Gustus chooses first. For the sake of Theo glaring at him in the front of the crowd, warning him not to pick anyone that can interfere with their relationship, he chooses a bubbly woman dancing to the nonexistent music and earns a dip of the chin from his husband in silent gratitude. She makes her way to the stage, fanning her cheeks to hide the obvious shock at being chosen.

Visibly cringing, Gustus takes her hand and stands her in front of him, pinning her to a spot by placing his hands on her shoulders. Too much alcohol, not enough attention. The corner of my mouth quirks into a smile, and when I look up at Mutes, I see a similar expression on his silent features. Friava has started picking at pine needles without regard for the celebration in front of her.

Setsuko chooses a young, scared-looking man that huddles behind someone appearing to be his much larger, and very disappointed brother. Greeting him with a cheery smile, she eases him onto the stage and takes his hand, kissing the back of it for ceremony. He blushes, wide eyes ready to pop out of his skull.

The bishop turns to Cloak. "Your choice, prince," he says, sweeping his arm out wide towards the crowd of suspecting guests.

Women hold their breath as he scans over their faces, studying who he might pick. From left to right, the crowd dissipates in his line of sight and he looks towards the trees where Gustus said I would wait. Extending his hand in my direction, palm facing the sky...I suddenly can't move. My feet won't budge. I draw back, wishing to disappear into nothing before vomit presents itself. A warm hand, gentle and reassuring, presses against my back.

People from all walks of life question Cloak's gesture. A few of them laugh at the confusion, but the prince doesn't alter his approach. His hand remains extended towards me, waiting patiently as if he'll stand there all night if that's what it takes. I brace my hand against the arm holding me steady and look up to Mutes's soft face. "It'll be all right," he promises. "Just take his hand and go from there."

Without applying too much force, he gives me a gentle nudge. Practically forcing my feet to move. And once they're going, they don't stop. I glance back at Mutes one last time before breaking through the trees, holding my skirts out of desperation for something to clench tightly in my white-knuckled fists. He gives a terse nod and a reassuring smile.

I can do this, I tell myself.

I break through without thinking of going back. Not giving my anxiety the chance to settle, I bend low to avoid a branch and keep my eyes on Cloak. Someone shouts from the crowd but I ignore the guards rushing towards him, pinning his arms in theirs so he can't take another step forward. They're the same guards that monitor Cloak's chambers.

He continues to shout as my shaking fingers fold into Cloak's hand and he leads me across the stage to stand in front of him. There, I receive a full view of Rylan's struggle. The crowd has split around him, giving four guards ample room to hold him back from the stage. Everyone watches him in the same way they'd monitor a venomous snake, but no one knows precisely why my arrival brandishes him so.

Cloak's hands brush down my arms, gingerly pressing against the fabric of my sheer sleeves. He bends down to whisper in my ear, his cheek pressing into the side of my head. "Everything will be okay."

I can hardly hear him. Rylan continues to fight, and that becomes my sole focus. Lyndel kicks him in the back of the knee and he cries out, huffing in pain. The rest of the guards continue to hold on tight to his arms, stringing them high like puppeteers. He droops his head and glares at Cloak over my shoulder, promising a death sentence whenever this is over.

The bishop doesn't grant my husband another moment of attention. He signals for Aela to pick her claim and she hardly has to look around the crowd before she jams her finger at Chaska and, without a word, orders my best friend onto the stage. Her face brightens, a smile blossoming wide, and I resist the urge to slap my palm against my forehead.

She practically skips from the pouting crowd and stops herself short of mocking all those that didn't receive the chance to be chosen by a royal. Without receiving the formal order, she positions herself in front of Aela and beams at me like a child that just received news that they'll receive a new toy after another year's harvest.

I'm too busy trying to halt my quivering knees to smile back, but I watch her long enough to see Aela smirking in my direction. She gives a wink.

Following the tradition of every Claiming's Eve, the Raven Queen chooses the largest man she can find in the crowd to prove that anyone, no matter how tall or strong, must bow to her orders. She forces the large man onto his knees in front of her, purely out of necessity, but he still beams with pride. I glance back towards the trees where Mutes and Friava hide, but I can't make out their figures in the dark. The flaming torches surrounding the stage blind me.

Standing as ten, the royal family has their claims. The bishop's cold stare washes over us all and he spins towards the crowd, spine perfectly straight. "You may now take your claims," he orders.

I stare straight ahead, my body completely rigid. Rylan thrashes harder and manages to punch one guard, but another presses their hand into the back of his neck and shoves him to the ground. He breathes heavy, practically screaming through his teeth. My husband never once allows his stare to leave the spectacle on the stage.

Cloak's warm fingers brush against my neck, gathering my hair to lie against my back. He tips his hand underneath my jaw, tilting my chin upward, and braces another hand against my hip, clenching tight. The crowd silences. I keep my eyes on the stars and out of the corner of my vision; I watch Aela sink her teeth into Chaska's neck. She winces, only slightly, but I'm distracted by Cloak's warmth seeping in against my skin.

I stiffen, waiting for pain that will most certainly come, but besides his hands pressing against me, the only sensation is a small prick. Pressure, rather. I take a deep, shaken breath, but the rush of the claiming never comes. Not as Cloak sinks his teeth in and holds steady, not as the crowd gasps out of mock fright.

I grant myself the freedom to look towards Rylan. But he's not watching me any longer. He maintains eye contact with Cloak, stopping his thrashing to watch as the prince does exactly what he feared. This is why he asked Cloak whether he picked someone for Claiming's Eve yet—every muscle in his body told him that the selection would ultimately boil down to me. The invitation threw him off.

Cloak pries himself off of me, chin dripping with my blood, and the bishop orders the royal family to go through the ruling of the claiming. Making something up, Gustus grants a lifetime of loyalty and pride for the woman he claimed, Setsuko offers confidence, Aela wishes for Chaska to have a brain as big as her heart, and the Raven Queen offers nothing more than her beliefs of loyalty and leadership.

When it comes to Cloak's turn, he locks stares with Rylan and orders, as loud as his voice will allow, "No beast in this land or the next, whether friend or foe, may lay their hand on Marie Rithorne without facing the wrath of a prince." He turns back to me, pulling a small box from his pocket. His voice is quieter this time, speaking directly to his claim rather than the entire courtyard. "Until the end of our days, she will wear a symbol of the claiming so even in departure, thousands of miles apart, this day will hold true."

His steady hands open the encasement of black velvet. I stifle a gasp at the round pendant, trapped in a silver edging of vines and flowers to represent the Flower Foothills of the Farm Territory. In the center, ridged and raised as if in flight, a white raven spreads its wings wide. Cloak pinches the black leather cord between his fingers and removes the necklace, revealing it to the crowd for all to see. I can't tear my eyes away from it.

Seemingly, the entire kingdom watches. Cloak walks behind me, and a moment later, the cold silver presses against my bare chest. He clasps the cord and a new weight pushes down on my shoulders, adding to the mess of responsibility already threatening to drag me under.

Rylan growls loud enough for me to hear and shrugs himself away from the guards. They remain wary, watching him closely, but he stares at Cloak one last time—a promise of death—and pushes towards the back of the crowd. People step aside to allow him to depart, some laughing at the bulging anger seemingly wafting from his body. I breathe a sigh of relief. At least I won't have to watch him any longer.

The bishop orders a celebration and I'm ushered off the stage by Cloak, but he doesn't lead me towards the courtyard where the guests wait to interact. The rest of the claims tear away, Chaska included, but Cloak keeps me with him until we reach the palace. I don't realize why until I notice vomit churning in my guts and he shoves a bucket against my stomach to catch the bitter contents streaming out from my mouth.