The White Sheep's Disguise ✓

Chapter 14

Cloak tugs me from one end of the palace to the other. I'm forced to keep up with his quick steps as he won't release such a tight and determined grip around my small hand. The guards watch us, confused, as I jog to match Cloak's long strides.

My every protest is shut down by one comment or the other. Digging my feet into the floor doesn't help, either. Everything I do, underneath the power of my own accord, is not enough to combat Cloak's tenacity. Smiling at everyone we pass in a blur keeps them from believing I'm in a situation that needs saving, but my gentle countenances scream for someone to help.

He leads me through hallway after hallway, giving up his promise to show the palace's bright spots when the Raven Queen has cast a shadow against everything else. The portraits we pass, old vases and hall tables, even certain rooms with laughter echoing from the inside—Cloak pays attention to none of it. As if he's seen it all before and couldn't care less about anything other than what is right in front of him.

I nearly tumble down a flight of stairs if not for him wrapping an arm around my waist and hoisting me into the air to carry me like a sack of potatoes. My cheeks burn red from the embarrassment of being cared to in such a manner, and with such ease, but Cloak is grabbing onto my hand and pulling me along a second later.

The white scars crisscrossing over the back of his hand steals my attention now and then. Sticking out from the sleeves of his white shirt, the marks paint light against an otherwise dull shade of life. When he shifts to pivot around a corner, I catch whiffs of alcohol and the musky stench of the Exole streets. He spent the day in a ruddy tavern, apparently.

After what seems like forever, Cloak stops in front of a set of double doors larger than what signifies his chambers. Instead of the peaceful white and gold accents, this set of doors matches blood's tint. I swallow the lump in my throat.

"Jett Terravale, here to see my mother," he instructs the guard standing to the side.

Jett?

It clicks in my mind that 'Cloak' is simply a nickname given to him in the Panjandrum Corps, handed over by his comrades for constant use of a black cloak to hide his features from those he opposes. How could I have forgotten? I believe I prefer calling him Jett over anything else, especially Cloak for all he's done to rid the land of Luminary prowess.

The guards don't waste a moment. They pull the doors open, allowing Jett to walk inside. Involuntarily, through the tug of his bulky hand, I'm forced in too. I realize quickly where we are. The walls of bookshelves reaching from floor to ceiling, the occasional window shedding in dusted sunlight onto worn rugs spread over the floor—we're standing in the queen's personal library.

"Please, Jett, I'm not supposed to be here," I try once more.

When he doesn't respond, I resort to physical attempts. I grapple for his large fingers and pry them away, one by one, from the back of my hand. But as soon as I've removed one, the other latches on and grips tighter than before. "Millicent!" he screams into the void of books. The dust shudders. "Millicent Terravale!"

"She is the queen," I hiss through clenched teeth while trying to remove his thumb from where it wraps around my own. "You should address her as such, or help us all."

He scoffs and spins, studying the different bookshelves creating a maze around sofas and wooden armchairs. "Please, she may be the queen but she's still Millicent Terravale. I address her how I please; that's none of your business." One more finger, and—Jett pries his hand farther around mine, latching on tighter, and I groan. He's not making this easy. "Millicent Terravale, I demand to see you now!"

One more shout for Millicent and this entire place might come crumbling down. She is his mother, and if the things I've heard about her are true, she'll slit Jett's throat for speaking in such an informal matter. Before I can say that, or at least comment on how foolish the prince is being, silent steps follow a thin figure from around the corner.