I never thought a single day could stretch so long.

  I had prepared myself. I knew it would be hard. But as night fell, I was still bound to duty, tethered to the motions of ruling. Telemachus would be asleep by now. I should have been, too.

  I stood in the hall, fingers resting against the door of my chamber. Alone. Everyone had been dismissed. The weight of it settled over me, crushing yet hollow.

  Odysseus would not be there tonight. The absence was deafening.

  I had to be strong. This could be my life for the next year. If I faltered now—if they saw me break—it would spread through the court like blood in water.

  I exhaled, steadying myself. Strength. Control. Composure. Those were my weapons. The only ones I had left.

  I opened the door, locking it behind me. The room felt colder, despite the lingering traces of our life together. Our bed, carved by his hands, loomed at the center, an altar to what was missing.

  Then, the pain struck.

  It came in a crashing wave, shoving me to my knees. A hollow, tearing ache clawed at my chest. I had endured his absence before—but this time was different. The emptiness gnawed at my ribs, a phantom limb torn from me.

  My fingers found my crown, cool and unyielding. It had always been a symbol of strength. Of duty. Of everything I was meant to be.

  Now, it was a shackle.

  In one sharp motion, I tore it from my head. For a fleeting moment, I wanted to throw it, to cast it away like the burden it was. But I couldn’t. Instead, I clutched it in my trembling hands, staring at the intricate filigree, the moonstones, the glinting sapphire—so cold against the fire raging inside me.

  How had something that once made me feel powerful become the very thing suffocating me?

  A sob tore from my throat. I couldn't hold it in any longer.

  I yanked at my braids, ripping them loose. Strands of silver fell over my shoulders, wild and untamed. My nails raked against my scalp, but it wasn’t enough. I needed something—anything—to quiet the storm inside me.

  The silence was too loud. The walls too close. I needed to breathe. I needed to feel.

  I grabbed at my gown, the fine fabric clinging to my skin. It became unbearable. I clawed at the ties, tearing it down the front, the fabric splitting with a violent rip. The cold air kissed my skin, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was.

  I pressed my hands against the stone floor, grounding myself in its biting chill. My breath came in gasps, ragged and broken. Still, the pain would not leave me.

  I was drowning in it.

  I forced myself up, staggering, my body shaking with the weight of everything I had been holding back. My eyes caught the mirror across the room.

  A stranger stared back.

  The face was mine, but the eyes—empty. A hollowness I didn’t recognize.

  I reached for the mirror, gripping it with trembling hands. Who was I without him? The thought twisted inside me, coiling around my throat.

  The mirror fell. Glass shattered against the floor, splintering in every direction.

  I crumpled. My hands found the ruined fabric of my gown, clutching it as if I could piece myself back together through sheer will alone.

  But I wasn’t strong enough.

  I pressed my forehead to the cold stone. "Why does it hurt this much?" My voice was barely a whisper.

  Less than a day. He had been gone for less than a day, and already, I felt as if I had been cast into an eternity of solitude.

  I twisted my fingers in the shredded silk of my gown. My nails dug into my skin, red crescents blooming on my arms. My body ached with the need for release, for escape. But there was none.

  Then, Telemachus' face flickered in my mind.

  His wide eyes. His small hands reaching for me. The way he had smiled, oblivious to the weight his mother carried.

  I couldn’t break.

  My breath came in shallow gasps, the sobs slowing, though my body still trembled from the force of them. I blinked, loose strands of black and blonde hair falling into my eyes, distorting my vision.

  I had no choice but to stand.

  The court would be watching. Waiting. There were those who wanted me to falter, to fail, to crumble under the weight of Ithaca’s throne.

  I would not give them the satisfaction.

  I lifted my chin, though my body still shook. My fingers curled into fists, nails biting into my palms. My voice, hoarse and raw, broke the silence.

  “I need allies,” I whispered to the ravaged chamber around me.

  I turned toward the broken mirror, toward my own fractured reflection.

  “I need people I can trust. For my son. No—for our son.”

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  I took a shaky step, then another, my feet finding purpose even as my heart still wavered. The night air called to me, crisp and clear. I moved toward the balcony doors, pushing them open and stepping into the cold embrace of the wind.

  The chill was refreshing. It allowed my head to clear, sweeping the emotional burden away. The moon was full tonight, bathing the world in silver light. A sad smile crossed my face.

  “Thank you, Artemis,” I murmured, nodding toward the sky. The Goddess of the hunt and the moon—perhaps she had steadied me when I needed it most.

  A melody drifted into my mind, soft and familiar, a lullaby woven from the threads of my memories. Before I could stop myself, I hummed the tune, the words spilling from my lips like a prayer to the night.

  “Hush, my child, let night be kind,

  The winds still whisper, the stars still shine.

  The waves may steal, the gods may scheme,

  But love still binds us, strong, unseen.

  Sleep, my love, while war drums call,

  But no dark blade shall let him fall.

  My whispered prayers on the salt winds ride,

  To shield his heart, to turn the tide.

  If fate be cruel, if threads should fray,

  If his name is lost to crueler days,

  Then stone shall weep and iron shall rust,

  But I shall rise, my blade in dust.

  Golden boy with eyes so wide,

  Your hands unbloodied, heart untied.

  So let the world be fierce and grim,

  I’ll bear its weight—you stay the wind.

  Hush, my child, though time turns slow,

  And hollow halls drink candle’s glow.

  If shadows creep, if oaths should break,

  Then let the gods my vengeance wake.

  For if his ship to ruin fades,

  If silent lies the warrior’s blade,

  Then silent will these halls remain,

  Til wailing ghosts cry out my name.”

  By the time the last note faded, I found myself inside again, the balcony doors locked behind me. Somehow, I had ended up in bed, on my side—the place that once held him cold and untouched.

  And in that space, I finally fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  I woke with the dawn, as I always did. Still half-asleep, my hand reached instinctively to where Odysseus should have been, only to find the bed cold and untouched. For a moment, a flicker of confusion passed through me, but it didn’t last long.

  I sat up slowly, allowing my mind to catch up with the reality I had already accepted. “Right,” I muttered under my breath, staring out the balcony door. “He’s on his way to Troy. How could sleep make me forget?”

  I stretched, feeling the weight of the world settle over me once more. My muscles ached from the emotional turmoil of the night before, but I was no stranger to pushing through the exhaustion.

  “Rest is for those with nothing to lose.”

  I stood, the weight of the night still heavy on my limbs. My steps were slow, deliberate, as if the very act of moving might summon some hidden strength. The chaos I had left behind lingered in the corners of the room, but I could not afford to acknowledge it now. Not while duty awaited. My hand hovered over the door, but I hesitated, feeling the sharp bite of the cold air that awaited me on the other side. It wasn’t weakness that held me back—it was the unbearable weight of everything I had yet to face.

  I had to trust no one. Not even the servants who had been with me since I first set foot on Ithaca. My thoughts lingered on Anticlea. She had her faults, but I knew she would understand my need for caution. She was always good with subtlety, and perhaps she could help guide me, even if just a little.

  But I needed someone young, strong, and—most importantly—trustworthy to protect my family. Someone who could see through the webs of court politics and discern who would be loyal, and who would use this war to further their own ambitions.

  With steady hands, I sat down at the desk and began to write. My letter to Sparta was short and to the point. I detailed my suspicions now that Odysseus was off to war. I couldn’t afford to waste time, so I used a coded message, a language I’d perfected during my studies, to ensure that no one else could decipher it. It would be months before I heard a response, but I was patient.

  Just as I sealed the letter, the door creaked open. The noise startled me, and I quickly set the letter aside. It would be a few months before I got a response, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t act now. I needed to gather information, to learn which nobles could pose a threat if the war stretched on longer than expected. I would play the part of the docile queen for now, but the pieces of the game were already in motion.

  “My Lady, it’s time to get you ready for the day,” a young woman’s voice called from the doorway.

  I hadn’t turned around, but I could feel her eyes on me, assessing the damage I’d done last night. I knew what they must have thought, the silent questions swirling behind their politeness. Was I sane? Was I broken? They had no idea how little that mattered now.

  I smiled inwardly. If they only knew how much the nobility should fear me, should I truly crack.

  I stood, my slip still torn, and I caught a glimpse of the red marks on my arms—evidence of the strength I had exerted to keep myself from breaking. The pain was a reminder, but it didn’t cripple me. It hardened me.

  “Ladies,” I said, my voice steady, betraying nothing of the inner storm. “Let’s keep today’s wardrobe simple. And when you’re finished, I need you to find Quin. I need to know today’s schedule.”

  I could see the hesitation in their eyes, their silent questions. But I had no time for hesitation. Not now. There was too much at stake.

  And with that, the ladies, were giving my hair a single braid, that dressed my head like a crown, and my attire was a simple gown of muted, pale olive color without embellishments. It was light, and breathable, and should hopefully make today more manageable than yesterday. The dress sleeves only covered my shoulders, and my neckline was modest as well.

  Should I consider changing up my wardrobe to make my duties more manageable? I considered mentally, as I watched myself change from an insane woman, to that of Queen. The ladies, tied on my gold belt around my waste, just a another came. I normally wore dresses for all my duties, but that was when everything was split evenly between Odysseus and I. But maybe I should consider dresses for events only, and have someone design something more appropriate.

  “Your Majesty, It’s Quinn,” an older gentlemans’ voice carried through the door. I know Odysseus trusted him. I just hoped Quinn had faith in me.

  “You may enter,” I regally responded, as I placed my feet into some simple sandals, and a set of simple ruby earrings were placed in my ears.

  Quinn’s footsteps were a quiet intrusion in the otherwise tense silence. I didn’t turn to face him immediately, but felt his presence fill the room—too familiar, too sudden. His figure lingered in the doorway, his shadow casting long across the floor, waiting for me to acknowledge him.

  “Your Highness,” he said, his voice steady but layered with something unreadable—perhaps concern, perhaps curiosity. His eyes flicked over the room, taking in the disarray—the shattered mirror, the gown strewn on the floor, the weight of the grief I’d left unspoken.

  I finally met his gaze, forcing the remnants of my composure into place. “I’m fine,” I replied, my voice more clipped than I intended. Was it a lie? Or was I merely trying to convince myself?