Something cool pressed against her forehead, chasing the pounding pain from her skull. It lingered—merciful and fleeting—before fading. She stirred, chasing that touch, desperate to pull it back before the rushing in her ears swallowed everything.

Mom?

Her skin still tingled—not the searing sting from before, but not the vibrant hum either. Just numbness. A dull buzz beneath the surface, like her body had been left too close to a fire.

She drew in a breath. Too fast. The air was sharp and thick with salt, ripping down her dry throat like glass. It hit her lungs hard, drowning her in brine.

She choked, gasping as her eyes flew open. A jolt ran through her. She sat up with a cry, ignoring the stiffness in her limbs.

“Oh my Gods!”

A voice rang out through the din, blurred by the storm still roaring in her ears.

A hand touched her back, steadying her as she coughed and sputtered. The air still burned, but the salt clung more gently. It wet and strange, but bearable.

"Ma'am, are you okay?" The voice came close, fretting by her ear as the hand on her back briefly pulled away.

She blinked, slowly taking in her surroundings. She wasn’t in the carriage anymore. And she definitely wasn't back home. Above her, the sky stretched wide—clear, blue, impossibly bright. And there were voices. Too many. Far more than the small group she had been traveling with. The noise around her buzzed with activity. Shouting, talking, footsteps. Life.

People.

"Easy now." The hand returned, gently pressing between her shoulder blades. "Just breathe. Slowly."

She turned toward the voice and nearly jolted away. The man beside her wasn’t anyone she recognized. He looked to be in his forties, his face worn but calm. There were only a handful of older guards in the group, and he wasn't one of them. She was sure of it.

"Thank the Gods!" A familiar voice cut through the noise.

Artur. The only voice she had come to know.

He rushed toward her, flanked by several guards, his brow creased with worry.

She glanced down and finally noticed she was lying on one of the open supply carts. A blanket had been spread beneath her like an impromptu bed.

"Lady Scarlett! Are you alright?" Artur reached the edge of the cart, panting slightly. The others came to a stumbling stop behind him, eyes wide as they looked at her.

She blinked, still stunned. Her gaze swept the unfamiliar surroundings, brow slowly knitting together.

Where am I?

Her eyes landed on Artur again—his worried expression echoed by the fretting men behind him. He looked like a sad puppy, hovering helplessly.

She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could form a word—

"Drink this." A cup was shoved under her nose.

She jerked back, coughing as the scent of something herbal hit her throat. She shot the man a scowl.

"I'd do whatever he asks," a voice drawled, low and too close.

She flinched, almost knocking the cup from the man’s hands. Twisting around, she found the chancellor looming just behind her. That damn smile was still plastered across his face, but it wavered, as if something was tugging at its edges. His coat was rumpled, his hair slightly out of place. He looked… almost human.

Where did he come from? How does he keep doing that?

She coughed, trying to speak, but her voice caught in her raw throat.

“I’d take whatever the doctor gives you, Miss Dominique,” the chancellor said, taking the cup from the older man and offering it to her himself.

She took it cautiously, sipping slowly as the liquid soothed the burn in her throat. “Doctor?” She croaked.

The older man gave a polite, slightly sheepish smile. “Apologies for the abrupt meeting, miss. I'm Huget—the ship's doctor.”

“Ship?” she echoed, blinking. Her gaze slowly lifted.

If she’d been standing, she would’ve stumbled back. The salty air, the bustle of voices—it all clicked. They were at a port. And the towering figure of a ship loomed just beyond them.

“I—what—how…?” Her eyes scanned the surroundings, disoriented.

Artur stepped forward, gripping the edge of the cart. “You had a terrible fever. Right after we came through the waygate, you collapsed. You were burning up.”

She touched her forehead instinctively. It still felt warm—maybe from lingering fever, maybe just panic. “Ah… my apologies,” she mumbled, still foggy.

“Sorry?” Artur's voice cracked with disbelief, his eyes wide and almost wounded. “You're the one who passed out. Why are you apologizing?”

A flush crept across her cheeks. Fever, she told herself. Definitely the fever. “I don’t know… I just hope I didn't cause any trouble.”

The chancellor flipped open his pocket watch, glanced at it, then snapped it shut with a click. “Luckily for you, loading supplies takes time anyway. And—" His eyes slid to the doctor—“someone wouldn’t let you on the ship until you were awake.”

Huget crossed his arms, unamused. “I’m not hauling a potentially fevered patient onto a boat without knowing she won’t keel over mid-journey.”

“Well, lucky for you—she’s fine.” The chancellor grinned and tapped a finger lightly against the doctor’s nose.

Scarlett just stared at them, blinking. He’s completely insane. I’ve been kidnapped by a madman.

Without waiting for further comment, he turned on his heel and walked off, humming to himself and checking his watch again as if nothing had happened.

She let out a long breath and rubbed her face. Her head still felt fuzzy. 

Am I going to die out here?

“Miss Scarlett?” A small voice piped up.

“Miss Scarlett!” Via and Olive broke past the guards and dashed toward her.

They reached the edge of the cart, eyes wide with worry. Via started climbing up, and Olive helped her with a push.

"Oh my goodness—" Scarlett leaned back instinctively as Via barreled into her, wrapping her in a surprisingly forceful hug.

Olive climbed up after her, quieter, choosing to sit nearby instead. He didn’t hug her like his sister—just watched with a wary, guarded expression far too serious for someone his age.

Via clung to her. No amount of gentle prying seemed to work.

"My goodness… what on earth is the matter?" She patted the girl’s hair awkwardly.

“The fever—and the falling—and the everything—” Via mumbled into her dress, voice muffled but clearly distraught.

Scarlett held her arms out awkwardly, helpless. She glanced at Olive, silently pleading for backup. but he didn’t move. He just kept staring, brow furrowed, lips pressed in a tight line.

“Alright, alright… calm down.” She finally managed to ease Via off her, holding the girl at arm’s length. “See? I’m okay. Breathing. Talking. Okay.”

“You are not okay!” Via shouted, startling Scarlett with the sheer volume. “You fainted! Okay people don’t faint!” She glared up at her, riverstone eyes full of fire.

She wasn’t sure what to do. Via’s fierce little stare had frozen her in place. She blinked, too stunned to react as the girl reached up and pressed a hand to her forehead.

After a moment, she pulled back with a dramatic sigh, cheeks puffed in a pout. “It’s better,” she announced. “But that doesn’t mean you’re okay.”

Scarlett managed a gentle smile and placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. “I’m sorry if I scared you, Via. I promise, I feel just fine now.”

That’s a lie, she thought. I feel like I’ve been trampled.

“Are you sure?” a voice chimed in—one of the guards stepping around Artur to get a closer look.

“Yeah,” said another, squeezing in beside him. “The kid’s right. People don’t just drop like that for no reason.”

She blinked, startled by the rush of concern. An awkward smile tugged at her lips as she leaned back a bit, overwhelmed by the attention.

“Really. I appreciate it, all of you—but I’m okay. Just a bit of travel fatigue, that’s all.”

There was a quick patter of feet, then a soft thud against the side of the cart. Evelyn gripped the edge, staring up at Scarlett with wide, glassy eyes. Her hair clung to her face in messy strands, cheeks flushed.

“Evelyn?” Scarlett leaned forward. “Are you alright, dear?”

The girl didn’t answer—just breathed in short, shallow gasps, then jabbed a finger at Scarlett’s head, tapping insistently.

“My head?” Scarlett echoed, reaching up to touch her temple. “Oh.” She gave a small laugh. “I’m okay. It was just a fever.”

Evelyn didn’t look convinced. Her brow scrunched into a deep frown—almost identical to Via’s. The two of them looked like little twin statues of disapproval, glaring up at her with matching scowls.

Scarlett sighed, shifting over. “Alright, alright. Come here.” She scooted Via aside and patted the blanket next to her. “Climb up.”

Evelyn eyed the spot warily, her tiny fingers clutching the edge of the cart. After a moment’s hesitation, she hauled herself up and flopped down beside Olive, arms crossed like she'd been forced into it.

“Miss Scarlett?” Via leaned back slightly, glancing down. “What’s that?” She pointed at something sticking out of Scarlett’s pocket.

She followed her gaze and her heart gave a sharp jolt.

“Oh…”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the small cloth bag. The contents shifted softly in her palm.

Mr. Covet…

She had completely forgotten. The cookies he’d given her. A quiet ache tightened in her chest.

“What is it?” Via asked, leaning over with wide eyes as Scarlett opened the pouch.

“They’re cookies,” she said, her voice softer now. “A friend made them for me.” She looked down at the broken pieces nestled in the bag. “I really hope I didn’t crush them too much.”

She spread the cloth open in her lap. The cookies were cracked but mostly intact—probably stale, but still whole enough to recognize the care behind them.

“Cookies?” Via inspected the piece Scarlett handed her like she wasn't sure what to make of it.

Artur leaned over the edge of the cart and chuckled. “Not just any cookies! Is that roka?”

“Roka?” Scarlett blinked at the pouch. She hadn’t known the name, just that they were her favorite.

“Yeah. It’s a Moshtainian biscuit. Made with sweet almonds and brown butter. They’re kind of a big deal.”

Scarlett rifled through the bag, pulling out a crumbling piece. “Would you like some?”

Artur waved his hands, flustered. “Oh—no, no. I couldn’t.”

“I insist.” Her eyes lit up, just a little. “Mr. Covet would be overjoyed to know someone from Moshtain appreciated his baking.” She held the cookie toward him, unwavering. “Come on, it’s not poisoned.”

He hesitated, then laughed and took it gingerly. “Well… if you insist.”

“It would be rude not to.” She clicked her tongue at him before breaking a cookie in half for both Olive and Evelyn. “They’re probably a little stale, though. I should’ve eaten these ages ago.”

“No, they’re lovely,” Artur said, brushing crumbs from his hands. He chewed slowly, smiling. “Just like I remember.”

She noticed the other guards watching, curious but cautious. She lifted a piece of cookie toward the one standing closest to the cart.

“Would you like one?”

The guard stepped back quickly. “Oh—no, I wouldn’t want to impose.”

She gave an exaggerated sigh and waved her hand dramatically. “You can’t expect me to eat all of these myself, can you? That would be such a shame.” She patted Via’s head as the girl nibbled contentedly. “Too many sweets will only make the children sick. Besides, I'm still feeling a little under the weather.”

Her voice softened into something pitiful and sweet. “I’d hate for them to go to waste…”

The guards exchanged awkward glances.

“Well… I guess one couldn’t hurt,” a younger one offered, raising his hand.

“If she’s offering…” another muttered, edging forward.

She bit back a grin. That was easier than expected.

She didn’t love manipulating them—but if acting a little helpless kept her on everyone’s good side, she’d play the part. For as long as she needed to.

As she handed out more pieces of roka, something gold caught her eye across the way.

The chancellor.

He was watching her—eyes narrowed, calculating. Even at this distance, she could tell he knew exactly what she was doing. She could almost hear his voice in her head, smug and singsong.

I see you, little actress. I know what you're doing.

Then he smiled. A wide, wolfish grin that curled too high and too sharp.

Her pulse skipped. In her mind, his voice shifted, more amused.

Well played.

A chill crept over her skin, freezing her fingertips. She tried to shake it off, but the look he gave her still burned behind her eyes.

What was he playing at?

What’s your deal?