Alicia approaches the horse in the ring with confidence. She knows what she's doing, even though she hasn't had the opportunity to bond with a horse in what feels like years. The stallion's coat is an artwork of black and white splotches. He's an energetic thing, regularly running circles in the ring. It doesn't help the horses that it's often too dangerous to take them beyond the walls. Alicia knows this animal is anxious to get out and about. She used to feel the same way when she was stuck in the palace for too long.

"Hey," she says, reaching out a hand and walking closer, but the animal trots back, tossing his head, one of many that have become nervous with Grey Bloods, and people too because of it.

The boy—Viktor—watches, wrapping his small arms around the fence with a deep frown on his face. He lets out a gasp when the horse attempts to skirt past Alicia, but she gets in its way, forcing the animal back again.

"It's alright," she reassures the horse. "I just want to take you out for a little ride." The horse snorts in response, hoof digging into the dirt in a stubborn way that has Alicia shaking her head and smiling.

She moves closer again, finally lifting the rope and swinging it. If the horse doesn't want to do this the easy way, then it needs to learn that Alicia isn't going to relent because of it.

She flings the rope as the horse tries to run past her, the rope hooking around the animal's leg. She tugs as the horse struggles, trying to get the rope off. Alicia holds on, her muscles beginning to burn familiarly, something she missed dearly.

"Come now," she says with a grunt, the stallion giving a fierce pull that nearly drags Alicia off her feet, but she stands firm, moving with the horse for a moment before pulling back. The horse huffs as his hoof is lifted, taking him off balance suddenly.

Sweat trickles down her spine as the horse goes in circles around her, wrapping himself in the rope, but Alicia doesn't give him an inch, gritting her teeth, widening her stance, and hauling again.

The horse stumbles, quickly easing itself to the ground with heaving breaths. Alicia keeps the rope taut for a long moment before slackening it bit by bit, watching the stallion calm itself, realising there's no danger. Alicia approaches carefully, the horse huffing out heavy breaths. She slides her hand along the black and white coat, the horse's ear twitching, eyes moving warily. Alicia reaches for the rope around its hoof, slowly loosening it until she can take it off completely. She drops the rope to the dirt, petting the stallion, murmuring calming words.

Then she grips the horse's mane, easing her leg over its side, giving him a gentle nudge. The stallion rises, and Alicia holds on to keep seated on his back. Once they're standing, Alicia squeezes the horse's sides with her thighs, urging it into a trot.

"Okay, boy," she says to the horse, patting his neck. "You want to go for a ride?" The horse picks up its pace, jogging in circles. "Viktor!" The kid perks up, watching with wide eyes as the horse quickens. "Open the gate." The kid scrambles to do as he's told, unlatching the gate and swinging it open. Alicia tightens her hold on the horse, giving a cry that has the stallion bursting from the ring.

Alicia lets out a laugh as they sprint through the fields of the Commons, people looking up from their work as she rides past. She takes the animal close to the wall, riding along its edge, knowing she doesn't have enough space to ride freely but also knowing this horse needs it. She directs the horse in a broad circle, passing lines of crops, splashing through mud and a shallow river before turning back around.

Alicia can't stop the smile that spreads across her face as the wind tugs at her shirt, and she hugs the animal, her thighs already burning with the effort of riding bare-backed. But she used to live like this, and for a brief moment, she forgets. Forgets what came after her childhood with horses and farms, forgets the person she became during the war, forgets the masks she adorned in the palace to be queen. Alicia forgets about it all, witnessing who she is beneath her masks once again, if only briefly.

Then she nears the section of the wall that makes her stomach tighten. She sees the white slip of parchment before she even truly registers she's riding towards it, her hands beginning to dampen in her leather gloves.

She shouldn't, but she does.

Slipping from the horse's back, Alicia once again approaches that spot in the wall and takes out the paper. She doesn't unfold it before shoving it into her pocket, pulling herself back up onto the horse's back to ride towards the stables to finish her work for the day. All the while the pit in her gut continues to grow.

The note crinkles between her fingers as she walks into Oliver's house later in the night, her work done for the day. A part of Alicia simply wants to burn it and forget it all, keep her head buried in the mud.

As Elena told her before Alicia ruined her own life, she doesn't owe these people any more than she's already given.

But Alicia knows that's a lie to try and comfort herself. After everything she took...

Alicia opens the note in the quiet of her room, expecting to see more encrypted words that make her brain throb. What she reveals leaves her gasping and dropping the note.

Alicia Zalana, future queen of Muovea, I know you.

As her panic tries to choke the breath from her lungs and her hands begin to shake, only one solid thought enters her mind and she clings to it.

Oliver wouldn't have written this. He would have come to her and spoken to her directly. He's the only one she can trust in this place, and now that there's someone out there that knows who she is, Alicia is going to need someone she can trust.

With her heart in her throat, Alicia swipes up the note and leaves her room. Her steps take her to a staircase that curves towards the unknown.

She hasn't explored his house and she never intended to. Oliver is still a riddle to her, knowing things that he shouldn't know, seeing things that he shouldn't see. Something crawls beneath his skin, revealed to her in the way he gutted Jeramiah with no hesitancy, in the way his first intention with the horde was to use it as a weapon. Something crawls under his skin, and it terrifies her because she can almost reason with it, understand it.

Knowing more about him means realising how alike they are; a mercenary who killed for the Ronavics and her, a girl from the slums that did what she needed to.

She draws in a breath and moves up the stairs, reminding herself that she needs to do this. She doesn't mind the idea of greeting the Reaper, but having her life in the palace twisted to be used against her isn't something she'll allow, not with the dangerous secrets she carries.

Everyone breaks eventually and if whoever this person is wants her secrets bad enough, they'll find that out.

She walks down a hall, discovering all the doors closed. Alicia finds the nerve to open one, glancing inside. Stale air embraces her, thick with dust and the white sheets within stand like watchful statues. A crease forms between her brows as she continues on, each room in a similar state, furniture covered, memories smothered.

Just when her feet beg her to turn around, she comes upon a door that's ajar. She pushes into the room.

The air in here isn't musty, smelling faintly of cedar and smoke, reminding her of the worn coat sitting in her room. Curiosity grips her when she sees furniture not covered by sheets. She glances quickly behind her before stepping inside. The large bed is neatly made, covers pulled taut, and it reminds her of how her brothers and pa would make their beds after their training as soldiers.

She glances down at the note in her hand, her name written in a thick scrawl. Oliver may be at the tavern and just as she's about to turn around and go in search of him, her gaze catches on everything else in the room. Pictures line the mantle of the fireplace, tempting her closer and she can't seem to resist their lure.

She picks one up, holding it gently as she studies the grainy, colourless picture within. A group of young kids, the eldest boy holding a toddler in his arms. Alicia can't look past the eyes of the young boy's or the sharp cheekbones and defined lips.

"Oliver," she whispers, sure it's him. Surrounded by two young girls with similar likeness in their striking features, young as they all are. She puts the picture back but is quick to snatch up another, sinking her teeth into her cheek.

This town isn't just another place to Oliver.

The picture beholds an elderly woman, slim and petite, a man at her side in a fine suit with an uncanny resemblance to Oliver. She studies them for a time, knowing these must be his parents and wondering what they would think of the man he is now.

The next picture has Alicia swallowing her breath. Oliver stands smiling broadly, something Alicia hasn't seen. There's a young woman by his side, both of them wear uniforms. The girl wears a pressed dress, a ribbon around her arm that would indicate her role in the war if Alicia could see the colour of it. Her lips are the same as Oliver's, but she's much younger than him. This must be Oliver and one of his sisters during the war.

"Find anything interesting?"

Alicia spins around, gripping the picture to her chest to save it from shattering on the ground. Her heart leaps into her throat as her eyes land on Oliver who leans against the frame of the door, studying her with a shadowed gaze.

"I didn't..." her words fail her, drying in her mouth as he quirks a brow, beckoning her to continue. "The door was unlocked."

"A clear invitation inside?" he asks with a tilt of his head. Alicia perhaps would feel fear crawl through her if a glint of amusement weren't shining in his eyes. "You're always up to something, aren't you, Alicia?" He moves towards her as she continues to struggle for words. An apology should probably be spilling from her lips, but she's not sorry, not really. A part of her revels in the fact that she's found pieces of this man she didn't realise she was desperate for. When he started being a puzzle she needs to crack, she'll never know.

He stops before her and plucks the picture from her grip, studying it briefly before reaching past her to place it back on the mantle.

"What's her name?" she questions, watching him as he turns those sterling eyes back on her, lips pressed together.

"What are you hiding?" he asks instead of answering her, a challenge in his tone. They watch each other, both of them with their backs straight and heads high, daring the other to spill their shadows. But neither budge, content with this silent tug-of-war between them.

"I didn't mean to intrude." She eases past him, breaking free of his heavy presence and to put much needed space between them. She clears her throat, pushes her hair behind her ears, and looks at him, aware that she shouldn't be here and that he certainly doesn't want her in his space.

Not once has he offered for her to explore more of his home, nor has he told her much about this place and what it means to him. Both of them are holding their cards close to their chests.

"I need to talk to you, actually."

"Oh?"

Rubbing the notes in her pocket between her fingertips, Alicia weighs the consequences of her actions like she should have before running up here.

Telling him will drag her into something she doesn't want to be a part of, but the flaw in that is she's already part of it. Her name scribbled on that parchment denies her the anonymity she longs for. The only thing she has left to do is wade further into this mess.

Alicia is dragged from her thoughts by the patter of rain on the window. She looks past Oliver and into the darkened land outside. Lights flicker in windows, shadows move behind the glass, safe from the rain, safe from the dead.

But not from what she has in her hands. Danger has leaked into their walls and she's the only one awake enough to see it.

"I found these," she states, thrusting the notes towards him. She just wants them gone so she can go back to pretending she's as asleep as everyone else around her.

Oliver takes them and flips through them, a crease forming between his dark brows. He gets to the third one and his sterling eyes flick to Alicia's. "Where did you get them?"

"Stashed in the wall, waiting for someone to collect them from outside."

Oliver digs his fingers into his temple and it's then Alicia notices the ring on his left hand, a crest embedded in the silver. "I need a drink," he mutters, moving past Alicia and out into the hall.

Alicia can't disagree with him on that. The nerves that wriggle in her gut need burning away. Trailing after him down the stairs, she watches as he strips off his blazer, revealing his dark blue waistcoat and leather gun holster beneath, his revolver tucked under his arm.

He never goes anywhere without it, he once told her. A man like Oliver Narovich was moulded to fit perfectly into this type of world.

So was the Raven.

"Code like this was used in the war," Oliver is saying as he walks into the sitting room, tossing his blazer over a sofa.

"Can you decipher it?"

"Maybe." Oliver pours himself a glass of amber liquid at the cabinet by the floor to ceiling bookshelves. He glances at Alicia then reaches for a second glass and pours another hearty amount.

"So, someone is feeding information to exiles beyond the Commons. Any ideas who it could be?"

Shaking his head, Oliver approaches her and hands her a glass of whiskey. "The one feeding the information? No. Everyone was exiled for a reason and not everyone has been forthcoming with those reasons. But I have an idea of who they could be feeding information to."

Only one face pops up in Alicia's mind, the one with pale lips curled around a cigar, narrowed eyes glaring down at her, threatening torture. "Warren," she mutters, her grip tightening around her glass.

"Exactly." Sitting in one of the sofa's by the cold hearth, Oliver splays out the notes on the low table before him, sipping at his drink. "Someone saw you take these."

A chill runs down Alicia's spine with those words and she moves to the hearth to light it, knowing fire won't chase away her unease. Someone was watching her and she didn't notice. These days, she's no better than a dull blade.

She sets her glass aside and swipes up the matches. "Whoever it was, I didn't see them."

He picks up a note and holds it up as he shifts to face her. "And who are you, Alicia? What could this person be holding against you to make you come to me for help?"

Alicia's back stiffens even as she tries to focus on lighting the kindling but the match refuses to ignite, like it's laughing at her for her nerves, for how weak she's become compared to how strong she once had to be. Before, she would have brushed his words aside like they were nothing more than lint on her shoulders.

But before what? Before her pa died in her arms, or before Sebastian slipped that ring onto her finger? Or perhaps before even that. When did her armour begin to rust?

"This doesn't just concern me. Those notes were there before I became a target."

"What do they know?"

"Can we not do this right now?" she snaps back, not turning to look at him as yet another match fails to spark in her shaking hands.

"It's going to take me a while to decrypt these, we may as well do this now."

Alicia shakes her head. "You're insufferable."

"Probably, but also curious, especially about you."

Dropping her hands in her lap, giving up on the fire for the moment, she glances over her shoulder at him. "Why?"

"What changed, Alicia?"

"What do you mean?"

"You had this spark in your eye when I first met you. And you were so curious."

"I still am. Why do you think I can't let these letters go?" She waves her hand to the table, hoping maybe he'll return his attention back to those, but her efforts are fruitless.

"What got you exiled?"

Alicia shakes her head, strikes another match and finally gets it alight. She ignites the kindling, refusing to look at him as she lies. "I told you—"

"You told Sam the version of things you knew she'd accept."

Staring at the rising flames, Alicia contemplates how to answer. She's already decided to trust him with the letters and she so desperately wants to tell him something. Her words boil inside her, threatening to burn her from the inside out if she doesn't spill. "I grew up." She picks up the poker and stokes the flames. "My brothers and Pa went to war and it was just me and Ma. I had to grow up, especially after seeing what you and I did in that tomb. The world wasn't split between an easy line of fiction and fact anymore."

He hums. "So, you did what you had to to make it through?"

"I still am," she says with a sigh, glancing at him. "Keeping my secrets is how I survived. You're not going to wrangle them from me."

Oliver sips at his whiskey as he studies her, his thumb swiping across his full lower lip. He's trying to figure her out still, questions shining in his sterling eyes that flicker with the flame's light.

"Perhaps you should focus on deciphering those notes instead of me."

A smile tugs at his lips before he dips his chin and faces away from her. "I suppose you're right," he murmurs, not at all sounding convincing, but he lets silence settle between them and Alicia deigns not to disturb it. Instead she reaches for a book and curls up in the armchair by the fire, comforted by Oliver's presence, no matter how much he frustrates her.