I plop down onto the side of Cloak's bed, hands and feet numb from the cold. On the walk back to the palace, a brisk wind picked up, swirling frozen snow and ice against my face. My nose burned, my eyes watered, and I can hardly feel my toes within my boots. I wiggle them as close as I can get to the fire while staying on Cloak's feather mattress, but being across the room doesn't help matters.

Shoved to his side of the bed, his ankles crossed together and his chin dipped low, Cloak slouches against his pillows with a book in his lap. I crane my neck towards the cover, examining the faint title in ancient penmanship. I have read that book before. The leather-bound edition with golden casing details the beginnings of Luminary abilities, what the 'gifted' undergo when the magic is first placed inside their body. What abilities they receive, and what can't possibly occur.

A dry lump pushes its way into my throat. Void of all words, I reach over and snatch the book from his grasp, closing it quickly. He freezes, staring at that space where the book once was, then he slowly drifts his heavy-lidded eyes towards me. Even late at night, when sleep tugs at him, he wishes to avoid it in any way he can.

"You are quite fond of snatching things, aren't you?" he asks blearily.

When the truth of my identity is on the line, yes. Nothing in this book states that a Luminary can only receive healing abilities when they're converted. All or nothing. The Void Queen's power isn't split into parts, rather one full, spiraling, lightning-bearing ball of abilities that attacks at once. I'm glad Cloak, and everyone else, hasn't done their research on grazing the angelic touch of Luminary gifts.

I prop myself onto my elbows. "We have other matters to discuss than what you can read in this book," I counter.

Cloak groans when I pull a leather journal out of my satchel. Half the pages are crinkled with information, the ink having soaked up what remained of the parchment's untouched moistness. The pages towards the back of the journal are clean, but will soon turn to waves and mountains of letters and words, crammed together to fit all of Cloak's progress. On each page, his name sticks out stark against the rest of those meaningless words that I look back on when I have nothing else to do.

Like through a painting, those words convey his progress. Reports become longer; pages more crammed with words that he speaks. I don't have to speculate anymore. Questions of my own turn to answers from him.

"Must we do this now?" he whines. "We just spoke about this."

"I want to talk about it again. You must share with me what happened when you were captured."

Cloak frowns at me for a moment too long, probably seeing if I'll break underneath his stare. But something else lingers in his eye, the droop of his frown isn't completely out of rage for having to speak. Sorrow, need—my mind tells me that is what he hides, but I can't be entirely certain.

The world comes back to him when he blinks rapidly to clear the fog in his head. "Fine, if we're going to talk about this, I must drink."

I roll my eyes. At least he plans to speak.

Cloak slides off the edge of his bed, bare feet thumping onto the floor of his chambers. He takes the two steps that lead down to the rest of his chambers with ease, and stops at his desk, popping the cork off a half-filled bottle of spirits. The wood desk groans when he leans against it, applying all his weight to the top, and tips back the glass bottle without bothering to find a chalice or cup.

I watch his throat bob. His free hand tightens on the side of the desk and his knuckles fade to white from how deep he wishes to dig his nails into the wood. When he tips his head back down, I find it's not Cloak I look at anymore. At least, not the prince that had just walked across the room to gather himself a drink. The man I look at maintains a hollow stare, a deep frown, and a clenched jaw. I almost wish I didn't ask for him to relive this information. He has traveled backward in time to remember every little detail, every shard of pain and fear that they'd take what didn't belong to them.

Still, I turn onto my stomach, crossing my ankles together in the air, and hover a quill pen loaded with ink over a clean page. Like everything else about Cloak's past, I want to remember every little detail for later.

"That night was the worst night of my life," Cloak says to the floorboards. "I should've known the woman coaxing me into the trees was the same one that would try to get me killed."

"Why did you follow her?" I inquire.

He shrugs, still wishing to stare anywhere other than me. "Those were the beginnings of my...lonely days. I was beginning to realize that, although I had a knack for killing, I was tired of watching life leave the eyes of those I opposed—whether friend or foe. Those transitioning days at the border were the hardest I experienced because I didn't know what I wanted. But the one sure thing I had was knowing I wished for company. For someone to understand what I was going through."

I jot that down with a quick swipe of my quill pen. "You thought she would solve all your problems."

Cloak tips the bottle back and takes another large swig. Beyond the drawn curtains and glass windowpanes, snow drifts down from those dark clouds. Theo was right. We weren't expecting a storm until the sun set and the only light visible across the expanse is the twinkling glow of candles and torches from the capital. White flakes build up against the metal borders of Cloak's windows and pry open their eyes, wishing to see the prince within.

As if sensing my thoughts, he turns his head towards the window, exposing the side of his face to me. The cheek untouched by scars except for a small slice through his brow. If one didn't see the other side, they'd think him to be clean and soft. "I didn't know how to deal with myself," he mutters. "I thought that, if I had one night away from my struggles, they'd go away."

"So you followed her into the bushes," I clarify. He nods. "What happened after that?"

"Someone snatched me from behind and locked me in a sleep state. At first, I tried to fight but the Luminary that had come along with her and hid in the dark was too strong for me to take on—like all Luminaries." After a moment, he adds, "That's why they're dangerous."

I stare at the space of duvet above my journal. Reining myself back in, I clench down hard enough on my jaw that my teeth might shatter. A list of why Luminaries are trustworthy and strong beasts, willing to use their powers for the greater good of Rivian rather than slaughtering the land, comes into my mind, but that is best saved for another time. Cloak isn't here to hear about what Rivian needs, only what will help him get through these healing days. It is not my job to pester him with magic trivia.

Liquid sloshes in the glass bottle after another long drink. Cloak exhales through his nose, smacking his lips.

"The next thing I remember, I was lying on a table with my wrists and ankles tied down with rope and leather manacles. I remember feeling panicked; I didn't know what to do. All my weapons were gone, my clothes disregarded in a pile on the floor. In that moment, I thought I was to die." His voice quakes at the end, sticking onto that last word. Someone like Cloak can take pride in breath, but find every breath hard to take.

His hands shake around the bottle. A quick attempt to hide that fear falls short when he wraps both hands around the glass and finds that the loose liquid is a dead giveaway. It sloshes against the sides, quivering like the earth quakes beneath it.

I'm overcome with a similar sadness. The journal, the quill pen, my thoughts—everything disappears as I focus on Cloak. Only Cloak. The thought of him utterly alone in a tent with his thoughts to blame, sickly desires that must've seemed so foolish at the time, roils my stomach with a needy ache.

A need to comfort him. To remind him he's not alone.

I hate making him talk. I hate being the one that makes him quiver with a lost ache. But the only way I can be there for him when he panics is if I know every shred of his past. The inner demons that threaten to tear at his skin in a similar way as his enemies.

"I remember screaming for help as they cut into my body," he says to puncture through the silence in the room. I had almost forgotten there were other sounds than the crackling of flame tearing apart wooden logs. "I didn't realize their threat until I witnessed the saw they brought. They aimed for my horns. By that time, I was weak with blood loss and couldn't see straight. My head spun...my throat was dry."

Cloak sets the bottle on the desk behind him and drags shaking hands down his face. My body moves on its own accord, sliding off the edge of the bed to stride across the room on quiet steps. The room is dark; Cloak is a beacon for struggling light. The moth that wishes to break free from a glass enclosure of flame.

I stop in front of this sulking feliram with too much life in him and not enough space for enjoyment and take the shaking hands that brace against the desk he leans on. His skin is cold and clammy, but I intertwine our fingers together, anyway. When Cloak is in contact with someone, when another life presents itself, he calms. Whether in moments of panic or during these discussions, the smallest graze of touch can work wonders for his racing heart.

His fear lessens under the warmth of someone else's skin pressing against his.

Still choosing to look anywhere other than me, Cloak swallows nervously and plunges ahead. "I feared the world wouldn't look at me the same way. My mother wouldn't want me anymore, my siblings would shame me for losing my horns. Felirams take great pride in our growths; they're a sign of wisdom and age. A livelihood."

Every breath sears my chest. "It must've been relieving to see those familiar faces come into the tent to rescue you," I whisper, gathering my courage.

A hollow laugh leaves him. "I've never been happier."

Finally, he looks at me. The corner of his mouth rises in a steady grin but fades upon our stares locking together. Something continues to tug at him. Shadows cast over his features, grimly displaying the killer everyone knows him to be. Only without the golden-rimmed cloak framing his face, weighing down his handsome smolder into eternal night.

His eyes rove over me, from the base of my hairline to my chin. For a moment, his stare locks onto the raven pendant resting on the breast of my dress. He parts his lips to speak, then finds my eyes again. Cloak stands close enough for me to reach out and touch, to provide him with more comfort than locking our hands together into a tight bond built on trust. I won't dare step that far.

"That's how—that's how I got my, my white hair strip." He raises his hand, taking mine with it. I smile involuntarily at the raise of my arm following his without contest. "The Luminary that kidnapped me wished to mark me forever. Though he didn't give me magical abilities, that was his way of granting me a tattoo—something I can never remove."

"I'm sorry you had to go through that," I venture, my voice a quivering squeak.

My body leans into his for an embrace on this cold night. Chills spread over my skin in this freezing corner, brought on by the flame from his fireplace dying out. Cloak hums once under his breath, eyes turning heavy-lidded as I run my hands over his arms, his abdomen. I fiddle with the brass buttons on his coat that he has yet to discard for the night.

He seems to calm. The hard weight of the past melts away from his face, leaving behind a tired, distracted, and full-hearted prince. Cloak watches my hands spread comfort over his body for no reason other than distracting him from the possible nightmares he'll have tonight if I don't give him something else to think about. It shocks me, how natural it feels to touch him. How familiar he is to me in a palace that is still foreign.

Fingers trailing over the inside of his wrist, I say, "I promise that if you ever lose your horns, I won't think of you any differently. If anything, I'll think you are handsomer and stronger than you were before."

Smiling sheepishly, I raise my eyes to his once more. Cloak is already staring at me as if waiting for me to look at him and I give a soft, reassuring smile that I hope works more wonders than my words can. His face hardens.

I begin to wonder if the effect of the alcohol has worn off and he'll go back to behaving like he doesn't trust me with the truth of his past. Cloak's eyebrows crinkle together, drawing confusion to his eyes that bore into mine. The decision he works through in his skull takes longer than I'd like, but the matter at hand is not one I expected.

Cloak comes for me, faster than I can expect, and presses his lips to mine.