A cold breeze shifts, turning its direction to rush against my face, brushing back the stick straight trusses that appear darker than their caramel resemblance in the sun. I fold my hands together over my knees, attempting to halt the sting of the chill that Rylan's presence brings along, but nothing is harder to change.

We watch each other for a too-long moment, deciding what place the other is in. His troubles seem to have disappeared, and they're replaced with a mismatched sorrow in comparison to a puffed-out chest and strong posture. As if he has completely changed compared to our last meeting, I nearly don't recognize him. I wonder if he thinks the same when he looks at me.

"What do you want?" Chaska barks, making me jump.

Rylan's pale eyes dart between me and her as if trying to decide who he should talk to. Ignoring Chaska would only worsen her rage, and if he wishes to speak to me alone, that most definitely won't happen if he chooses to imagine her as an invisible figure rather than the woman trying to smother me from his eye line.

"I figured Castiel was getting low on his supply," he mutters, choosing wisely by talking directly to Chaska. "So I brought this."

He pulls a glass vile out of his pocket, corked at the top and, on the inside, stained with a light pink liquid. Something about the sight makes the tight spool in my stomach unravel. Perhaps the rarity and price sends my mind into a frenzy and even showing that to the moonlight has disastrous risks. I know the value of what he holds, what he paid to get it, and that thought alone makes such a simple object practically radiate with intimidation.

"I wasn't certain if you were home yet," he goes on.

I attempt to stand, only to have Chaska's elbow push harder against the inside of my knee. Once I give a firm pinch to her underarm, she releases with a hiss through her teeth and rubs at the spot while pinning me with a flaming glare. My knees shake as I descend the steps, but the firm, frozen ground cradles my boots as I stand in front of my husband.

Up close, his face is softer. Like he's remembering what happened that night and what he should've done to change it. How he never should've fallen drunk in the first place or confronted me when he knew his mind wasn't stable enough to handle the answers. I shouldn't have bothered telling him about kissing Cloak. I've hardly thought about it since that night happened and using it as leverage over my husband back at home was the only way I could think to piss him off. Rylan's rage was not entirely his fault.

I must take some blame for myself.

"Thank you," I say, taking the bottle from his pinched fingers.

Down to a level Chaska can't hear, he whispers, "Can I talk to you for a moment? Just the two of us?"

My mind screams at me to say no. The first word that takes hold of my brain and shoves out every other thought is a fast rejection, but I can't possibly understand the regret or guilt Rylan experienced while I was away these past two weeks. Days away without knowing the outcome of his decision, waiting for a dragon to soar over the fish-scented skies and lay waste to him before touching the ground.

I turn on my heel, facing a hunched Chaska sitting on the stoop, watching us carefully. Her mouth quirks to the side, brows drawn in, wide and protruding eyes narrowing. Her nostrils flare like she's more animal than elf. Though there isn't much of a difference. "I'll be inside in a while," I tell her, a silent instruction that she must join the others.

For the first time in her life, she doesn't fight me. Chaska braces her hands against her knees and pushes herself up, involuntarily towering over Rylan as she gives a glare meant to singe hair and struts inside, slamming the door behind her. I catch sight of the prince's hunched figure, his back to the door, streaming out from the light breaking through.

"What do you wish to talk about?" I ask. I tuck my arms tight against my chest, the potion clutched in my fist and hidden from sight.

Rylan hesitates a moment. He opens his mouth to speak, falters, and mulls over his thoughts. How does one apologize for a fist to the cheek? For a bruise that took days to fade? As I wait for him to spill an apology or even a lack of one, I try to find a shred of the Rylan I once knew on his face. He used to be so carefree, a joy to have around.

We spent our evenings in sticky taverns where the air was balmy and smelled of dry straw. Rylan told stories to the other guards; his arm slung over the back of my chair to remind our companions that we belonged to each other. Once we married, those nights disappeared and left us sleeping on opposite sides of the bed—as far away as we could get. Sometimes he disappeared and didn't arrive back until morning. Dark circles clung onto the skin underneath his eyes and tugged on his face, permanently drooping his features until he rested.

He used to smile more than he frowned. The jokes he told were stupid and didn't have much meaning, but they always made me laugh. I haven't dropped the wall between us long enough to hear one of those jokes or to see him truly smile when I walk into a room. We are past the point of repair, and I wish he would see it. That drunken night proved that fact more than anything, and at that moment, I knew nothing to be truer. I wanted out.

I still do.

Rylan clears his throat. "I wanted to apologize for what I did that night," he finally says. "I've never made more of a mistake than I did that night, and I can't begin to..." His voice trails off and he waves his hand about to catch the right words in freezing air. "I can't understand how that might've been for you. For that, I apologize."

No offer to separate, no explanation why he did what he did. Something stronger than anger drove his fist to my bones and I want to know what it is, why his possessive nature overruled and decided he shouldn't steer.

I study the space between our boots. "It's all right," I say quietly. "Everyone makes mistakes."

"Sure." He shrugs. "Small mistakes like breaking a vase or accusing the wrong person of being a Luminary. Not causing pain to someone I still care about."

Before that night, my cheeks would have blushed. I wouldn't stand a chance at halting the heat rising from my neck, straight from my heart, and displaying itself like a bright red sign on my warm ivory face. I feel a sinking sensation in my stomach as I come to the realization that my heart is ready to let Rylan go. I held on for so long and waited for something to go right, but this truly is the end of my care for him.

I try to apply confidence to my voice. "That matters less to me now that I have this." Holding up the potion, the pink liquid catches in the moonlight. Glimmers sprinkle over the top, shifting down to the lower portions of darkening magic. "Castiel will always be my focus, and the more you provide his potions, the longer I can do this."

Rylan scoffs. "That's it? Marie, if someone did to me what I did to you, they wouldn't have seen the sunrise the next day."

"We're different." I dare myself to meet his eye. "My parents lost their lives and Castiel is all I have left of family. For as long as he is alive, I wish to make him comfortable. If I have to stay married to you to do that, then I will. Castiel is worth that."

A muscle jumps in his jaw and he watches me, waiting for a nonexistent plead to allow me out of this marriage. I won't ask for that freedom, not until I'm certain Gustus is willing to pay for my brother's treatment. I'm still in the drafting process of asking such a thing from a prince, and I lay awake in the middle of the night wondering if he'll reject my proposal.

I am not for money.

You should pay for this yourself; he isn't my brother.

Everyone meets their fate at some point in life, perhaps Castiel needs to meet his soon.

All possibilities of what he'll say, along with the endless list that forms in my nightmares. Every part of me believes Gustus shouldn't have to do this for me, but there's a slither of hope within—a bright light—that blasts away the dark and reminds me that he's a prince with all the money he could ever want. If he purchases clothes without me having to ask first, I have a strong doubt he'll say no to this. But I cannot be so certain.

"We used to be happy together." Rylan's voice comes out as little more than a breath. I can hear the weariness in his voice, coming to the root of our troubles. "Something tore us apart, Marie. I have strong ideas about what it is, but maybe this makes little sense anymore. Maybe we should—"

The door opens behind us and a large figure blocks out the dim light. My stomach immediately sinks. Cloak reaches back and shuts the door behind him, shoving his hands into his pockets in the most casual matter while descending the steps. Tension clogs the air, replacing the cold with an unnatural heat that might directly result from my heart close to hammering out of my chest. Rylan and I haven't come this close to deeming our marriage over, we've avoided the subject for our own sakes, and Cloak just interrupted my one chance at freedom.

My mind doesn't know what it wants. To wait, or to get this over with now. For Castiel's potions, or finding another way. Something else that keeps me up late at night, staring at dusty ceilings in the palace and Theoden's home.

"Your Highness," Rylan grovels. "I heard of your efforts to aid the docks. I came by to thank you for recognizing our humble village."

"Did you?" The prince arches a brow and glances down at the pink bottle clutched within my shaking fist. Either way, Rylan didn't come to cut him to pieces. He came for Castiel, for me. For a calm and steady confrontation. "Well, I believe this village needs work, but with the right attention, Gudgeon Docks will be restored to laboring days of old."

Rylan nods, forcing a smile to meet his eye. "How long are you staying? Perhaps I can introduce to you the more esteemed locals, the people that keep this village running." Not a single sign of his former anger seeps from those easily formed words. He worried something happened between Cloak and me, forcing his voice into a rough drag, but that can't be farther from what I'm hearing now.

"I don't believe I have the time, sadly. Claiming's Eve is fast approaching and my mother wishes for me to remain at home for preparations." Cloak massages at the back of his neck. Standing at his side feels like a threat to Rylan standing alone, but I cannot move now to situate in the middle. Both of them will notice.

Rylan's brows shoot up in sudden remembrance of the holiday. Too much has happened recently to cloud his thoughts, so I don't blame him for not thinking anything of the queen's celebration for winter's arrival.

"Have you decided who you will claim at the ceremony?" he asks.

His eyes dart to me and I restrain a shudder. For my sake, Cloak appears bored and kicks a rock back and forth between his boots, dirtying the leather and golden straps. "I never choose ahead of time," he mutters, sounding bored. Shrugging, he adds, "I suppose I'll pick someone from the crowd on that night."

Relief floods Rylan's features and he seems to stand taller than he was before. I want to beat myself up internally for lying to him, for making him believe that Cloak is truly picking a stranger and not me to claim. This doesn't have to happen anymore if Rylan decides we should break our marriage and go our separate ways. Cloak can pick someone else during Claiming's Eve.

But then I won't have protection. I let my hand rest against my chest, feeling for the nonexistent pendant that I'll wear once the ceremony is over. Even if it's not Rylan or someone else in the village, I can wear the symbol with pride knowing that when others see it, they'll turn the other cheek and avoid bothering me.

Another internal battle.

"I hope all goes well," Rylan offers now that he knows I won't have any involvement. "Claiming's Eve is an important royal tradition."

Cloak forces amusement into his eyes and rocks back and forth on his heels. "Indeed. In fact, it's so important that most ordinary citizens are not in attendance." I brace for the question we've been waiting for. "Would you like to attend? Mind you, I am formally inviting you to the ceremony. Food, drinks, women included." For the sake of making a joke, Cloak nudges me.

I give a hollow laugh and a sour look.

Rylan doesn't catch on. A cackle made of elation burbles out of him. "Of course!" he says a little too enthusiastically. "I would love to attend."

"Perfect." Cloak reaches out and shakes his hand. All previous hate towards each other simmers into steam and wafts away, high into the dark.

I know them both. I understand their quirks, their hidden anger, the way they stiffen when someone else is making them uncomfortable. Rylan is as carefree as a dumb squirrel at the moment. He has absolutely no recognition to what will happen at the ceremony and the rage he will experience when he sees the truth. I rub at my forehead in an attempt to dull the oncoming ache bleeding over my brow.

Cloak keeps himself stiff to avoid throttling the man standing before him. That isn't his true smile spreading from cheek to cheek, nor does that handshake touch the surface of his normal force. Any stronger and he might consider snapping Rylan's fingers with a strong squeeze. The prince steps back, towards the cottage. To my surprise, Rylan turns to head back down the street without finishing our conversation.

Before I can ask him if he wishes to complete it, Cloak takes my arm. "I will include transportation to and from the palace," he offers.

Rylan beams. A royal carriage. To the palace. He has never seen such attention. "Thank you, Your Highness." Then, betraying all the promises he ever made in his entire life, he bows at the waist. Cloak appears all too amused by him dropping his neck to him. When Rylan brings himself back to a full standing position, his face flushed, that smile has faded into a content calmness. "Marie, I suppose I'll see you at the palace."

"Don't you—"

"Come, Marie," Cloak interrupts. "Theoden made another batch of tea and your brother is too good at Hazard. I need you to call out his bluff."

With that, he pulls me up the stairs. Rylan is too lost in the fog to hear, nor recognize that the prince is practically dragging me back inside so I won't have to speak to my husband further. If only both of them knew just how in the middle I am—torn between one and the other.