Over the next three intervals, I write Chaska plenty of letters, including many for Castiel. In fact, I write so many that I stop hearing from her for a few days and wonder if I've driven her into a mad silence that only a lack of contact with the outside world can fix. As it turns out, she ran out of parchment and no one brought in shipments of ink for her to steal when the merchants aren't looking.

In my next letter, I send her parchment and as much ink as she can use.

Time passes rapidly at the palace. One moment, I arrive, then the next, I'm scheduled to leave on another of Theo's dragons. Before I can fully grasp it, the morning passes and I'm left to fill the afternoon with what I can before the sun falls from the sky and is replaced by too many stars for my eyes to count. And for my mind to process.

Slowly, I fall into a routine that annoys Cloak but pleases me. As early as I can, I scarf down a meal in the dining hall—sometimes alone and other times with members of the Panjandrum Corps or Gustus, who has taken kindly to picking out my wardrobe while on his weekly excursions into Exole. Flying by dragon is one enjoyment, but arriving at the palace to my small room to discover a heaping pile of new clothes on the edge of my cot is another wonder entirely.

After eating a breakfast that fills my stomach until noon, I knock on Cloak's door until he wakes. Either that or I instruct Lyndel to dump a bucket of water onto his head. After I spilled an entire bucket full on the floor of Cloak's chambers, dropping more water on me than on him and receiving a brutal cluster of laughter from the prince, I will not take that chance again. Now it's up to a grumpy Lyndel—who would rather stand at his door and guard nothing—to wake the grumpy, hungover prince.

Each morning begins with a physical heal to drive any pain away. Cloak throws on a spare change of clothes, something clean for my sake, and sits on his sofa to tell me of what happened in the war. Not how it made him feel or how it wrecked his soul, but what happened. On the rarest of occasions, he'll venture into what he wishes he would've done differently or that he wanted to run rather than obey his mother's orders.

He planned to find his father in all of this. Once the war to protect the Wildsurge border was over, he wrote a letter. But it was never sent. His mother held onto it and used that as leverage to grant his full loyalty. Through pieces I have fit together, Cloak left his father behind to start a life as son of the Raven Queen once she discovered his abilities in hand to hand combat. Taught by his father, Cloak fought in the Exole slums—at taverns, brothels, and in the pits themselves.

One of the spies assigned to report to the Raven Queen discovered him and brought his talents to her attention in the same time she began her search for a son with the same abilities as what Cloak possessed. To make a living for his father, he won those fights and made out with enough to purchase a cottage on the outskirts of the city, near dealers of magical goods and drunken men.

At first, Cloak had protested to what the Raven Queen desired. He had a life that he was happy with, as a mortal feliram he wanted to grow old with a woman he loved. Though he didn't desire to have children, that was enough for him. Happiness was what he searched for until the queen of Rivian marched her way into his life and practically demanded to adopt him and tear him away from his father.

Upon threat of killing the only family he had left; Cloak had no other choice. He would become the Raven Queen's son on one condition. Allow his father to live. And she lived up to her word, there have been no reports of a mysterious death. Even in Cloaks' mind, he knows mystery murders take place in Exole every single day and no prince could keep up with the amount, but he has a kernel of belief that his father is out there somewhere, living off his winnings.

I constructed the story myself, only to revise it when Cloak revealed that he asked for his mother to send his father somewhere safe, to a different part of the kingdom. He was never told the location, or if his father made it there safe. The downturn of his mouth, pulling the scar towards his jaw, reminds me of Chaska's breakdown. Cloak misses his father; he misses the life he once had. A mortal life, now shifted by his mother's Luminary abilities. He's to live for thousands of years, under this rule and the next.

After he tells me these stories of a past life gone into dust, it's his turn to decide how the day will go. Either he wishes to spend it alone, running, meditating, or training. And I'm to come with him.

The running and training take the most out of me, but he uses my lack of experience as a way to distract himself from what plans to rip him to shreds. He adjusts my form, teaches me new maneuvers to get out of certain holds or how to protect myself against a drunken fisherman that doesn't know how to keep his hands to himself. The eyes, throat, and groin. Those three places are my focus. If I don't wish to kill, I must learn how to run like hell.

That's where running comes in. If he wishes to sprint, Cloak dashes through the woods and forces me to run after him until I can manage to capture him. A simple snag of his shirt is enough, and each trial ends in the pond. If I lose, he gets to push me into the water. If I win...well, I never get anything other than watching him swim in the pond without having been pushed in to get there.

My lungs burn and my legs ache, but the exhilaration of scuttling through the endless woods makes up for that. I attempt new routes, leap over boulders I couldn't have scaled on my first day trying, and adjust to the unsteady, bumpy nature of the floor of the woods. I can run faster than I ever have, my lungs last longer, and my mind adjusts accordingly to what I cannot control. The roll of my ankle against a loose boulder, a tree root sticking far enough out of the ground to trip me.

I hide the scrapes on my hands and the burn marks on my knees, the poke of twigs sinking into my thighs. None of that matters, they're petty wounds that'll heal in a matter of days.

Cloak congratulates me when I've done something he didn't expect me to master so quickly, and the first time I caught him in the woods, diving out of the shadows to wrap around his neck, he slapped me on the back and promised I'd make a decent member of the Panjandrum Corps if I could learn to properly kill a beast without shaking in my boots first.

He smiles every day and doesn't force away laughter. The amount of bottles littering the floor of his chambers has lessened, and he has learned—after one of my many lectures—to clean up after himself so the servants don't have to. If they leave exhausted and frowning so deep it stretches to their jaw, then his chambers are too messy.

I arrive most mornings to find him hungover and in a strange position on his bed, sometimes with a woman at his side, but subtle improvements are creeping their way into his life. Through careful deliberation, tip-toeing around the subject of his health, Cloak is seeing the bright side of the world again.

The first day we meditated together, he had to bring a full bottle with him. Through closed eyes and a clear mind, I listened to him tip the bottle back and smack his lips, leaning to contain his focus only seconds later. As the days went on and we meditated longer, clearing our minds to forget the past and certain distractions, he didn't long to bring a drink anymore.

He sits next to me now, so close I can feel the warmth of his knee close to my own. Other times, he'll grab onto my hand when my attention is elsewhere, running my blood cold and setting my heart ablaze with shock. His unfamiliar, cackling laughter makes up for it.

On the rarest of days, all of his favorite activities clog every hour until it's evening, and the sun is setting. I don't realize it until my stomach growls and we're in the middle of the woods, left to our own devices. Another training session comes into play; Cloak teaches me about what plants are safe to eat and which will kill me in a matter of moments. A bow is unfamiliar in my grasp, but not when he teaches me how to shoot down a squirrel when there's nothing else to eat, as well as how to craft a similar weapon out of a curved branch and a loose thread from my clothes.

When Gustus spotted the uneven layers of my tunic, twines of fabric hanging down my legs, he frowned at Cloak and demanded that he pay for my wardrobe instead. Cloak's only response was that he'd be happy to. All jokes aside, they're both pleased to pay for something I cannot afford.

Some mornings are worse than others. Cloak relapses, falling back into the familiar schedule he had before I arrived. He drinks instead of eating, slumps on the sofa instead of going outside to run. I suppose those are the worst of his days, and the ones he wishes to be alone for. He locks himself inside his chambers and makes a mess, pulling out his clothes only to reorganize them in the closet, leaving some behind that don't fit or aren't his taste on these long days.

The only sign of him is the constant delivery of one bottle after the other. I thinned out his supply, leaving him to one or two in his chambers that he can sip from, but cannot dive into. Cloak hadn't minded, he read a book as I gathered the full bottles into crates and handed them over to the servants and his guards, who were more than happy to steal one of two for the nights they weren't posted at his doors.

The servants in charge of his chambers scurry away as fast as they can once the bottle is delivered, and they don't show their faces again until Cloak demands it. To distract myself from the sorrow practically leaking from the large double doors at the end of a long, empty hall, I spend my days in the library, reading about Luminary fundamentals.

My power is not limitless like I originally thought. The idea that a Luminary is limitless comes from the broad stroke of power we possess. Only by word of mouth is that fib spread from one village to the next. I cannot do certain things, and I won't know what those things are until I attempt to use them. Luminaries are feared because of a lie spread by those that can't understand this strength, leading order all around the land to turn their backs on us and forget our lives matter, too.

Setsuko joins me on the quietest days. I claim I wish to learn more about the Luminaries if I'm to hunt them with the Panjandrum Corps, an excursion I continue to go on. Only without Aela and her ways of deceit. Setsuko studies potions and poisons, and on her best days, helps me understand just what it takes to craft a bomb that could level the whole palace. Not information I should possess, but interesting all the same.

Then there are the few mornings I arrive at Cloak's chambers to discover he's packing for another search of an unexpecting Luminary. Threats, as Keaya calls them. Gav has yet to prove he's part of the Panjandrum Corps for any reason other than a steady salary to pay for a farm home on Exole's outskirts, closer to Escape Territory. Home to the royal family's vacation home and not much else.

My tagging along is not a matter of pleading anymore. Cloak expects me to come along and has taken to including my supplies in what the servants pack onto the horses. Pip is officially mine; we get along on most journeys, but I'm missing a small portion of the ends of my hair due to him chomping off a piece when I bent down to adjust his chest plate.

Cloak had laughed and promised I wouldn't make the same mistake again.

Due to my presence, four Luminaries have now escaped the clutches of the Raven Queen. Their fate is undecided when I help them escape. They disappear, seemingly into thin air, and Cloak can't gather enough intel in time for us to arrive back to the palace. No one has any idea my involvement keeps them at bay, and they haven't clued themselves into just how much the Panjandrum Corps has failed since I came along.

Apparently, they're not as thorough as they should be. Or too trusting.

We camp under the stars and poke fun at Gav for his ludicrous stories. Cloak shares his portions with me and hunts when food is scarce, allowing me to come along so I can shoot down a squirrel or bird of my own. To continue our lessons, he claims. That is what us becoming friends is called—the label he applies to our daily adventures together. Lessons. I take it in stride.

For a reason I can't place, Cloak is trying to become better. I don't want to think it's me that can change him, but it's possible. With only two intervals left, my time is running out. The Raven Queen sees improvement, but she claims that Cloak is still not the son she claims to have had before. No, he needs to be better. Stronger. Wiser. Less...lost.

The light has returned to his eyes but deep down, he's still the same drunk in search of a calming solution to numb the pain for a few hours. I have exactly one month, split into two parts, to make this work. My job at the docks becomes tedious, it doesn't matter as much to me because I'll die soon if the queen deems that her only solution.

Visiting Chaska and Castiel becomes a chore, and I long to be at the palace to do what is required of me. Theoden's food is bland, but I'd never say that to his face. Rylan doesn't come around much anymore. He keeps to himself and ignores me once he realizes I'm back home. I stay at Theoden's, unaware of what happens behind the locked door of a shared cottage with a lonely husband on the inside.

I want to thank him for continuing to pay for Castiel's potions. A shred of humanity remains inside him, but I worry it won't be there for long. The longer I work for the Raven Queen in a different city surrounded by strange people, the more he slips through my fingers after I've tried to hold on for so long. Keep him comfortable, give him shreds of happiness so he'll stick around. I forgot my principles, yet Rylan continues to offer help.

Only once do I bother to write him a letter, and I don't hear back. Everything I've wanted to say, down to thanking him for an esteemed effort, I write down. Gustus's seal closes the parchment, and the servant takes it for delivery along with Castiel's and Chaska's daily gossip. I expected nothing more than him tearing the letter in half and feeding it to the fire, but a small part of me hoped Rylan didn't forget about me entirely.

I still spot him with strange women at the port, leaning against the side of a building and giggling at everything he says. He holds them in the cusp of his palm, not caring a shred that I'm watching his every move. I asked for this so I cannot be angry.

After all, I have one month left. One month to heal Cloak Terravale of what plagues his heart. And I feel as though I've only begun.