The White Sheep's Disguise ✓

Chapter 15

After hardly sleeping a wink, I slump through empty corridors and past busy-sounding rooms, all the way to Jett's chambers. Same as yesterday, the guards stand as still as statues and regard me as if they are made of stone.

I reach for the door handle but stop short. Though there aren't any sounds from the inside, I wonder if Jett brought back that cranky woman for a second, attempted round at distracting himself for the night. I glance at the side of the fladline's face and he blinks but makes no move to tell me whether my superstitions are right or wrong.

Instead of risking it, I rasp my knuckles on the wood and wait for a response.

Except for a small meal of bread and cheese this morning—brought by a rushing servant—I haven't eaten since arriving at the palace. My stomach remains empty and curdles at the mention of any food, but I will not forget what the queen subtly warned the night before. I must work before the sun rises, and standing in this empty hall of stone bordered by window panes, I notice the sun hasn't shown its bright face over the eastern mountains.

My wardrobe choices are limited. The fitting shirt tucks into my trousers and scratches my neck and wrists with a tight cinch. A pair of shined, cleaned, and never-worn leather boots that reach my knees are the only pride possession in my entire outfit. No one in my family could ever afford a luxury like this, but along with my small amount of food, the servant had thrust the pair into my arms before scurrying back down the hall. Apparently, my room is too far out of the way to be accessible.

After a moment, the fladline guard sighs. "It's possible Your Highness is still sleeping."

I return that sigh with one of my own, followed by a set of tired, slumping shoulders. I'm the cleanest I've ever been in my life and wearing clothes that don't belong to me, but sleeping in Gudgeon Village with thieves and the Void Queen threatening the safety of our practice is easier than the palace's silence.

"Do you give me permission to enter on my power?" I ask, my hand hovering over the handle.

Without a care for the situation, he shrugs. I frown. Either way, my work isn't starting as quickly as the queen would like. So, I take matters into my own hand and push the door open, finding that the fladline guard was only teasing my ability to resolve overwhelming nerves. A blade doesn't stick in my back, and neither of them moves to pound me into the floor.

From where I opened a section of curtains the night before, they're drawn over the windows again. The room is utterly dark, but to my eternal surprise, there's only one lump on the bed. The half-empty bottle is now dry after being sucked down and then dropped onto the floor in a pile of what appears to be his shirt.

I close the door quietly behind me and carefully walk into the room, stepping over those discarded clothes and breakable bottles. Rylan was never a heavy drinker, but the practice of slipping into another state of mind became more frequent once our relationship turned sour. He hated coming home to a cold shoulder, and besides turning to other women for attention, he became a fan of a bottle's contents. Only enough to keep him from screaming at me for not forgiving the past and the present.

There were times when he became too much to handle, and I try to use that experience at this moment. The last thing I want to do is wake Jett with a start, but my options are limited if the queen wants me to start my death task immediately.

Rounding the side of his bed, I study his sleeping face. The hard lines have softened and his mouth squishes to the side from where it's shoved against his mattress. Laying on his stomach, the sheet twists around his lower half and exposes bare feet—also covered in an array of faint scars. How many battles did Jett face to mar his skin so deeply?