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Mehera.

My eyes take in the sight of Yeri's gown, a regal dress that unmistakably signifies royalty—a lineage of queens. The embroidery and insignias are those of someone who has ascended to the highest station. Even the pendant, the pendant on Yeri's forehead is one, once worn by the dowager herself. It is a symbol of favor, a token of honor passed down, from one queen to another. It should be on my forehead. It should be resting in between my eye, not hers!

It hasn’t even been three days since Yeri fooled everyone. Yet, the proximity between her and Ozar does not tarry. They stand close, far too close for mere acquaintances or political allies. The king's gaze, once filled with anger and hatred for Yeri, now holds something else entirely. Where is the fury that once burned in his eyes? Where is the disdain that he had openly shown? Has he forgotten what he saw?

I stare at Yeri. There is a conveying in her eyes, a silent message that cuts deep: as if she were telling me that I stan