Fiora and I rode in silence, the wheels of the carriage creaking beneath us as we made our way to the place where my supposed corpse had been laid to rest.
They buried me in the criminals' graveyard.
Even before we crossed the threshold of the gates, I caught sight of them—my stepmother and my two half-siblings—standing like mourners, dressed in dark veils and false grief. Rage flared hot in my chest.
I instinctively held Fiora back. "Hide," I whispered, eyes never leaving the figures ahead. "Listen to whatever they're saying."
Fiora nodded quickly, slipping from the carriage like a shadow. She crept toward a weatherworn tombstone and crouched behind it. I remained hidden in the carriage, tension writhing through my body. Outside, Evan stood near the horse, eyes darting between trees and pathways like a hawk on alert.
"Where's Jared?" I asked him in a low voice.
Evan's lips barely moved. "Gone to Vermin Island. The King wants a new Royal Resort built there, and Jared's surveying it."
A Royal Resort? On that forsaken patch of rock? That was… unexpected.
I let the thought fade. My mind shifted to Cion Island—far larger, more fertile, and almost uninhabited except for around forty locals. If I had power, I could transform it. Cultivate it. Rule it.
But I was a ghost now.
I turned my gaze toward Fiora. She was still hidden. Fortunately, the trio hadn't noticed her. My nails dug into my palm.
Heartless. That's what they are.
If I had truly died, they wouldn't have mourned. They would've celebrated. And then buried me here, among criminals and traitors. As public interest waned, they expected my memory to vanish into the dust—forgotten, disgraced, erased.
Then, as if fate were mocking me, two new figures appeared—Sebastian and Xyra.
I froze.
Why were they here?
And since when were they this close?
Fiora didn't move from her place, her eyes focused and ears trained. From where I sat, I saw something that unsettled me—Sebastian's hand rested on Xyra's waist.
A cold pang shot through my chest.
Was it romantic? Were they lovers now? Or was Xyra just another one of Sebastian's fleeting toys?
Time seemed to crawl. I begged the heavens for Fiora to return and tell me what I couldn't bear to guess.
Finally, she slipped back into the carriage, her eyes glassy and rimmed with tears.
"What did you hear?" I asked calmly, though my heart thundered.
"Myra—Rowela's sister—is grieving," Fiora began. "It turns out Rowela took her place in the competition so Myra wouldn't have to suffer under their mother."
But I know the truth. Myra had returned to the competition. No one could take her place now. And poor Gerald… he must be heartbroken, watching her be forced into it again.
"And Xyra?" I asked.
Fiora hesitated. "I saw her cry. For the first time. She begged the two not to leave yet. She seemed… sincere."
So even now, she's acting. Keeping up the performance.
"And the two?" I prompted.
"Sebastian and Xyra," she whispered. "They called themselves Rowela's friends."
Friends?
"When was Sebastian ever my friend?" I muttered bitterly.
Fiora leaned closer, her voice trembling. "There's more. I overheard something. Sebastian told Xyra that he killed Rowela. And… and her brother."
The world fell silent.
"Killed?" I echoed, numb.
"Did her mother and sister hear this?"
"No. He whispered it to Xyra," Fiora said. "I only heard it because I was close. He said… Xyra's brother is lying in the market, like a corpse."
My blood ran cold.
Xyrone.
The bruises. The fear in Xyra's eyes. The way she ran from me.
He hurt her. Or worse.
He had to be stopped.
"Evan," I snapped. "We're going to the marketplace."
"What? Why, miss?" Fiora asked, alarmed.
"I have business to take care of."
Evan glanced back, startled. "That's not allowed. Lord Jared—"
"Do as she says!" Fiora interjected sharply.
Evan let out a groan. "Yes, my lady."
We reached Xyrone's home just as dusk painted the sky in bruised purples. I stepped down quietly. Two burly men stood guard outside the carpentry shop.
"What do you want?" one growled, narrowing his eyes.
Evan shrank behind Fiora, visibly intimidated.
"I'm here to see the carpenter of Zenon," I said, masking my nerves with a smile. "I commissioned a building."
"He's not here," the other snapped. "Said no more clients. We're guarding the place."
"They're hiding something," Fiora whispered.
"I know," I said. "Let's leave."
Just then, a cry floated down from the upstairs window.
"Help!"
Xyrone.
"There's someone upstairs!" I gasped.
"You must be hearing things," one guard muttered.
"I heard it too!" Fiora shouted, stepping forward.
"Fiora, stop. It's too dangerous," I warned.
But her eyes had blazed with fury. She snatched a crowbar from beside the door.
Before I could stop her, she lunged.
The fight was short but brutal. Fiora was a whirlwind of strength, ducking and striking with skill that shocked me. Evan, reluctantly, helped fend off the other guard.
I darted up the stairs.
And there he was.
Xyrone.
Blood crusted the corner of his mouth, his clothes stained with sweat and pain. I rushed to him, undoing the ropes around his wrists.
His eyes fluttered open—and widened.
"You're alive… Rowela."
I couldn't speak. I could only pull him close.
We descended the stairs, where I found an astonishing sight: all three thugs unconscious. Fiora wiped her brow and smiled.
"Told you Jared taught me to fight."
Evan locked the door behind us. We placed Xyrone gently into the carriage.
"Thank you," he whispered, eyes glassy. "Rowela…"
Fiora looked at me, then at him. "He still sees Rowela in you," she murmured sadly.
"Maybe I haven't changed enough," I replied softly.
We took him to a secluded cottage I had built long ago—a hidden refuge.
Fitting, since he was the one who built it for me.
Now it would protect him.
"I'll stay," Evan grunted. "Someone's got to keep him alive."
We nodded, silently grateful.
Back at the palace, Fiora took the reins, her chin lifted with a newfound confidence.
As we arrived, a sharp voice pierced the air.
"Where have you been?!"
Rebecca stormed toward me, her eyes blazing.
"I—I'm sorry," I stammered. "I had urgent matters."
"No excuses, Diana! Training was scheduled this morning. It's already ten!"
"I'm ready. Let's begin."
Rebecca didn't ease up. "You'll rehearse until four. No breaks!"
"But I haven't eaten…"
"There are two days left until the festival. Prioritize your training!"
"I can bring food," Fiora offered gently.
"No! It will slow her down!" Rebecca snapped, grabbing my wrist and dragging me away.
Fiora's eyes filled with concern as I was pulled toward the garden.
There, beneath the punishing sun, I practiced until my legs trembled.
Sweat clung to my skin. My arms ached. My feet throbbed.
"Enough," I gasped. "May I eat now?"
Rebecca glared, but I saw a flicker of guilt in her eyes. She looked away.
"Fine. You get one hour. Be back by 1:30 sharp."
"Thank you."
As I limped back inside, hunger gnawing at my ribs and my heart weighed with secrets, I thought:
I am no longer just Rowela.
I am the ghost they buried.
The shadow they fear.
The woman who will return, not for vengeance—
—but for justice.