Rhydian;

Someone nearly walks into me before realising who I am and stumbling back with a rushed apology. I don’t answer him. I just shift the basket of fruits slightly in my grip and keep walking, stepping around a spilt tray of grains as two boys argue over who dropped it.

Gravemaw is loud today.

Not the chaotic or careless type of loudness. The kingdom is just... alive in a way it hasn’t been in a long time.

Everywhere I look, people are moving with purpose.

Women stringing flowers across wooden beams, men hauling barrels toward the central square, and some children running between them—laughing too loudly, getting in the way and being chased off only to return moments later.

The air smells like crushed petals, roasted meat, and something sweet I can’t quite place.

The New Harvest Festival.

The first festival since the attack.

That matters more than anyone is saying out loud.

People don’t prepare to celebrate like this unless they’re trying to prove something. Not necessarily to others, but to themselves. That they’re still here... that what happened didn’t break them. And it didn’t.

But it changed them.

I see it in the way people glance over their shoulders just a bit too often. I see it in how the guards posted around the square are more alert than they should be for a day like this... I see it in the way laughter comes easily, but doesn’t quite settle.

It’s sad the effect war has on people. No matter how strong they are, it always leaves its mark. But today is one of those days we can all pretend like we are not constantly anxious and anticipating the next attack.

I let out a breath and adjust the basket in my hand, and just then, I spot her ahead.

Igma.

She’s by herself in a corner, carving wooden figurines with small chunks of wood and a dagger.

Of course, you’d find doing a man’s task.

Her motions are swift as she works on the piece of wood in her hands, and her expression is calm in a way that would pass for ease to anyone who doesn’t know her well.

But I do. That’s not ’ease’.

That’s control. Igma’s quiet struggle to keep her frustrations and emotions in check.

Her eyes aren’t on the task in front of her, and that scares me. She might slice her finger off with absent-mindedness like that! They’re fixed somewhere else.

I follow her line of sight without turning my head too obviously, and there she is.

’Alana’

Working with the other girls near the far side of the square, sorting herbs into neat bundles, with her movements steady, quiet, almost forgettable.

Almost.

If I didn’t know what I was looking for, I wouldn’t see it, and if Igma didn’t feel what she feels, she wouldn’t either.

But we do. And now it’s impossible to unsee.

There’s a delay in Alana’s responses. The way she constantly gauges her words before speaking or responding to anyone... and the way her gaze flickers, not with awareness, but with calculation.

It’s small... Subtle. But wrong.

And once you see something wrong... You don’t mistake it for anything else.

I walk over to Igma, deliberately blocking her vision as I set my basket of fruits down and pick some of the figurines to look at.

"Are you ready for tonight?" I whisper as I stare at the tiny bears, fruits and flowers she’s carved. She’s... actually good at this.

She stares at me blankly for a few seconds, then she nods.

"Everything will go as planned." She assures me with determination burning bright, and I smile.

Perfect. That’s all I need. I nod once in approval, as I make to stand, but her hand shoot out and grabs my wrist, stopping me.

"Wait." I pause, and when I look back at her, the ease has bled away from her face. Replaced by worry that looks bone deep.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" she whispers, and I lift a brow.

"It’s risky." She adds, and I blink at her.

Her deep blue eyes dance over me in worry, and I let out a breath.

A few nights ago, I explained to her the details of my plan. She knows exactly what we’re doing... and exactly what could go wrong. I know them too, but there’s no way in hell I will let that stop me from seeing this through.

We could just throw Bram in a cell, but without proof, the people will start murmuring. Talking about how we threw a ’sweet’ girl behind bars for nothing. They’d say we’ve only been with Queen Cassia a few days and have influenced her negatively.

I can’t leave room for questions. This has to be done, and it has to be done right. No matter the risks!

"I don’t mind the risks, Igma," I say, and her expression alls a bit.

My gaze moves over my shoulder, just briefly, back to the girl in the distance.

The one wearing a face that doesn’t belong to him.

"I want my revenge," I add in shameless honesty, and I feel Igma’s grip on me loosen.

She studies me for a second, her expression unreadable, like she’s weighing something she already understands.

Then she nods.

"Be careful..." She whispers as her hand slides off mine, and I smile.

I see a small hibiscus flower lying on the floor beside us, and I pick it up. I gently tuck it above her right ear, and she stares at me.

"I promise we’ll find Alana. Just one step at a time... We’ll find her." I promise, and Igma’s gaze drops.

Tears flood her eyes, but she doesn’t let them fall.

I can only imagine what she’s going through. I could die if I someday realised Elian is missing and the one in his place is Bram, for some reason, trying to take over his life.

I give her hand a reassuring squeeze before standing up, and this time, she doesn’t try to stop me again.