Cassandra couldn’t tell the time, but the warmth of the sun kissed her shoulders, streaming down her back and arm as it stretched over the water’s surface. Her fingers hovered just above the ripples, reaching instinctively, almost as if she could see the pink lily flower floating just beyond her grasp. It must be noon, she thought, tilting her head slightly. Noon meant the men would soon finish their training. It meant they would be moving again.

She lingered for a moment longer, a soft sigh escaped her lips, as if releasing the effort of longing for something so simple—so impossibly out of reach. The crunch of leaves behind her cut through the stillness, sharp and startling. Cassandra flinched, her body tensing like a coiled spring. Her head snapped toward the sound, instinctively turning her covered eyes toward the noise. The silk blindfold pressed against her face felt suffocating in that moment, a cruel reminder of the sight she had taken from herself. Her breath quickened. Agamemnon? The name echoed in her mind, tightening her chest with dread.

She pushed herself off the large rock, her movements hurried and clumsy. Her legs wobbled beneath her, feet struggling to adjust to the uneven ground. She hated how unsteady she felt, hated how her blindness had stripped her of even this small grace. But she didn’t dwell on it. She couldn’t. Her nights were already haunted by the darkness she had condemned herself to.

"Who is it?" she asked softly, her voice trembling, as she reached a tentative hand into the space before her. She took a small, hesitant step forward, the soles of her sandals brushing against loose gravel.

Her fingertips grazed something warm—skin. A face. Cassandra’s hand recoiled instantly as though burned, and she clutched it to her chest. “Your Highness?” she whispered hesitantly, the words laced with fear. The silence that followed felt like a blade against her frayed nerves, each passing second stretching taut, her heart pounding in her ears.