ODESSA'S POV
I sat on the velvet stool in front of my dressing-table mirror, brushing my long black hair slowly, one stroke at a time. The morning light came through the tall windows of the Luna's private sitting room, soft and pale gold. Everything in this room smelled like roses and money. My room. My title. My prison.
Ivy said patience was a blade that cut deepest when no one saw it coming. I was learning to hold that blade very, very still.
A soft knock came at the door.
"Come," I called, not turning around.
Mira, one of the younger kitchen maids, stepped inside and curtsied low. Her hands twisted the apron at her waist. She was new enough to still be afraid of me, which made her perfect.
"Luna Odessa," she whispered. "You… you asked to see me?"
I smiled at her in the mirror, sweet as honey. "Yes, little one. Close the door."
She did, quick and quiet.
