The White Sheep's Disguise ✓

Chapter 56

Gustus chooses first. For the sake of Theo glaring at him in the front of the crowd, warning him not to pick anyone that can interfere with their relationship, he chooses a bubbly woman dancing to the nonexistent music and earns a dip of the chin from his husband in silent gratitude. She makes her way to the stage, fanning her cheeks to hide the obvious shock at being chosen.

Visibly cringing, Gustus takes her hand and stands her in front of him, pinning her to a spot by placing his hands on her shoulders. Too much alcohol, not enough attention. The corner of my mouth quirks into a smile, and when I look up at Mutes, I see a similar expression on his silent features. Friava has started picking at pine needles without regard for the celebration in front of her.

Setsuko chooses a young, scared-looking man that huddles behind someone appearing to be his much larger, and very disappointed brother. Greeting him with a cheery smile, she eases him onto the stage and takes his hand, kissing the back of it for ceremony. He blushes, wide eyes ready to pop out of his skull.

The bishop turns to Cloak. "Your choice, prince," he says, sweeping his arm out wide towards the crowd of suspecting guests.

Women hold their breath as he scans over their faces, studying who he might pick. From left to right, the crowd dissipates in his line of sight and he looks towards the trees where Gustus said I would wait. Extending his hand in my direction, palm facing the sky...I suddenly can't move. My feet won't budge. I draw back, wishing to disappear into nothing before vomit presents itself. A warm hand, gentle and reassuring, presses against my back.

People from all walks of life question Cloak's gesture. A few of them laugh at the confusion, but the prince doesn't alter his approach. His hand remains extended towards me, waiting patiently as if he'll stand there all night if that's what it takes. I brace my hand against the arm holding me steady and look up to Mutes's soft face. "It'll be all right," he promises. "Just take his hand and go from there."

Without applying too much force, he gives me a gentle nudge. Practically forcing my feet to move. And once they're going, they don't stop. I glance back at Mutes one last time before breaking through the trees, holding my skirts out of desperation for something to clench tightly in my white-knuckled fists. He gives a terse nod and a reassuring smile.

I can do this, I tell myself.

I break through without thinking of going back. Not giving my anxiety the chance to settle, I bend low to avoid a branch and keep my eyes on Cloak. Someone shouts from the crowd but I ignore the guards rushing towards him, pinning his arms in theirs so he can't take another step forward. They're the same guards that monitor Cloak's chambers.

He continues to shout as my shaking fingers fold into Cloak's hand and he leads me across the stage to stand in front of him. There, I receive a full view of Rylan's struggle. The crowd has split around him, giving four guards ample room to hold him back from the stage. Everyone watches him in the same way they'd monitor a venomous snake, but no one knows precisely why my arrival brandishes him so.

Cloak's hands brush down my arms, gingerly pressing against the fabric of my sheer sleeves. He bends down to whisper in my ear, his cheek pressing into the side of my head. "Everything will be okay."

I can hardly hear him. Rylan continues to fight, and that becomes my sole focus. Lyndel kicks him in the back of the knee and he cries out, huffing in pain. The rest of the guards continue to hold on tight to his arms, stringing them high like puppeteers. He droops his head and glares at Cloak over my shoulder, promising a death sentence whenever this is over.

The bishop doesn't grant my husband another moment of attention. He signals for Aela to pick her claim and she hardly has to look around the crowd before she jams her finger at Chaska and, without a word, orders my best friend onto the stage. Her face brightens, a smile blossoming wide, and I resist the urge to slap my palm against my forehead.