"Here we are." Theo's voice is all but amused as he pushes on the metal door handle, simple and rusted with age, and swings the door open. His palm presses flat to the planks of wood held together with metal brackets and plates.

I wince at the slice of squeaking hinges ringing out through the empty hallway of unused rooms and high, dusty windows. When was the last time someone resided here? Or am I living in the halls of ghosts' past?

Theo jerks his chin to the open doorway surrounded by grey stone—unattractively grey in the lower, and less visited areas of the palace. I step from one stone floor to the next, hardly a drop, and find myself face to face with one of the smallest rooms I've ever seen. Small enough that I wonder why this isn't labeled a closet.

The door doesn't swing open all the way for one simple reason. The cot on the other side, shoved into the corner of the room, is a blockade. But it makes for a decent door jamb. There isn't enough room for an armoire or even a full bed, but a small desk on the opposite wall—without a proper chair—is the only usable surface in the room.

"I understand it's not much," Theo says from the doorway. "These used to be the servant passageways until the queen decided they deserved better chambers." His chest rises and falls with a bored, drawn-out sigh. He speaks into it. "No one knows why, but now these rooms are used for short-term residents. As of now, you are the only guest applicable to one of these rooms."

The cot doesn't greet me with more than a white sheet pulled tightly against the wooden frame. No pillows, no blankets, not even a hint of warmth besides that blinding white fabric. And the desk—empty. The stool is much too short to reach the flat surface flanked by two drawers decorated with the swirls of snowflakes carved into the wood.

Someone, a past resident, took the blade of a knife to the top and carved a deep line from one end to the other. I frown at it.

At least the single wall sconce is close enough to the doorway that if anyone tries to intrude, they'll come face to face with a flaming torch. Then again, that leaves me without a viable weapon. Looking towards the desk drawers, I consider the possibility of a knife waiting for my grasp.

"This will do," I mumble, running my hand over the cut in the desk. Against my fingers, it wobbles.

"Since you have no other choice, I hope that is the case."

I glance over my shoulder, expecting for a smirk to symbolize that he was simply kidding, but his hard features don't penetrate joy of any kind. How could Gustus marry someone that seems so different from himself? Theo isn't nearly as bubbly or appreciative of someone that he doesn't know. Then again, a stranger in the palace raises red flags, and he has every right to be on his toes. Gustus is the one that needs to be more cautious.

To ease the tension clogging the small room, I say, "Thank you for showing me to my room. I imagine it is not in your interest to bother with petty matters."

"This room is only a few hallways from Cloak's chambers." He sidesteps my comment completely. "He isn't the easiest to deal with, but your trials shouldn't be too difficult after long. You'll understand; he either latches on or lets someone go. Judging by your deal with the queen, he'll do everything in his power to ensure you're not here for long."

That's a relief. I reach back to scratch at my scalp, my fingers knotting into the caramel mess on the back of my head. I grimace and thread my touch back out, tearing the loose strands away from my fingernails.

"Another thing," Theo comments as he watches me deal with my grossly incompetent conditions. "Gustus ordered me to inform you that you may use our bathing chamber whenever you please. After such a long journey, I imagine you're in the mood for a wash. If you prefer something closer and easier to reach—" a way of baiting me to another option "—there is a community bathing room down here in the old servant passageways. The faucet is tricky but easy to master once you get the hang of it."

The information he provides is nothing that should overwhelm me. Yet fatigue crashes over my body and tightens my chest to the point I feel I can't breathe. But it's only my Luminary power longing for another release after being allowed out in the closet with Gustus.

Did he bother to tell Theo that I am just like him? Or does Theo possess the knowledge of his husband's indifference?

Again, I don't know what to say. I'm left with an emptiness inside my head, a swirling desert of meaningless thoughts. "Thank you," I mutter as I ease myself down onto the cot.

"I'll see that the servants bring you a fresh change of clothes and bedding for your cot." He takes the door handle in his grasp but hesitates. "Perhaps your accommodations will improve the longer you're with us."

As if I wanted to be here willingly. I'm in the safest place in the kingdom, yet the most dangerous. If the queen continues to go without knowing the secret I'm hiding, no one can touch me. Not a Luminary guard, not thieves, not the Void Queen in another desperate raid to make her sister believe the land is falling to a different ruler.

I am closer than I'll ever be to death, yet I'm the safest I'll ever be. Even the guards stationed in front of the abandoned servant passageways stood to attention when they spotted Theo rounding the corner with me in tow. I cast my stare down against theirs, unable to meet the eyes of those that will guard one guest for two weeks at a time, but Theo strode by without a missed step.

This palace is not for me. I balk and crumble against confrontation; I cannot stand up against Cloak and all his troubles. The queen chose the wrong person for this task, and my life hangs on this uncertainty.

Theo doesn't stick around for much longer. As I'm basking in the sudden change in my life, he shuts the door and leaves me alone in an almost-black room. I'm forced to light the torch on the wall next to the door as the servants arrive with a towel and a change of clothes, courtesy of Gustus and Theo. Though I know who the gift is really from.

For a moment, I consider finding his chambers to use what Theo offered me. Then, I remember that I am in the palace, the residence where the queen dwells. Walking through the halls, utterly alone, is worrisome. The guards may mistake me for someone else and threaten to kill me for intruding.

I opt for the washroom instead. The tub hasn't seen use in ages, and the faucet is as difficult as Theo made it sound. Eventually, I brush out my knotted hair with an old comb after washing with shampoo from the finest of the castle riches. With no mirror and only a towel to guide me from the tub and back to my room, I can only imagine what I look like. The clean clothes, brushed hair, and freshly soaped skin.

While I was away, the servants brought what they believed I would need. Again, at Gustus's request. The knife acting as a paperweight to the parchment isn't just for sharpening the quill pen, but a means of protection in an empty hallway only patrolled by sleeping, bored guards. Something tells me this knife wasn't included at Gustus's command, but Theo's after he witnessed my uncertainty to such a shady and lonely abode.

I lift the inkwell from the desk and twist the rounded bottle in my grasp. The crystals lining the outside seem too extravagant for my tastes and holding something with such materialistic value gives me the impression that this can't belong to me. Of course, it can't. I was born in Gudgeon Village and never left after that. Even if my family changed and the timeline of my life became twisted after the Void Queen's raid, we never witnessed these indulgences.

My mouth quirks to the side when I glance back at the cot. A single pillow, and two blankets. Rylan's job made it easy for us to afford an actual feather mattress, and I never thought I'd miss sleeping on it—close enough that he could reach out and touch me. I long for that now, a familiar face of any kind, even if it is scrunched in anger and twisted into hate.

I'll sleep later.

I scoop the parchment, inkwell, quill pen, and knife into my arms. Stuffing the blade into my boot makes me less of a threat and walking through the empty palace halls as nothing more than a scribe turns attention towards something more interesting. The windows, female courtiers giggling and whispering about one royal member or another, or the guard they are posted with.

Theo's directions to Cloak's chambers, written on the top piece of parchment, are easy to follow. Instead of telling me to take certain turns, he has placed the notes of landmarks for me to follow. With a frown and as little dedication as I can muster, I take twisting flights of stairs through towers, narrow hallways lined with large windows, and past rooms with open doors and people moving on with their lives on the other side.

It's not until I reach a double-set of white doors and golden swirls twisting from the corners that I realize I've arrived at my destination. The golden handles mingle with dragon knockers, the ring looping through their nostrils like a minotaur. Two guards flank Cloak's door and they watch me tentatively as I approach with full arms.

One is a gadigator. His deep red skin shines through a layer of silver armor and leather protectant over an already difficult to penetrate exterior. The guard on the other side of the door, a hooked axe standing taller than his head, is less intimidating. Fladlines aren't born to be guards. Except for the subtle features of feline consisting of whiskers, pointed and furred ears, and a smooshed nose in the center of their face—fladlines appear as humans. Some are mistaken for mortals at a distance, but the flat snout stretching from above their lip to between their eyes gives them away.

The large fladline watches me warily. Sticking out from behind his golden-brown hair, curled tightly around his head, two pointed ears twitch in lack of recognition. I ignore his moving whiskers as he takes in my scent, furrowing his brows to frown at the guard standing opposite the door.

My pounding heart shoves against my ribcage. The closer I come, the more I realize how intimidating he actually is. The eyes of a beast stare back at me, and a second later, a curved blade halts any further step I might take.

His cat eyes study me from head to toe. Even in the dark, at the end of another empty stretch of palace hallway, his brown skin catches the light of a nearby window and glistens. "State your business," he orders.

Nerves grab onto my throat and squeeze tight. I'm lost for words, lost for sense, lost of anything that might make me appear like a rational and mellow individual. The only thing moving on my body is my eyes and I glance between both guards. The gadigator appears bored, but the fladline continues to hold out his blade towards my abdomen. Preparing himself to spill my guts onto the floor.

"I—I'm here for—"

"Speak up," he snaps.

My skin runs cold. "The queen ordered me to...I'm supposed to help with her son's illness."

"Illness? The prince isn't sick."

I nod to the best of my ability, but I'm certain my neck jerks my head in a strange direction. "I'm aware, sir. It's something else." My throat is dry, my tongue becomes thick. "She said he hasn't been the same since he returned from the war. I am to tend to him."

"You're the healer assigned to his treatments?" Slowly, as he lowers the blade, a smile creeps onto the fladline guard's face. He is handsome in a strange way, and his thick brows are more expressive than a court jester's. "I expected someone stronger, or at least...taller."

"Give it a rest." I jump at the deepness of the gadigator's voice. He turns his attention to me, eyes blazing with intensity. "Your Highness has yet to return from a day in the city. You may wait in his chambers until he arrives."

He reaches for the handle, opening the large door that nearly scopes the ceiling, and gestures for me to walk inside with a wave of a clawed hand. I imagine the holes in his gloves were crafted on purpose, rather than by accident. Then again, gadigators have always struggled to control their anger.

I take one step back, away from the dark room looming in front of me. "I don't believe that's necessary. I'll come back later once he has returned." The thought of being utterly alone in a large room that belongs to Cloak Terravale...a haunted wave of bereavement washes over the hall and I have to glance over my shoulder to ensure he's not there.

The reek of stale wine and old, burnt bread wafts to my nose from inside the room. A glimmer of broken glass catches my eye, and I trail that to a pile of shards near the fireplace. Surrounding that is a puddle of clear liquid. Alcohol.

A smooth voice breaks my concentration. "That's unnecessary." It's the fladline this time, and he reaches forward, placing a hand on my back. "Besides, if you leave, you're going against the queen's orders. Your Highness will return soon."

He stops short of shoving me into the room, and I stumble over a large lip on the dusty rug on the floor. When was the last time someone cleaned in here? The door shuts behind me before I can ask.