The palace felt emptier without Darius.
Odi stood by the tall window in the east wing, her eyes trailing the horizon where the royal carriage had vanished hours ago. The echo of hoof beats still seemed to reverberate in her chest. Darius had said little about where he was going—only that it was urgent, political, and necessary. She hadn't pressed. Not because she wasn't curious, but because a part of her didn't want to admit how much she already missed him.
Now, his absence left her exposed.
The palace had always been cold to her. Even in Darius' presence, whispers followed her like shadows. But without him, the whispers grew teeth.
It started in the kitchens.
She had returned there, perhaps out of habit or guilt, or maybe to find something familiar to ground her. She rolled up her sleeves, dipped her hands in a basin of lukewarm water, and began scrubbing dishes. The rhythm helped her think. But the silence around her was too loud.
"That's her," someone hissed behind her.
