The White Sheep's Disguise ✓

Chapter 59

Three days have come and gone. I have done everything I possibly can in Cloak's chambers, and I took full advantage of the deliverable meals and clothes from the servants that are still assigned to tend to his rooms when he isn't at the palace. They coddle me like I'm a royal, only without the withering glances and fearful voices. Their confidence springs to life when I open the door to clean towels and fresh sheets for his bed.

Besides the company of the servants, the only person that has come and gone is Gustus. He came searching for me when he discovered my room to be near vacated-all clothes gone and the only thing left behind being the blanket at the bottom of my cot. Cloak has enough blankets in the chest at the bottom of his bed that I don't have to bother with scratchy wool.

Never in my life would I have believed that sleeping in a royal bed would be the highlight of my time at the palace. Certainly interacting with the princes and princesses themselves, even the queen, would sway higher than all the rest. The bed included. But when I curl up underneath the covers, their heavy embrace wrapping around my body like a second skin, I can't help but smile. The silk pillowcases cool the side of my face and the thick duvet wards away winter's chill. I can't help but feel pity for the Panjandrum Corps, bracing against the cold sky as they brave the Void Territory. I should worry about more things than that, but taking Theo's dragon every two weeks, back and forth to the palace, has made me hate flying.

Besides soaking up as much warmth as I can from the blankets and wool sheets, I have gone through each of his books-most of them on Luminary history. With small pastries meant to fit in the palm of my hand and a sweet, syrupy drink, I cozy up next to the roaring fire and flip through the pages of my favorite subject. Cloak studies Luminaries to better understand what he goes up against, but I wish to know the history of those magical beings that came before me.

While most relied on elemental powers to save their lives against Luminary Hunters, there were those that showed no mercy. Most killing abilities have been eradicated in Luminary arsenals due to lack of use, but they were ripe for the taking before the Raven Queen's reign over Rivian. In other lands, it's still possible to find Luminaries with unlimited powers, but those kingdoms and barren territories are too far away for traveling through winter, or any other time of the year.

I read through Cloak's notes on separate parchments that he folded in half and stuffed into the spine. He asks many questions, most that a Luminary could answer. I consider writing some of what he wishes to know in a scribbled handwriting that appears nothing like my own, but that toes the line between wishing to be found out and desiring to remain safe in these final days at the palace.

When I'm not reading or sleeping, I go through his closet and organize the clothes strewn into dresser drawers or stuffed into the armoire towards the back wall. I find sketches of the raven pendant hidden underneath a stack of boots as if he knew I'd come in here and wished to keep it a secret until Claiming's Eve. I haven't taken the necklace off since he gave it to me-and I haven't experienced a Void Queen nightmare since then. Ignoring the coincidence, I return those rough sketches to where they hid originally and close all the open drawers or doors.

His closet is clean, the messy stacks of paper on his desk are organized. Once I'm done with it, his chambers look to belong to a prince. Not a hag that doesn't realize the worth of cleanliness. Taking their chance while the prince is away, the servants dust everything in his chambers and organize the reading nook underneath the windows, a seat I've never seen Cloak use other than to collapse onto and look out the window. Though he has a balcony, he never steps foot outside the large glass doors that open their sharp wings to the back of the courtyard.

I spend most mornings bracing my elbows on the stone railing, looking down upon the stable boys as they complete their morning chores. They walk the horses, shovel hay into the feeders, and carry out wagons full of feces until the stables are clean and not a speck of nightly woes remains. Wrapped in heavy coats, the wind still finds a way to slither underneath and bite at my skin.