The White Sheep's Disguise ✓

Chapter 47

An unprecedented amount of questions keeps me awake. I stare at the ceiling, using my arm to prop up my head and repeat the thought of Claiming's Eve over in my head. I imagine standing on the stage, Cloak behind me, a crowd of unfamiliar faces waiting for him to sink his teeth in and taste my blood.

Rylan standing at the front of the crowd, oblivious to what is happening until it actually does. I would have to deal with the burden of accepting this for my entire life, not only by disobeying Rylan and practically having another stake his claim, while also tying myself to Cloak in an unofficial ceremony.

This tradition originated out of nothing. Am I truly to believe that an order brought on by Cloak will keep everyone, Rylan included, from ever hurting me again? The queen doesn't involve magic, and she doesn't scratch the surface of oddities beyond the normal tradition brought to light years before her reign began. If I participate in Claiming's Eve, only the beliefs of the spectators and a pendant will keep anyone from touching me in the future.

Cloak is right. Once those bite marks fade, no one will know. There has to be something else, a symbol that keeps others far enough away that I won't have to worry about them going too far for my liking. I shake that thought from my head.

Am I truly beginning to think this through?

I suppose it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. I believe in Claiming's Eve as much as a rebel to Rivian does. No hater of the throne bows down to such a strange tradition surrounded by endless platters of food and dancing until the sun rises the next morning. The turning of the seasons, and the royal family's reminder that they loom over our heads.

Rylan enjoys hearing the tales of Claiming's Eve. He whispers under his breath about the men and women that stood with the royals, binding themselves to a prince, princess, or their queen for life. Eligius can talk about anything and everything for hours on end, but this celebration keeps him going until the moon rises in the sky and no one waits around to hear his thoughts on the matter. Putting my husband and him together; it never ends.

They believe the claiming holds true, and anyone that finds themselves captured into the celebration landed there through fate. It is not the worst theory, but not the best either. If they won't bother reading the origins of the kingdom's most esteemed tradition, I won't waste my time explaining it to them.

Claims mean nothing. No magic. No promise.

Cloak has no association with the claims he made in the past.

Why the hell am I so bent about this?

I throw back the blanket covering my body and sling my arms into a coat. For the middle of the night, the palace isn't as cold as normal, but I rush down the empty corridors, anyway. Lit braziers and torches light the way, as does the moonlight peeking through moving clouds in the sky. It cranes a silver neck, watching as I take the familiar route to a lonely destination.

Feeling foolish, I try to smooth my nightgown, but the wrinkles in which I crushed mar the fabric even further. Along with a soup stain along the breast, I'm not making a strong impression. He won't care. That's the last thing he'll care about.

Cloak's guards aren't at his doors when I tear around the corner, wind kicking at my heels. The stone hallway closes in on me and I skid to a halt, glancing back down the dark hall to ensure no one is following me. Possibly one of the last days I'll fear being followed if I go through with this. The words are ready, on the tip of my tongue, as I raise my shaken knuckles to his door and knock.

To my surprise, someone moves on the inside. I recognize Cloak's heavy steps trudging across the room, the disappointment of having to make conversation at such a late hour. The door pulls open and he squints into the dark, eyes widening when he realizes I'm not a lonely woman, a servant, or a guard that found their way to his room. I suppose he hoped to see the former. 

The darker strands of his hair stick out in odd directions, his shirt crumpled around his abdomen and twisted, trying and failing to cover his broad shoulders completely. The crackle of fire disrupts the quiet hall. 

"Marie, what are you doing here?" he asks blearily. "It's the middle of the night." He rubs at his tired, puffy eyes.

"I'll do it," I blurt, shoving away my excitement.

Cloak is not so easily enthused. His dark eyebrows push close together. "Do what?"

"Claiming's Eve!" I practically shout. "I'll do it."

Clarity slaps across his features and his eyes widen. His face breaks into a beautiful grin. Like the stars themselves break through the stone walls of this empty corridor, Cloak's face brightens. A warm fist closes over my heart.

"Are you certain?"

I nod rapidly. "As long as it means no one will hurt me again, I suppose there is no harm."

This tops the list of grand gestures I made in my life, and there aren't many to name. Most occurred when I was a child and too stupid to realize the volume of my decisions. This claiming belongs to me.

"I knew you wouldn't decide without thinking about it first." Cloak reaches into the space between us, pinching the fabric of my nightgown, and pulls me towards him. I throw my arms around his neck, unable to contain the relief anymore, and breathe in the clean scent of his soap.

Not alcohol, not sweat after hours of training. Clean soap—goat's milk and lemon. His hands dig into my ribs, hugging me tight and bringing me to my toes. It's official. This Claiming's Eve will not be another year spent hiding away, listening to the event rather than attending or being part of it.

And though that threat hangs over my head, the anxiety of it all, I feel comfortable. More than I have in a long time.