#swanvowed

The forest opened before him in silver and shadow. Moonlight slipped between the branches, touching the path in pale fragments, and somewhere beyond the dark sweep of trees came the quiet rush of water. There was something unnatural about the stillness here. Not empty — almost watchful. As though every leaf and root knew more than he did and had agreed not to tell him. Then he saw her. Odette stood beside the lake with her back to him, the white fabric of her dress stirring softly in the night breeze. For one impossible moment, she seemed to belong to the water more than the earth. The moon caught in her hair. The swans drifting across the lake turned toward her as if answering a silent summons. Derek stopped at the edge of the clearing. He had spent years learning how a prince was expected to approach every situation and Odette made him forget all of it. “I wondered where you had gone.” His voice seemed too loud in the enchanted quiet. One of the swans lifted its wings before settling again, and Derek almost apologized to it. He stepped closer, though not enough to frighten her. “The ballroom became considerably less interesting after you left.” A faint smile touched his mouth. “Though I suppose that is not a particularly difficult achievement. Half the court has been discussing the same three marriages for an hour.” The teasing came easily but the honesty beneath it did not. His gaze moved briefly toward the lake, where the moon stretched itself across the surface like a road made of light. “This place feels different when you are here,” he said. "I find myself searching for you in each corner." @swanvowed

She has always despised the way goodness made a spectacle of itself. It never entered a room quietly — not truly. Even when it wore silence, even when it dressed itself in pale gowns and frightened eyes, it demanded to be noticed. It turned heads without trying. I t softened voices. It made men lower their swords and women clasp their hands to their hearts. Goodness was never merely goodness. It was performance, influence, accusation. And Odette had always been very good. The ballroom had nearly emptied by the time Odile found her. Candlelight clung to the mirrored walls, multiplying every chandelier until the whole chamber seemed caught inside a jewel. Beyond the tall windows, the lake lay dark beneath the moon, silver-edged and watchful. It was a beautiful view, Odile supposed, if one was sentimental enough to believe beauty meant anything kind. Odette stood near the glass as though she belonged to it. Moonlight, white silk, sorrow. A portrait waiting for some prince to mourn over. Odile smiled. “You look as if someone has died.” Her voice carried easily through the quiet hall, smooth and polished, not quite cruel enough to be called an attack. She stepped forward with unhurried grace, black skirts whispering across the marble. Every movement had been taught to her, sharpened into elegance, made useful. Beauty, her father had told her, was a weapon only fools mistook for ornament. “I suppose, in a way, someone has.” She tilted her head, studying Odette with bright, unreadable eyes. “The girl he imagined. The dream. T he perfect creature waiting faithfully beneath the moon.” A faint laugh left her, softer than silk and twice as cutting. “How exhausting it must be, being loved for suffering so prettily.” @swanvowed