Cloak tugs me from one end of the palace to the other. I'm forced to keep up with his quick steps as he won't release such a tight and determined grip around my small hand. The guards watch us, confused, as I jog to match Cloak's long strides.

My every protest is shut down by one comment or the other. Digging my feet into the floor doesn't help, either. Everything I do, underneath the power of my own accord, is not enough to combat Cloak's tenacity. Smiling at everyone we pass in a blur keeps them from believing I'm in a situation that needs saving, but my gentle countenances scream for someone to help.

He leads me through hallway after hallway, giving up his promise to show the palace's bright spots when the Raven Queen has cast a shadow against everything else. The portraits we pass, old vases and hall tables, even certain rooms with laughter echoing from the inside—Cloak pays attention to none of it. As if he's seen it all before and couldn't care less about anything other than what is right in front of him.

I nearly tumble down a flight of stairs if not for him wrapping an arm around my waist and hoisting me into the air to carry me like a sack of potatoes. My cheeks burn red from the embarrassment of being cared to in such a manner, and with such ease, but Cloak is grabbing onto my hand and pulling me along a second later.

The white scars crisscrossing over the back of his hand steals my attention now and then. Sticking out from the sleeves of his white shirt, the marks paint light against an otherwise dull shade of life. When he shifts to pivot around a corner, I catch whiffs of alcohol and the musky stench of the Exole streets. He spent the day in a ruddy tavern, apparently.

After what seems like forever, Cloak stops in front of a set of double doors larger than what signifies his chambers. Instead of the peaceful white and gold accents, this set of doors matches blood's tint. I swallow the lump in my throat.

"Jett Terravale, here to see my mother," he instructs the guard standing to the side.

Jett?

It clicks in my mind that 'Cloak' is simply a nickname given to him in the Panjandrum Corps, handed over by his comrades for constant use of a black cloak to hide his features from those he opposes. How could I have forgotten? I believe I prefer calling him Jett over anything else, especially Cloak for all he's done to rid the land of Luminary prowess.

The guards don't waste a moment. They pull the doors open, allowing Jett to walk inside. Involuntarily, through the tug of his bulky hand, I'm forced in too. I realize quickly where we are. The walls of bookshelves reaching from floor to ceiling, the occasional window shedding in dusted sunlight onto worn rugs spread over the floor—we're standing in the queen's personal library.

"Please, Jett, I'm not supposed to be here," I try once more.

When he doesn't respond, I resort to physical attempts. I grapple for his large fingers and pry them away, one by one, from the back of my hand. But as soon as I've removed one, the other latches on and grips tighter than before. "Millicent!" he screams into the void of books. The dust shudders. "Millicent Terravale!"

"She is the queen," I hiss through clenched teeth while trying to remove his thumb from where it wraps around my own. "You should address her as such, or help us all."

He scoffs and spins, studying the different bookshelves creating a maze around sofas and wooden armchairs. "Please, she may be the queen but she's still Millicent Terravale. I address her how I please; that's none of your business." One more finger, and—Jett pries his hand farther around mine, latching on tighter, and I groan. He's not making this easy. "Millicent Terravale, I demand to see you now!"

One more shout for Millicent and this entire place might come crumbling down. She is his mother, and if the things I've heard about her are true, she'll slit Jett's throat for speaking in such an informal matter. Before I can say that, or at least comment on how foolish the prince is being, silent steps follow a thin figure from around the corner.

Millicent Terravale frowns at her son, and me—attempting to pry his hand away from my own. "What is this about?" she demands in a tone that is not at all friendly.

I can't stop staring. The queen is meant to be a horrid figure of why this land should not be trifled with, but in her private library, the loose robes draping around her body do not symbol intimidation. Neither does the pale face, rid of all cosmetics to make her stare more intimidating than it can be underneath sheets. Now she's an ordinary woman with a book in her arms, searching for a silent place to disappear into another world.

"You brought an ordinary girl into my private residence, foolish boy. Have I taught you nothing about respect?"

"I don't need help with my personal struggles, mother. I don't need a healer to tell me what needs fixing." Jett thrusts me forward to stand in front of him, finally releasing my hand from his own. Instead, his grip goes to my shoulders to keep me from squirming.

As if amused, she laughs. "She can help you. Can't you take anything I give you without insult afterward?" Throwing herself into harm's way of guilt. Making Jett believe he is in the wrong for this. I've seen similar practices played out by Eligius, a man that believes he is never wrong.

Standing behind me, Jett shakes his head. The prince wants nothing to do with me, and though I have trouble finding the sense within myself to not be offended, I clench tight onto the fact that Jett expected this outcome as much as I did. Ordinary fish cleaners do not belong in the palace, nor caring for a prince that can handle mental struggles all on his own.

"Healers are for physical wounds," he snaps. That won't work; Gustus said something to the same effect in the throne room. "I demand a reassignment."

I glance past the Raven Queen towards the wall of books behind her. Most of the volumes are on the larger size, but a few of them, mainly the spines shorter than the rest, are thinner and easy to reach. Thousands of records, kingdom and palace history, decades of bloodlines, it's all here. Down to the last name and most rigorous ruler. A few weeks ago, I visited the library at the docks hoping to find something new to read, but the few books against one small shelf had already been thumbed through enough times that their pages were missing.

I'm standing in a book's paradise. The shelves twist together, all full with thousands of words scribbled over pieces of folded and crinkled parchment. No one thinks of a scribe as being a valuable member to society, but if it wasn't for them, these books wouldn't hold their weight over so many years of resting on shelves, gathering dust.

Ladders extend from the floor to the ceiling, across balconies and resting against banisters. A small table with four chairs pushed up against it is shoved into the corner, surrounded by even more books. I stare in awe, even if the prince's hands are digging into my collarbones.

"You have cooperated with much in your life, Jett," the Raven Queen declares. "You've fought in a war, lead brave men and women to rid this land of horrors, and yet, you cannot allow a simple healer to aid you with your struggles?"

Jett's hot breath tickles my scalp. "That's not the point, mother, I—"

"You will cooperate with this if you wish to remain a member of this family." She tips her chin back, an already prominent frown deepening. I understand firsthand the power that flows underneath her skin, and if Jett is smart, he will not waken it. "Marie will spend plenty of time here, so I suggest you loosen your restraints to her presence." Her hollow, yet wicked-filled stare turns to me after focusing on her son for so long. "If she does not do as I ask her, she will die for it."

That simple fact threatens to be my undoing. My life is in her hands and involuntarily carried by Jett's acceptance of my position in his life. If he decides my life isn't worth saving, I won't see as many days as the queen has granted me. She desires progress and leaving in two weeks without a semblance of change will alert her that I'm not doing my job as requested.

The queen's threats are not my undoing. Jett is. He is the sole decider of my fate.

Waving her hand at him nonchalantly, the queen opens the book in the crook of her arm. She holds it the way a caring mother cradles their child. "Go to bed and forget about this by morning. I suggest you wake early; Marie must start her duties by the time the sun warms the windows." An indirect order and a threat that I must work on my own power without the aid of anyone else telling me what needs to ensue.

Jett's growl reverberates through my body and his hands slip from my shoulders. I spin, waiting for him to grab my hand, but by the time I turn around, he's already stomping away. Leaving me where I stand, in the queen's personal library.

Do I leave? My feet remain planted where they are and I can do nothing other than fiddle with my sore fingers after Jett gripped them so tight on the way here. The queen rocks back and forth on her heels, pursing her lips as she scans the passage spread open in her wide palm.

Her stare flickers to me once the silence squeezes my lungs. Jett is long gone, I sense him stomping up a flight of stairs to get away from me, and it's just the two of us. My focus on the books changes, and now they're a prison instead of a world of information and magic, different worlds and tales of saddened loss.

"Did you not hear your orders?" she grovels. "I demand you to return to your room at once. You have a busy day ahead of you and I will not waste another second holding your hand."

As if she did at all.

"Right," I blurt, turning quickly on my heel. I nearly run into a bookcase if not for placing my hand against the corner to guide myself around it.

Her stare digs into my spine as if she remembers the exact day Castiel's steps were taken away from him. At her sister's hands, he cannot feel his legs. Nor can he use them besides allowing them to dangle without regard for weight.

The Raven Queen makes no attempt to console, but I don't blame her. She is not responsible for what her sister did. By killing Luminaries, she digs a deeper grave for the land of Rivian and waits to kick us all inside. It's a steep drop, and it won't be kind, but Rivian needs shaping. If I can help Luminaries by aiding Jett Terravale in his struggles, we're one step closer to ensuring that Luminaries never have to lose their lives again.

I return to my room after asking for directions from a guard and slide underneath the thin blanket provided to me. Sleep does not come easy. A bucket in the corner of the room is the source of my troubles; the constant drip of water coming from the ceiling makes me wonder if the palace will collapse on top of me at any moment.

Staring at that ceiling as light fades and the flame dims from the sconce, I wonder how I ended up here. I still can't believe it. What would Castiel say if he knew what events have transpired? He always enjoyed tales of royalty and false truths about the Raven Queen's children. They're nothing like my father described them, but worse and harder to understand.

This is only the first obstacle of my time here. I can't escape, nor can I search for other options that'll save my life. This is it. I close my eyes and decide that if the palace crashes down on me, it's not in my control to stop destruction.