"Marie!"

My eyes flutter open. The opposite wall of my small room in the palace comes into view, along with a cluttered stack of parchment and a cracked ink well. I dropped it last week. The thick blanket provided to me by Gustus wraps tightly around my legs and hides underneath the bend of my chin, clutched in two fists.

Did someone call my name?

The crack underneath my door is completely dark; the sun hasn't risen yet. The day hasn't begun. Perhaps it's my mind playing tricks on me—

"Marie!"

There's no mistaking it this time. A slurred voice echoes down the hall of the empty servant passageways and I grab the knife out from underneath my pillow and clutch it behind my back, tossing the blanket aside. It hits the wall, sending my stack of clothes into disarray. There isn't enough room in here for me to breathe, let alone keep decent care of the belongings Gustus forces into my arms. I have enough, but he doesn't listen when I claim that to be the case.

Someone stumbles and curses underneath their breath. The wall near my door shakes against their pressed shoulder. I huddle into the dark, clutching that knife close, and wait for their drunken figure to pass. Go for the throat and eyes first. Then the groin. Run like hell.

Cloak's voice plays over and over again in my head, instructing me clearly what I need to do. Murder cannot be undone, so if you don't wish to kill, resort to that as the last option. If he has you pinned and you cannot escape, do whatever it takes to get yourself free.

Their shuffling feet pass as a shadow by my door before continuing on. I have to know who it is. I wait until they're at the end of the hall and crack the door open, discovering a shadowed, slumping figure opening the door of an empty room. They peek their head in, continuing an empty string of mumbling, and slam the door shut. The walls rattle.

From the windows on the opposite wall, the moon illuminates his face. I step out from the doorway. "Cloak?" I call, hoping my mind isn't deciding to contort my memory of him now.

I brush out the wrinkles of the nightgown that falls to my ankles like a shapeless sheet. Cloak turns, ever so slowly, and spots me there—utterly alone in front of a propped open door. He is nothing to fear; I discard the knife onto my desk and rush back out.

"Cloak, what's wrong?" I ask as he approaches me.

His breath follows his body, smelling strongly of fresh alcohol. I frown to the best of my ability, but my nerves wash with what could be wrong. Has he reached the end of the line? Does he realize I'm not doing a decent enough job?

As if I'm not there at all, Cloak slides past me and through the open doorway. He shoves the door aside, nearly knocking it against the wall and shattering it to pieces. I follow in after him, kicking clothes and trinkets out of the way to shut that wide-open door. There isn't nearly enough room for the two of us. Cloak plops down onto my cot, forcing the fabric to moan and stretch to accommodate the change in weight.

Cold stone seeps into my back from the wall I press against. It's the only place I can go without our knees knocking into each other. My elbow hits the adjacent wall, tingling to my fingers. I have nowhere to go. My mind can't process what he might be doing here, or what thoughts fly through his own head. All I know is that there isn't enough room in this small room for the two of us, especially with his hulking mass.

He stares at the wall, as if in a daze. "I don't know why I'm here," he slurs.

I press my palm to his forehead to feel for a fever. Nothing. "Are you all right?"

"I'm...I don't know." He swallows, his throat bobbing. "I need..."

His voice trails off and he hangs his head, nearly in his lap. I slide my fingers underneath his chin and bear the weight of his head, scanning for injuries with blue-lit fingers over his forehead and cheeks. Nothing other than the alcohol swarming through his system. Perhaps he drank too much, extended a limit he hasn't allowed himself to reach in months and is now trying to repair the damage too soon.

"Come on, Cloak," I whisper. Still, he winces. Leaning down, I wrap my fingers in his and he watches our hands slide together like it's an enthralling dance. "Let's go back to your chambers."

He nods. "Okay."

I brace my hand against his stomach as he stands and stumbles, his head spinning. How much could he have ingested tonight to ruin him completely? This isn't the Cloak that has improved over recent weeks, but every healing member of society has setbacks.

He allows me to lead him out of the small room and back up flights of stairs—carefully. The only thread keeping him attached to the world is the occasional squeeze of my hand to halt his mind from slipping too far into that dark oblivion.

Our steps echo along the marble floors. Except for the occasional night post, the palace is utterly silent. Still. Like the dead have resided and won't lift until the sun does. Somewhere, the Raven Queen slumbers peacefully surrounded by guards to protect her from her sister or another unseen threat. Her children fall into night's routine, except for the one at my side. Cloak is unable to maintain a straight, steady track through the halls and I adjust accordingly, moving him this way and that to avoid knocking into a wall.

We pass large, tiered windows that look out to the courtyard. Dark corridors bathe in moonlight—the marble illuminates with a white glow. The doors to the ballroom are wide open. Cloak looks in longingly, almost becoming mesmerized by the moonlight irradiating on the dance floor of swirling marble. The white streaks fold together, twisting like vines over golden flecks and a copper expanse. Light breaks in from the glass ceiling on top of the tower, shining down onto the banisters and unlit braziers.

Cloak slips from my grasp, stumbling towards an empty window to vomit. But when he gets there, he doesn't spill his guts onto the floor for the servants to clean in the morning. He stares longingly into the sky, at the bright stars shining down and reflecting in his eyes. "I want to look at the stars," he mutters.

My eyes hang heavy with exhaustion. Yet, as I stare at his face reflected on the windowpane, there's nothing else I'd rather do at this moment. Taking his hand once more, I lead Cloak outside the palace and into the courtyard. He stumbles along, muttering underneath his breath about one thing or the other—words that jumble together and make little sense when smeared as a whole.

He stops in a patch of cut, deep green grass and sits, tugging me down with him. My arm nearly yanks out of its socket from the force in which he drops himself. The lock he keeps on my fingers does not unhinge until he lays down, pressing his back flat against the soft, dew-drenched grass. He pats the spot at his side. "Lay with me."

This isn't the time to argue. Shifting my nightgown, I ease down onto the grass, ignoring the bite into the backs of my arms, and fold my hands over my stomach. The stars cast over our heads, freckling the night sky that passes over Exole and fades beyond the eastern mountains where the sun will eventually rise.

"The night was my favorite during the war," he says.

"How come?"

"Because of the stars." He gestures towards the sky with a shaking hand. "Night was the most peaceful time to be awake, even if it's meant for sleeping. The night is quiet and relaxing, perfect for refreshing the body, yet I'd rather be awake to experience it."

He doesn't go on, nor does he have to. I bask in the presence of those stars, attempting to imagine what it must've been like for him to be utterly alone, on the edge of a mountain's side, legs dangling over the outcropping of sharp rock. His palms pressed flat to the stone underneath him as he tried to grasp the last moments of warmth soaked up from the sun before night stole it away. The stars reflected in his eyes...

I blink that thought away.

Cloak releases a long breath. I close my eyes, listening to the quiet rhythm of his breathing turned steady, the slight brush against the grass as he turns his head. Even in sleep, my nerves continue to plague me, but for the first time in a long time, they float away into the night. Towards those stars that watch us so carefully.

Silence breathes me in, encasing us in a trance that only night can bring. Night is peaceful; Cloak isn't wrong about that. The most beautiful part of the day doesn't receive enough recognition, no one in their right mind shares the allurement enough to appreciate it wholly.

Cloak brings himself to his elbows and belches. I snort, but my amusement isn't reciprocated. Instead, he turns on me, practically leaning his body over mine. He keeps to the side, propped on one elbow. Alcohol teems from his breath and soaks into the air, ripening the dew pressed into my hair.

"What do you want out of life?" he asks.

If the question isn't enough to intimidate me, his close and harsh stare makes me quiver underneath such wrath. I swallow down the lump in my throat, ignoring the proximity to his face, and try to focus my attention on the stars. Cloak's stare remains fixed on the side of my face.

"Are you happy in your marriage?"

I set my jaw. "No," I reveal simply. "I want...freedom. I want to be happy again; I don't remember what it feels like to be happy."

Pursing his lips together, Cloak stares at the space of grass above my head. I allow myself to study the harsh features of his face, the startling scar that would send many in the other direction but doesn't scare me in the slightest. As if he doesn't remember having it, he doesn't seem to notice its presence on his handsome face. "I can always kill Rylan for you."

A bursting laugh leaves me. Cloak jumps, startled by the harsh sound, and I clamp a hand over my mouth to stop it. "You're drunk, Cloak. Besides, I cannot solve everything with murder. I do not wish for you to kill my husband, nor do I believe that is a decent idea."

He takes hold of my chin, forcing me to stare into his eyes. Calluses brush against my cheek, willed by Cloak's thumb dragging along my cheekbone. An unsettling realization pools in my gut, the discovery that he wishes for more than this simple conversation. Cloak came to my room because he needed someone. He needed...me.

"It's a shame I cannot kill him," he says quietly, trailing those fingers around the sharp point of my ear. His forearm rests against my collarbone. "But if that is not in the cards, then tell him of this."

Tell him of what? Looking at the stars together?

I open my mouth to retort, to ask what he could possibly mean, but Cloak kisses me before I get the chance. My muscles go rigid, eyes fluttering closed on instinct. I lock my hand into a fist from where it wishes to slam against his shoulder and push him off. I haven't felt anything in so long, even Rylan's touch wasn't enough to quell the Luminary fire underneath my skin, and a small voice inside screamed for more, more, more.

So I give in.

Cloak's weight presses into me, his hips pinning mine. I give him the advantage; I allow his hand to grab onto my waist to pull me tighter against him. He kisses me harder, tasting of bitter alcohol and a hint of chocolate. I'm more than ready to give all of myself to him when he pulls away, resting his forehead against mine. His shoulders quiver with a deep breath.

"That should piss him off enough," Cloak whispers. A suggestive grin shapes his lips, and he nips at my nose, rolling off from where he nestled between my legs to lay back in the grass.

My heart thumps in my ears. Frozen in shock, I don't know what to say, what to do; if I should even breathe at a time like this. I'm wide awake now.

"Let's go sleep, Cloak," I say, taking his warm hand in mine.

He doesn't protest, and as if he forgot about the kiss already, he doesn't utter a word. I lead him back to his chambers, cloaked in silence, and my body settles back into itself after what happened. Cloak shoves open the door and I discover the source of his sudden misery—the bottles littering his desk. Clearly, the servants haven't monitored his intake.

I pull back the thick duvet on his bed. Like a child, he slides underneath and presses the back of his head against the pillow. His horns nearly scrape against the headboard and they have in the past, considering the scratch marks marring the wood, shallow and white, cover both ends.

"Get some sleep," I whisper. I pull the duvet tighter around his body.

"Wait." Cloak grips onto my hand, stopping my mad dash to leave. I turn back towards him, to my hand swallowed by his. "Won't you stay here with me?"

He doesn't have to gesture to the empty side of his bed for me to know what he means. And as much as I would love to crawl underneath his duvet and bask in another beast's warmth for one night...I can't. Not while I'm married to Rylan and have this cheap, silver ring weighing down the finger Cloak crushes. My body is willing to hand itself over, but my heart is not.

"I think it's best we sleep in separate rooms tonight," I say, placing my free hand against the top of his. I run my thumb over a raised scar. "Maybe another time."

To my surprise, he doesn't leap out of the bed and beg for my presence. His hand slackens and folds back in against his side. Eyes weighing heavy, Cloak closes them and his chin falls to his shoulder, sleep already overtaking a tired being. My lips are still raw with the taste of him, and I watch him sleep for a moment. The steady rise and fall of his chest eases around the duvet hugging close.

Shuffling forward, easing my steps around the strewn clothes at his bedside, I lean over and press my lips to his forehead. For the person that made me feel something for the first time in a long time, I must heal him. For my heart has never raced so quickly without fear being the cause. Cloak stirs, turning onto his side and hugging a spare pillow close to his chest.

My hand falls to my side, and I back away, easing out of his chambers to head back to my own. I don't know how I will explain this to him when the sun rises; if I ever will. If he remembers this himself, that'll lighten the load of my burden, but not enough. I shouldn't look to Cloak as a resource to dull the ache in my chest; he is more than that. Will always be more than that.

So I shove down the crumbling need to feel again and force myself to sleep on a cot that he once sat on. Though the warmth disappears through the night, I swear I feel it pressed against my hip, my waist, my lips, and I hold on to that illusion until I wake.