The White Sheep's Disguise ✓

Chapter 55

Instead of leading me straight towards the ceremony, Gustus takes the back route that circles the woods and keeps us hidden from the eyes of the guests. Streaming lights break through the clustered trees, the echoes of drunken voices wafting through to us with hardly any effort at all. I hold up the skirts of my dress to avoid catching the tulle on any unruly weeds, but the prince deposits me in the shadows before anything goes awry. And I'm not the only one here.

Both of the queen's lovers, apparently, cannot show their faces to the public eye. They're looked down upon and shamed as whores for their only use being what they provide to the queen in her bedchamber. Like me, they wait amongst the trees to watch the ceremony. Without the queen at their side, they're livelier. Like breathing, heart-beating individuals.

"Thank you," I say as Mutes takes my hand and guides me over a large boulder that my skirts would otherwise catch on.

He nods. Right, he doesn't speak.

Both Friava and Mutes are dressed handsomely for an occasion they won't attend. The deep neckline of Friava's marine gown dips past her breasts and nearly reaches her navel, exposing a bare, freckled chest. She sways back and forth to the distant instruments-the chime of a flute and gentle strum of a lute. The placid smile on her face doesn't come to life until she acknowledges my presence with a dip of her chin, closing those soulless teal eyes to hide the loneliness there.

Mutes chose a simple doublet. The vertical stripes extend from puffed shoulder to wrist, and the brass buttons clamp against the base of his throat. I never noticed before, but Mutes appears handsome when he isn't around the woman that forced him into this life. He's more like himself, if there is something within him that still possesses a shred of personality.

Unlike most guards or warriors or even the queen's children, he's lanky and thin. Not drastically, the faint muscles against his flat abdomen are easy to pick out amongst the doublet's durable fabric. The rumors about his weakness have spread far and wide to my ears from servants, the royals themselves, and courtiers in the dining hall gossiping about matters they know nothing about. The Queen's Whore-they label him. At least, he's one. Friava doesn't face the brunt of their spews, they blame Mutes for not possessing the courage to stand up for himself. I never understood the concept of targeting one more over the other.

My stomach seizes with awkwardness as I smooth out my dress and stand at Mutes's wordless side. As still as a statue, his walnut-brown eyes, protruding from his oval face, stare out towards the wooden stage. I take a gander myself, studying the lights draping over the elevated platform-empty at the moment. Even if the royal family hasn't presented themselves yet, guards match Mutes's unmoving form and don't bother mingling with the crowd while framing the stage like a wall of impenetrable bodies.

"You look beautiful tonight."

Ice crystallizes in my veins and I place a hand against my chest in shock at the sound of Mutes' voice erupting from his throat. He smiles at me without humor. I steel myself and say, "I thought you couldn't speak."

A grin touches his lips. "My queen is not currently present; I am free to do as I wish." His voice is soft and deep, the sound of someone yielding for no reason other than because it is all they know. "Though Friava may not think the same, my voice needs work now and then."

A burble of laughter ruptures through the trees and a dancing figure, a woman in a wide gown with steeples of wide fabric hanging off her shoulders, flutters past, twirling in the air. Her date follows her, urging her to slow down for she may trip over her skirts and break an ankle. The woman goes on without a care.

Mutes watches them longingly. Thinking back to his compliment, I fluster. "Thank you...for saying what you said," I stutter. My brows push together. "You look nice as well."