The White Sheep's Disguise ✓

Chapter 44

I fall asleep on my cot before thinking of a decent plan to get out of seeing Cloak, as well as anyone else that can hinder Rylan's ability to take another breath. Waking the next morning leaves me with no other options so I alert a servant that I'm ill for the day and won't be reporting to gather a status report from the prince on how these past two weeks have gone.

In my most recent visits, we've shared my first day back over breakfast and he goes over the previous two weeks, the Panjandrum Corps ventures and any quarrels he had with anxiety or a form of unbreakable sadness. More than I'd like to hear on most occasions, but slow progress is better than none.

He'll be pleased to know I won't arrive to ask him more questions than he can answer. Once I get through at least five, he twitches and shifts uncomfortably in his seat for there are always more important matters to tend to than what I have to say or advise. Improvements don't come about naturally in all cases of healing, sometimes others impart them. I wonder if hiding in my room is the best way to save my life with four weeks left, but I refuse to depart until the deep bruise painting a shadow over the left side of my face is gone.

The swelling has diminished plenty through the night and left me with sore skin and an eye that tears up in the moments I least expect it. Nothing a daub of salve can't help. If I had some. Setsuko would be the perfect person to contact for this, but going to her gives everyone the advantage to stare as long as they wish. So I will go about this naturally as mortals do. Only, I heal much quicker.

I spend the first few hours of the morning curled into a corner on my cold cot, stuffing the blankets so deep under my arms that a shred of cold can't slither up the sides and burrow underneath my clothes. My hand shakes while I try to write down questions to ask Cloak in the coming days, anything that comes to mind, and I end up with a full page of meaningless inquiries that'll get to the bottom of whether he plans to tell his mother he has healed.

He wouldn't allow me to die, would he? Not after our constant bickering and my endless prodding turned into an actual friendship.

No one wearing a crown comes in the name of peace, my mother always said. She despised the royals, as any village woman would. They offer no support to their poorest people, we're expected to take care of ourselves and when we don't, they practically ask us to die off. But my mother never gave them that benefit of weakness. Along with simmering hate, she kept us alive for as many years as it took for her to lose her own. At the hands of a former royal, of course. If there was one thing she hated more than royals, it was karma.

My thoughts drift from Cloak's questions and to my parents instead. Both of them. How would they react if they were still alive to see Rylan bring a hand to my face? Surely my mother would've said, "I told you so."

On the other hand, my father wouldn't bother with words. Instead, he'd nock an arrow into his bow and aim high, for the skull, and take out my husband. All the while whistling an off-tune key. I smile to myself at the thought of him turning, kicking up dirt with his heels, and covering Rylan's lifeless face with loose pebbles and dust.

I do not wish for Rylan to die, but my life can't end like this. Shadowed by a constant worry of rage and ownage. Marriage isn't supposed to be about taking hold of someone's life, at least that's not what my mother taught me when I was too young and naïve to comprehend the volume of her words. Looking back, I should've listened to everything she said and soaked up those words like a sponge. She's not here anymore, so I can't possibly apologize, but I can make other parts of my life right by using her life lessons. If I can try to remember all of them.

I rest my head against the stone wall, my eyes suddenly overcome with exhaustion. The wool blanket weighs heavily on my knees, tucked tight against my chest, and the palace is quiet enough for my body to believe night has fallen over the towers once more. I rest the sheet of notes on the side of the cot and fold into myself, shutting my eyes for just a moment—