I grip my gold bars as I narrow my eyes on him. “Female saddles aren’t only good for their cunts. We usually have awesome tits too,” I say dryly.
Instead of catching my scathing tone, he just looks excited. Joq is an idiot too, it seems.
Digby turns to him. “Careful, lad. The king hears you speaking about his favored’s body, and he’ll have your head on a gold spike faster than you can say forged fuck.”
Joq’s eyes trail over me like he isn’t listening to Digby at all. “She’s a fine piece, that’s all I’m sayin’,” he replies, clearly not wanting to shut up. “I thought it was a myth that King Midas gold-touched his favorite saddle.” Joq scratches the back of his mussed up, mud-colored hair. “How do you think he did it?”
“Did what?” Digby asks, clearly irritated with him.
“Well...shouldn’t everything he touches turn solid gold? She should be a solid statue right now, right?”
Digby looks at him like he’s a fool. “Look around, boy. The king turns some things solid gold, and other things keep their form and just go golden, like the curtains and shit. I don’t know how the fuck he does it, and I don’t care, because it’s not my duty to care. It is my duty to guard the top wing of the castle and his favored, though, so that’s what I do. If you were wise, you’d do the same and stop yapping your damn mouth. Now go walk your rounds.”
“Alright, alright.” Chastised, Joq sends me one more curious look before he turns away and slips out the door to do his walking rounds of the rest of the floor.
I shake my head. “Young guards these days. Idiots, all of them, am I right, Dig?”
Digby just glances at me before looking away to stare straight ahead in his guardy pose. After all the years of being around him, I’ve learned that he takes his job very, very seriously.
“Best get ready, Miss Auren. It’s late,” he says gruffly.
I sigh, pressing a thumb against my sore temple before I head for the archway that leads to the barred walkway that separates my rooms. I walk through it and go into my dressing room, while Digby stays in the other room to give me privacy.
Some of the other guards like to push the boundaries and follow me in here from the other side. I’m glad to be behind my bars in those instances. Luckily, I do have a golden sheath of fabric draped down from the ceiling. It covers part of the cage so that I can undress behind it without being seen, but I’m pretty sure it still casts off the shadow of my silhouette, which is why those pricks follow.
But I don’t have to worry about Digby ogling my shadow. He’s never tried to be inappropriate or steal looks at me—not like some of the others. Come to think of it, that’s probably why he’s been my guard for so many years, while some of the others haven’t lasted. I wonder if King Midas put their heads on golden spikes.
This morning, it’s dark and dreary in my dressing room. I only have one skylight in the ceiling above, but the window is usually covered in snow, and today is no different. My only other light source is the lantern on the table. I quickly refill it and turn up the flame, and then get started with my morning routine in the soft light. Midas is going to summon me this morning, so I have to be ready on time.
I look around at all the racks of gowns hanging up in the room, my eyes searching through them. They’re all made with gold thread and fabric of course. As Midas’s favored, I’m never seen in anything less.
Walking over to the back, I pick one with an empire waist and a non-existent back. All of my dresses have no backs. It’s necessary because of my ribbons.
I call them ribbons for lack of a better word. I have two dozen long golden ribbons that sprout out on both sides of my spine, spanning the entire length, from my shoulders to my tailbone. They’re long too, so they drape to the floor like a train on a gown, dragging behind me as I walk.
That’s what most people think they are—just extra fabric from my dresses. They have no idea that they’re actually attached to me. And honestly, it was a surprise to me as well. I grew them right before Midas saved me. It wasn’t painless, either. I went through weeks of night sweats and burning pain as they grew from my back, slowly lengthening each day until they finally stopped.
As far as I know, I’m the only person in Orea with ribbons. All the royals have magic, of course. They can’t take the crown without it. Some commoners have magic too. I once saw a jester who could make the flares of light emit from his fingers every time he snapped or clapped. A nice little night show for shadow puppets on the wall.
But as far as my ribbons, they aren’t just pretty or unusual. They aren’t just a throne room trick. They’re prehensile. I can control them like I can control my own limbs. Usually, I just let them drape behind me like supple fabric, but I can also move each one when I want to, and they’re stronger than they look.
Lifting off my night dress, I leave the wrinkled fabric in the pile near the bars where the maids can come to pick it up later for washing. I pull on the new gown, adjusting the drapery to lay just right and cover everything that should be covered.
Sitting down at the vanity table, I look into the mirrored glass. My ribbons raise behind me, threading through my hair and braiding it into intricate weaving plaits until it looks like I have a net of braids resting against the crown of my head, and then every long golden strand that was hanging down my back gets woven up at the nape of my neck.
It’s a lot of hair, but since the king is possessive of me, he doesn’t let anyone near me. Not even the barber. Which means I always have to give myself haircuts, and I suck at it.
After one particularly tragic haircut incident, I had lopsided bangs for two months before they finally grew out long enough to tuck behind my ears. It was not cute. I’ve tried to avoid the scissors as much as possible since that debacle and just trim my dead ends because I learned my lesson.
Though, to be fair, I’m not sure even straight bangs would’ve been a good thing. One should never decide something as serious as bangs when they have a bottle of wine in their stomachs.
Once my hair is tightly woven against my scalp, I get up from the table and walk back into my bedroom, just in time for a servant to walk in. She addresses Digby, slightly out of breath from her climb upstairs. “King Midas has summoned the favored to the breakfast room.”
Digby nods at her, and the woman scurries away, a fleeting glance over at me before she disappears through the door. “Ready?” Digby asks me.
I look around and tap a finger to my lip. “I actually need to run a few errands before I head over. See some people, do some things. I’m very busy, you know,” I tell him, my lips curling up in amusement.
Digby doesn’t fall into banter with me though. The man doesn’t even smile. All I get back is a patient stare.
I sigh. “Are you ever going to start laughing at my jokes, Dig?”
A slow shake of his head. “No.”
“One of these days. I’m going to finally crack that gruff guard façade. Just you wait.”
“If you say so, Lady Auren. Are you ready? We shouldn’t keep His Majesty waiting.”
I blow out a breath, wishing my headache would subside a little bit more before I have to face King Fulke. “Fine. Yes, I’m ready. But you really need to work on your cageside manner. A little small talk would be nice. And would a friendly quip every now and then kill you?”
He just stares back at me with his brown eyes, totally expressionless.
“Alright, alright. I’m going,” I grumble. “See you in eighty-two seconds,” I add with a hint of snark and a blown kiss. “I’ll miss you.”
Turning, I walk out of my bedroom to the other side of the cage, which leads down a hallway specifically added for me. I walk over the gold floor in my silk slippers, my ribbons and the hem of my dress trailing behind me.
It’s dark down here, but the narrow hallway is only ten feet or so, and then I’m spilling into the library, which is massive, but smells of musty parchment and stagnant air, despite the fact that the servants come up
here to clean.
I go through the caged-in portion of the library, down another dark hallway, past the atrium, and then I make it to the hallway that leads to the breakfast room. Once I reach the archway, I pause to listen for a moment, giving my sore temple another rub. I can hear King Midas speaking to a servant, and the sound of plates being placed onto the table.
Taking a breath, I head through the doorways and into the small cage that spills out into the room. On the other side of the bars lies a long dining table, filled with exactly six platters of food, six pitchers of drink, and six bouquets of solid gold flowers to match the plates and goblets, Midas’s numeral and gold fetish are ever present.
My stomach churns sourly at the sight of the food, and I’m glad that I won’t be expected to dine with them. I expect it would be a bit off-putting to vomit all over their place settings.
Gray, snowy light from the windows streaks into the room, somehow making all of the opulence seem a bit dimmed. The fireplace roars with flame, but no matter how many fires are lit, it never quite gets warm enough. The fires are always just chasing away the perpetual chill.
My eyes immediately find King Midas at the head of the table, dressed in a handsome tunic, his spiked gold crown sitting perfectly atop his combed blond hair.
King Fulke is sitting at his left, a gluttonous belly hanging over the edge of his waistband. And as is consistent with Fifth Kingdom’s fashion, he’s wearing velvet leggings. He also has on a dark purple tunic—his kingdom’s color—to match. His own golden crown is skewed on his bald head, a careless reminder of his rule, purple gemstones set into it that are the size of my fist.
I have no idea if Fulke used to be a handsome man when he was younger. All I see now is creased skin and an over-plumped body. But the yellowing of his teeth from too much pipe smoking is what makes me cringe. That, and the leer in his dark eyes every time he glances at me. It’s a tie between the two, really.
Right now, it’s not just velvet leggings that are wrapped around his legs. He has two blonde, scantily dressed saddles straddling each of his thighs, the women feeding him bits of pastries and fruit as part of their all-inclusive duties.
Polly sits on one thigh while Rissa straddles the other, giggling as she feeds him berries between her own lips and he gropes their breasts. I guess it’s that kind of breakfast.
When the women see me come in, both of them shoot me irritated glares and then pointedly ignore me. They don’t like me much. Not only because I’m the king’s favored, but because I’m also Fulke’s favorite thing to covet when he comes to visit.
To them, I suppose I’m just competition. Everyone knows what happens to royal saddles who become obsolete. They get tossed aside for newer, firmer, prettier saddles.
Although, I’m convinced that if they actually spent any length of time with me, they’d really enjoy me. I’m ridiculously fun. You kind of have to be when the only person you hang out with is you. I wouldn’t want to bore myself.
Maybe I’ll wait until Midas is in a good mood and then ask if some of the girls can come up to hang out with me one night. I could really use company that doesn’t include silent, stalwart Digby.
Speaking of Digby, he and five other of the king’s guards are standing at attention alongside the back wall, and they don’t even blink at the display of the erotic breakfast. So professional.
The other men dining at the table with the kings are their advisors, and there are two more saddles standing by, one of them massaging the shoulders of one of Fulke’s men, while the other keeps shooting flirtatious looks down the table.
“Ah, Precious,” King Midas purrs from his seat when he notices me approach. “You’ve joined us for breakfast.”
Of course I have, because you ordered me to.
Instead of saying that aloud, I smile demurely with a nod and then take a seat at the pillowed stool that’s placed in front of my harp. I start plucking the strings gently, because I know it’s what my king wants. I’m here to put on a show.
It’s always the same thing. Whenever foreign representatives from other kingdoms come here, King Midas likes to flaunt me. I sit in the breakfast room, safe inside my cage, where the visitors can ogle me and be amazed at the extent of Midas’s power while they eat their eggs and fruit tarts.
“Mmm,” King Fulke says from around the bite he’s chewing as he looks over at me. “I do enjoy looking upon your gold-touched whore.”
I bristle at the term, but I keep my spine straight. You know what’s way worse than being called a saddle? Being called a whore. I should be used to it by now, but I’m not. It makes me want to lash out at him with my ribbons and hit him in the dangles. Instead, I change up the tune on the harp and play one of my personal favorites, “Cock Him in the Cuckoo.” I think it’s the perfect song for my current mood.
King Midas chuckles after taking a bite of fruit. “I’m aware.”
Fulke eyes me thoughtfully. “You sure you won’t change your mind and gold-touch one of my saddles for me?” he asks, even as he kneads Polly’s ass where she sits atop his thigh.
Midas shakes his head. “No. That honor is only bestowed on my Auren,” he replies smoothly. “I like setting her apart.”
Fulke makes a grunt of disappointed amusement, while I bite my lip in pleasure at Midas claiming me. Polly and Rissa both share a look of clear displeasure and start fondling each other at the table, like they want to draw attention back to themselves. “I can see why you chose her,” Fulke says, ignoring Rissa when her hand runs over his crotch. “Her beauty is unparalleled.”
My skin prickles with his roving gaze and with the daggers that Rissa’s and Polly’s eyes are throwing at me. But based on the gleam in Midas’s eyes, I can see how pleased he is. He gets great satisfaction when people envy what he has.
“Of course she’s beautiful,” my king says smugly. “She’s mine.”
My face heats, his possessive tone making my insides go warm. I steal a glance at him through the strings of the harp, my fingers plucking the tune out like an offering.
Fulke turns his gaze over to Midas. “One night, Midas. I’ll pay you handsomely for one night with her.”
My fingers slip on the strings. A sour note clangs through the air, ruining my favorite crescendo. My gold eyes shoot over to my king. Midas will say no of course, but holy Divine, I can’t believe Fulke dared. Is Midas about to smite King Fulke for saying such a thing? Right here at the dining table?
My stomach twists as the room goes completely silent. Once, one of Midas’s financial ambassadors said something very similar, and my king had all of his toes and fingers cut off one by one before he threw them in a vat of melted gold and hung them on the man’s door. Harsh? Definitely. But it was a message to everyone who leered a little too long, who became a little too bold.
The guards and saddles go tense and alert, all of us waiting with bated breath. The kings’ advisors look between the monarchs anxiously, and my fingers stay paused on the strings, the silence a different kind of song.
King Midas carefully sets down his fork and then looks up at Fulke steadily. A long pause stretches through the air. My heart thumps in my chest as I wait to see how he’ll reprimand Fulke, how he’ll dress him down.
Midas braces an elbow on the arm of his chair, setting his face into his hand as he regards the other king, and now my stomach churns for an entirely new reason. Because there’s a gleam in my king’s eye, an inkling of contemplation.
Oh Divine, is he actually considering it?
Chapter Four
No. No way.
I refuse to believe that my king is considering giving me to another man to use. Midas would never let anyone have me. He’s far too possessive of me, loves me, prizes me. He has ever since he rode in and rescued me.
But every second that passes and he doesn’t say anything makes my gut churn.
“Well? What do you say?” Fulke presses. “Name an amount.”
Bile burns the back of my throat at Midas�
��s cocked head. What the hell is happening?
Finally, Midas lifts his hand and gestures around the room like he’s reminding Fulke of his surroundings. Gold walls, gold ceilings, gold floors. Gold fireplace and portraits and window frames. Gold, gold, gold. “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t need to be paid anything. I have more wealth than all of the other five kingdoms combined, including yours. I’m the richest person alive.”
Thank Divine.
Instead of getting offended, Fulke just waves him off. “Bah. Not money. Something else you desire.”
My eyes bounce between them, my headache coming back full force. It pulses at my temple like an aching war drum. A beat of threat. A rhythm of dread.
How is this happening?
Usually, King Fulke just makes lewd comments about what he’d like to “do to me,” but Midas never entertains him, and it never moves past that, because my king always shuts it down. But this has gone much further than ever before. Fulke is getting bolder, and Midas...Midas is looking at Fulke with that cunning look in his eye that I know all too well. The look that tells me he’s thinking.
Unease swirls in my stomach like a dark tidepool.
One of Fulke’s advisors chances to lean forward, his face anxious. “Your Majesty—”
“Quiet,” Fulke snaps, not even looking at him.
The man promptly shuts his mouth, sharing a look with the others.
When Midas leans forward, my bated breath leans with him.
Midas holds up a single finger, his expression like a hook to a fish. “One night with her, and you give me your army for the attack I’m launching next week. I want them mobilized today so they can catch up with my own armies at Fourth’s borders.”
What?
Shock courses through me. My breath stutters to a stop, and my fingers curl around the strings of the harp like I’m trying to grab hold of reality and pull it apart. I grip them so tightly that the taut threads slice into the pads of my fingers, sending droplets of golden blood dripping down. I don’t even feel the pain.
Gild (The Plated Prisoner Series Book 1) Page 3