The White Sheep's Disguise ✓

Chapter 17

Cloak is already awake and sitting at his desk when I walk into his chambers for another round of counseling. He hardly acknowledges my presence and grips onto a piece of parchment tighter to avoid looking at me or granting me the ability to exist in his realm of thought. At least he isn't face down on his bed, cuddling an empty bottle as he did the day before.

The parchment scattered over the surface of his desk has no organizational value, and I spot the dripping end of a quill pen clutched between two of his meaty fingers. This is a good start, I suppose. Since he's awake and of sound mind, I might get some answers out of him and further the false healing process set in place by the queen of Rivian.

"Good morning," I chide.

He muffles something short of a grunt and squints at the faint words scribbled over the sand-covered surface. Like he's trying to soak into the parchment and disappear entirely. I drop my satchel onto the floor and gather parchment of my own, as well as a similar quill pen to the one he grasps. My movements don't halt his focus in the slightest.

My back strains to stand straight once more. I managed to sleep, but not without tossing and turning on the rough cot and earning myself a stiff back. The crack in the roof of my room was taken care of by a servant once I gathered the courage to ask her for assistance—leading to shoving a clump of daub within the open slit of stone. For the next few hours, my mind was at ease and I gained the much-needed sleep I missed on my first night in the palace.

Cloak scribbles something on the parchment. His handwriting glides over the page with little effort, like a fine prince. I smirk to myself, and for the sake of ignoring me, he doesn't notice.

"We should get started," I try once more. "We have a long day ahead of us—full of questioning and learning about your condition."

Still, he chooses to ignore me. I walk over to the sofa, covered in an array of clothing items, and shove aside a surcoat to sit on the armrest. It's not ideal, but my notes aren't for the eyes of anyone else. They're for me, and me alone, to study late in the evening to decide what the hell I'm supposed to do with a stubborn prince.

So far, the conclusion to this story isn't complete. I have no idea how I'm supposed to get this beast to cooperate with what needs to happen, and there's little motivation if he doesn't care about my life. And his mother is too smart to believe I healed him in a matter of two days, only to have him fall back into a similar routine once I depart back to Gudgeon Docks.

I stare at the back of his head and wait. Cloak is doing everything in his power to believe I'm not here, at his back, waiting for him to swivel in the chair and provide full, undivided attention.

"Cloak," I say. He doesn't turn. I wait a moment, then try again. "Cloak, we need to get started." His shoulder tenses, but that is the only reaction he gives.

He responds well to a rough hand.

Internally, I beat myself down for what I'm about to do. If Setsuko's advice gets me killed, at least I can say I stood up to someone that works closely with the Raven Queen. In my afterlife, I can share stories with my father about what I experienced about the palace, and I have the opportunity to debunk many of the false stories he told over the years. If only he was alive for me to return home and tell him he wasn't right about the tales of royalty.

Cloak doesn't hear me coming, or he decides not to. I round the side of his desk, stopping at his shoulder, and grab the parchment in his grasp. As he doesn't except such a bold move, the silky surface slips through his fingers and folds into mine, fluttering into the air before I fold it behind my back in a shaking clasp.

For a moment, he doesn't move. Cloak's entire body remains perfectly still. Hands aloft, stare straight ahead towards the invisible words behind my back and breathing steady. Then, his lips curl away from his teeth and he pivots, standing from the chair so fast that I hardly have time to react. A deep growl rumbles from the depths of his throat and he towers over me, staring down the bridge of his nose at the woman that possibly made the biggest mistake of her life.