PAVATI'S POV
I watched Imara and Nisha from across the dining hall, studying their faces like I was trying to solve a puzzle. Both of them carried themselves differently now that we all knew what the King's ultimatum meant. Their backs were straighter, their smiles more calculated. Everything had become a performance.
Imara finished her breakfast first, dabbing her lips with the linen napkin before standing. She smoothed down her green dress and picked up her small purse. The servants had done something elaborate with her hair, braiding it into coils that made her look older, more sophisticated. That sort of serious work told me they were on a mission.
Nisha followed a few minutes later, her blue silk catching the morning light streaming through the tall windows. She moved with that careful grace she had perfected, each step measured and deliberate.
