off.
As he followed the servant through the twisting halls, his earlier lightness began to fade, piece by piece.
That sweet, dizzy warmth that had wrapped around him like a second skin began to peel back, replaced by the slow click of instinct setting in. The weight of his station, his name, his blood—it all resurfaced with every step.
