The White Sheep's Disguise ✓

Chapter 51

A cold breeze shifts, turning its direction to rush against my face, brushing back the stick straight trusses that appear darker than their caramel resemblance in the sun. I fold my hands together over my knees, attempting to halt the sting of the chill that Rylan's presence brings along, but nothing is harder to change.

We watch each other for a too-long moment, deciding what place the other is in. His troubles seem to have disappeared, and they're replaced with a mismatched sorrow in comparison to a puffed-out chest and strong posture. As if he has completely changed compared to our last meeting, I nearly don't recognize him. I wonder if he thinks the same when he looks at me.

"What do you want?" Chaska barks, making me jump.

Rylan's pale eyes dart between me and her as if trying to decide who he should talk to. Ignoring Chaska would only worsen her rage, and if he wishes to speak to me alone, that most definitely won't happen if he chooses to imagine her as an invisible figure rather than the woman trying to smother me from his eye line.

"I figured Castiel was getting low on his supply," he mutters, choosing wisely by talking directly to Chaska. "So I brought this."

He pulls a glass vile out of his pocket, corked at the top and, on the inside, stained with a light pink liquid. Something about the sight makes the tight spool in my stomach unravel. Perhaps the rarity and price sends my mind into a frenzy and even showing that to the moonlight has disastrous risks. I know the value of what he holds, what he paid to get it, and that thought alone makes such a simple object practically radiate with intimidation.

"I wasn't certain if you were home yet," he goes on.

I attempt to stand, only to have Chaska's elbow push harder against the inside of my knee. Once I give a firm pinch to her underarm, she releases with a hiss through her teeth and rubs at the spot while pinning me with a flaming glare. My knees shake as I descend the steps, but the firm, frozen ground cradles my boots as I stand in front of my husband.

Up close, his face is softer. Like he's remembering what happened that night and what he should've done to change it. How he never should've fallen drunk in the first place or confronted me when he knew his mind wasn't stable enough to handle the answers. I shouldn't have bothered telling him about kissing Cloak. I've hardly thought about it since that night happened and using it as leverage over my husband back at home was the only way I could think to piss him off. Rylan's rage was not entirely his fault.

I must take some blame for myself.

"Thank you," I say, taking the bottle from his pinched fingers.

Down to a level Chaska can't hear, he whispers, "Can I talk to you for a moment? Just the two of us?"

My mind screams at me to say no. The first word that takes hold of my brain and shoves out every other thought is a fast rejection, but I can't possibly understand the regret or guilt Rylan experienced while I was away these past two weeks. Days away without knowing the outcome of his decision, waiting for a dragon to soar over the fish-scented skies and lay waste to him before touching the ground.

I turn on my heel, facing a hunched Chaska sitting on the stoop, watching us carefully. Her mouth quirks to the side, brows drawn in, wide and protruding eyes narrowing. Her nostrils flare like she's more animal than elf. Though there isn't much of a difference. "I'll be inside in a while," I tell her, a silent instruction that she must join the others.

For the first time in her life, she doesn't fight me. Chaska braces her hands against her knees and pushes herself up, involuntarily towering over Rylan as she gives a glare meant to singe hair and struts inside, slamming the door behind her. I catch sight of the prince's hunched figure, his back to the door, streaming out from the light breaking through.