Rissa’s hip-swaying falters for a half-second before she shoots me a glare. “Don’t talk to me, Gilded Cunt,” she replies coolly. “I’m working.”
“What is it with people’s obsession over my cunt?” I mumble.
Rissa rolls her eyes and speaks under her breath. “Exactly what I’ve always wondered.”
I shoot her a scowl, but a weary sigh escapes her lips, and I feel bad for her all over again.
“Look, I know you must be tired. I can make a distraction somehow,” I offer lamely, looking around my cage. I don’t have much in here. Just some accessible bookshelves both inside and outside of my bars that I can reach, my chaise lounge, and some silk blankets and pillows strewn around.
“I don’t need help from you,” she says between clenched teeth, keeping her eyes firmly on a point in the room nowhere near me. But she stumbles, nearly losing her footing, and my lips press into a hard line.
She’s obviously determined to hate me, but I’m so tired of it. She’s weary of dancing, but I’m weary of always being looked at like a hated rival. I want to help her, and I’m going to, with or without her permission.
Glancing down at the gold-plated book still clutched in my grasp, I make a split-second decision. No forethought, no planning. I simply thrust my hand through the bars, and then I chuck it at her.
Bam!
It hits Rissa right in the face.
Shit.
Rissa’s head snaps back, and she goes down with a yelp. It’s not the usual way I see her going down, but still, she somehow manages to make it look pretty.
She falls, landing on her ass, her sheer dress tangling up in her long legs as she screeches and clamps her hands over her lips.
I stare in wide-eyed shock, really wishing I’d thought that through more. Or at the very least, I should’ve aimed. Rissa looks mutinous.
I give her an awkward thumbs up, my face in a tight smile. “Distraction complete,” I whisper, as if I meant to do that. I mean, I did. But I didn’t mean to hit the poor girl in the face. I thought it would just bounce off her chest, and she could act like her boobs needed a lie down. Midas likes them, so it seemed like a sure thing.
She shoves her waylaid hair out of her face, and I see the first drops of blood dripping down her chin and coating her fingers, her mouth bleeding. Great. Not only did I hit her in the mouth, I also didn’t account for how damn heavy that gold-plated book was.
“What the hell are you doing, Auren?”
I snap my head over to look at a furious Midas as he glares at me from the table where the men are all circled around. Ten pairs of eyes are locked on me, and I fidget under the frowns.
I blink at my king, opting for innocence. “My hand jerked, and the book just slipped out of my grasp, Your Majesty.”
His jaw grinds. “It slipped,” he repeats evenly, his brown eyes like rusted nails.
I dip my head, though my heart is pounding. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
I can hear Rissa crying beside me, and I try not to cringe. I really didn’t mean to hit her so damn hard. Where was all of that arm strength when I was trying to break out of my damn cage last week? Useless muscles.
Polly is glaring at me with hot hatred, but King Fulke chuckles. “A little saddle contention, eh, Midas?” he jokes.
“It would appear so,” Midas says flatly.
I worry my lip as my king continues to stare at me until he finally looks away. “Take the saddle back to the harem wing,” Midas barks out to one of the guards before he turns away from me again.
Two of the guards quickly rush forward, a little too eager to head to the saddle wing, if you ask me.
“See? It worked,” I whisper, trying to show her the bright side. “No more dancing.” She shoots me a furious glare, blood still gushing from her lip. If I had to make a wager, I’d say she’s not quite ready to look at the bright side yet.
“Auren?” King Midas calls, his voice deceptively even.
I turn my head to look at him as Rissa is escorted away. “Yes, my king?” I ask, watching his back where he’s leaned over the map.
“Since you’ve divested King Fulke of his dancer, you will take up the saddle’s duties.”
Divines be damned.
I stare at him for a beat, wondering if I could chuck a book at myself and get out of dancing too. But one look from King Fulke and the tension in Midas’s shoulders tell me that they’d probably make me dance even with a bloody mouth.
No good deed goes unpunished.
Quirking my jaw in frustration, I make my way to the center of the cage and then slowly start moving my hips and swaying my arms up above my head. King Fulke licks his lips, watching me with a smirk, and my stomach bubbles with acid. The days are counting down until Midas will give me to that man. Every time Fulke looks at me, I can see the sand in the hourglass getting lower in his grainy eyes.
I’m not nearly as graceful as Rissa, but I take a breath and play a slowed-down version of “Cock Him in the Cuckoo” in my head, using the tune to guide my movements.
What I wouldn’t give to cock King Fulke in his cuckoo right about now.
Fulke watches me as I move, while I try my hardest to pointedly ignore him and watch the spot on the wall over his head. Despite my best efforts to pretend he’s not there, he saunters over, his velvet-covered thighs chafing together until he stops directly in front of me. There’s a good eight feet or so between us, but he’s still too close for my liking.
“You’re mine tomorrow night, pet,” he says with a grin, his plump fingers wrapping around one of my bars and stroking the gold up and down suggestively.
That bubbling acid in my stomach begins to boil up.
His eyes glitter with something hungry and excited, but I stay in my head, forcing myself to hear the music, to keep dancing, to pretend he’s not here. He must not like my efforts to ignore him, because he moves to step into my line of vision.
“I’m going to mark you with so much cum your skin won’t even look gold anymore,” he says before rasping out a dark smoker’s laugh.
Shocked at his crass words, my movements come to a jerky, awkward stop, and my gaze latches onto him.
His lips curl up, satisfied that he won. “Oh yes, how I’m going to play with you.”
My ribbons curl against my spine like a snake arching up to hiss. I trade my gaze from one king to another, only to find King Midas already looking at me.
My stomach does a flip. Has Fulke finally just pushed Midas too far? Is my king coming to his senses about what a horrible, degrading thing this is, and he’ll change his mind right now and put a stop to this?
But Midas says nothing. Does nothing. He just stands there, watching Fulke speak to me like this, as if it doesn’t bother him at all.
I swallow hard, my stinging eyes moving away from Midas’s betrayal to settle back on the disgusting man in front of me.
Fulke licks his yellowed teeth. “Mmm, yes. I’ll have you bathed in my spend and unable to walk for a week straight,” he promises, and it takes everything inside of me to keep my mouth shut and not to turn and get the hell out of this room. Midas would no doubt just force me to come right back.
“Auren?” King Midas says, capturing my attention, and my heart leaps with hope. Put a stop to this. Protect me. Call the whole thing off and—
“You’re not dancing.”
The words are an order. Lashed out like a stick across knuckles, abrading my skin and making me flinch. Fulke grins with an arrogant look before he returns to the map table with the others, done taunting me for now.
Sadness wells in my eyes as I shakily raise my arms, humiliation heating my skin and making me sweat as I dance.
Sit pretty.
Play your silly music.
Leave the men to speak.
I move to the sound of their resumed talks, their arguments an accompaniment to the rhythmic beat of my heart. With each sway of my hips and curl of my arms, I can almost feel the strings pulling me like a puppe
t on a stage. All I want to do is run to my bedroom and bury myself beneath the covers, away from lecherous sneers and betraying eyes. But I can’t.
Bright side? At least things couldn’t get any worse.
The door to the library suddenly opens, and inside sweeps a beautiful white-haired woman with high cheekbones and a golden crown.
Queen Malina.
I stand corrected. It just got worse.
The saddles? Yeah, they don’t like me. But the queen? She fucking hates me.
Chapter Six
“Malina, I wasn’t expecting you this morning,” King Midas says, turning to greet his wife with a tight smile.
Polly quickly backs away from the table with wine pitcher in hand, eyes immediately downcast. It’s almost comforting to know that the queen freaks out the other saddles too.
The queen looks around the room, her lip and nose curling up slightly. “I can see that,” she says breezily, her shoulders back and her neck poised, appearing royal as ever as the other advisors bow in her presence. She looks like a beautiful peacock with her emerald gown and sapphire jewelry dripping off her ears and neck. A display of power and poise, meant to draw the eye and intimidate.
She flicks her eyes to Polly, eyeing the woman’s revealing dress before moving her gaze back to her husband. “Really? During strategizing, Tyndall? How uncouth,” she says in high and mighty reproach.
Poor Polly’s freckled cheeks go red with embarrassment as she dips her head further, letting her blonde hair hide her face. Midas is always careful to keep his wife separated from his saddles. It’s clear that today, she’s ruined those careful lines he’s drawn.
The group of advisors look between the married couple, no one daring to say a word. Even Fulke keeps his mouth closed.
King Midas’s lips curl up in a fake display of casual amusement, but a flash of irritation crosses his eyes that I don’t miss. There’s no love lost between these two.
They’ve been married for nearly ten years. He resents her because she’s never been able to give him an heir, and she resents him because the crown should’ve passed onto her by birth. But because Malina wasn’t born with power, she wasn’t able to rule on her own—according to the law of Orea. She was forced to take a husband with power or would’ve had to step aside entirely, letting someone else sit on the throne.
At least by marrying Midas, she’s still queen, even if her husband is the true ruler.
Highbell Kingdom is split when it comes to these two. Some remain loyal to her. After all, Highbell was ruled by her family for generations. Her father passed away just after Midas married her, so in a lot of ways, Midas is still considered the outsider.
The people sympathize with her. They still remember the pretty princess who had the rug pulled out from under her. They pitied her when no power manifested. Now, they also pity her for having a barren womb.
The others in Highbell, particularly the nobles, are loyal to Midas. They’d kiss his feet if they could, since he’s brought them so much wealth. After all, Highbell was nearly broke before Midas came. He swooped in to save the desolate Sixth Kingdom with a marriage proposal. He enamored them all, boasting his power of endless riches. Of course, with an offer like that, Malina’s father agreed to the arrangement. But I wonder if Malina regrets it.
I watch as the two of them have something like a silent standoff. The tension between them is heavy, but there’s always tension. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the two of them do more than tolerate each other.
I hold myself still, my ribbons crinkling against my back. Side by side, the two of them always look like a beautiful couple. I hate that. Where Midas has natural charisma, Malina is poised. Perfect. Her skin is so pale that I can see lines of blue from her veins at her hands and neck and temples, but she makes her severe paleness look elegant. She even manages to pull off her sleek white hair. I’m told she was born with it. White hair is a Colier family trait.
My eyes flick back and forth between them, my stomach turning in knots the way it always does when she’s around. Since Midas brought me to Highbell, she’s been very vocal of her hatred for me. In the beginning, I didn’t blame her for it.
Finally, Midas tips his head, like he’s deigning to give her this win.
“You heard the queen,” he says to Polly, flicking a hand at the saddle. “Your presence is uncouth. You are dismissed.”
Polly doesn’t have to be told twice. She turns and hurries out of the room as fast as her bare feet can take her, not even stopping to leave the wine pitcher behind.
Now that Malina has gotten rid of Polly, her gaze moves to me. The glare she bestows on me is cold enough to rival our winters. And that’s saying something, because we once had a blizzard that lasted twenty-seven days.
“You shouldn’t leave your shiny toy out during the war meetings, husband,” Queen Malina says with a scathing look.
I purse my lips, forcing myself to stay quiet.
She turns back to her husband, ignoring the rest of the men in the room. “May I speak with you?”
His gaze glints with irritation, but it’s clear she isn’t going to leave without talking to him. “Excuse me,” Midas says to the others before turning to walk out of the room with the queen on his heels.
King Fulke claps him on the back as he walks by. “Females, eh, Midas?” he says with a condescending chuckle.
The queen’s hands fist into the skirt of her dress, but she says nothing as they leave to speak in the hall.
Well, now’s my chance. No way am I going to hang around here and give Fulke a chance to mess with me. On silent steps, I turn and hurry out of the room, slipping through the archway and rushing down the dark hall.
“Where’d she go?”
Fulke’s annoyed words just make me go faster. I’m an idiot, though, because in my hurry to get the hell out of there, I went for the closest archway, which means I’m heading toward the atrium instead of my personal rooms. Oh, well. I can hide out there until Midas is back or Fulke is gone.
Reaching the atrium, I breathe a small sigh of relief as I walk through the archway, greeted by the bars of my confinement in the large, dim space.
With a quick glance up, I see that the dome ceiling is completely covered in snow today, just as I knew it would be, making everything seem more claustrophobic. Every single window is weighed down with frigid gray light that does nothing to lessen the tangles in my stomach. I was hoping for just a glimpse of the sky, but I’m out of luck.
Bright side? At least the bed that Midas used last night has long since been removed. One less thing to sour my mood.
I trail my fingers along the gilded ivy vines lying against the glass walls, my slippered feet padding across gleaming floors. All around are plants and statues of solid gold on display. It’s a mass of weighty wealth all in one spot.
Gold is everywhere throughout the entire palace, but for some reason, it seems obscene in this room. Maybe it’s all the blocked windows, making it feel vulnerable to the desolate outdoors. Or maybe it’s just that not even the plants were left untouched. Midas might look around and see riches, but I look around and see a graveyard.
I head to the other end of my cage, aiming for the pile of pillows and blankets on the floor. With the ceilings being as high as they are, and the room itself being so massive, it’s freezing in here. Even with the two huge fireplaces taking up either end of the room, it’s not enough to leak out much warmth.
I kick a couple of the pillows to get them where I want them and then sit down, grabbing one of the blankets to pull across my lap. I might as well—
The door at the front of the room suddenly swings open, making me jolt in place.
“And you thought it was so important that you had to interrupt my meeting, Malina?”
I freeze for a half second, realizing that the king and queen came in here to talk.
“Your meeting?” Malina snaps. “Tyndall, how could you launch an attack against Fourth Kingdom without telling me?”<
br />
Divine shit.
If they catch me… I shudder, and it has nothing to do with the cold. I need to get out of here now.
Chapter Seven
The king and queen come farther into the atrium, their footsteps echoing like tiny snaps of a whip. There’s no way I can get back through the doorway without them seeing me. They’re coming closer, and it’s only the few potted plants that are keeping me hidden.
At least I blend in with the decor. Bright side.
Slumping down, I lie on my stomach and cover myself in the blanket, doing my best to look lumpy and less person-y as I try to hold perfectly still.
“I don’t answer to you, Malina. I’m the king, and I rule as I see fit.”
“You deliberately left me out of this. You told me the army was moving out to run offense tactics,” she spits.
“They are,” Midas replies with a blasé tone.
I hear her scoff. “If we’re going to war, I should be consulted. Highbell is my kingdom, Tyndall. The Coliers have ruled it for generations,” she snaps back with vehemence. My brows rise in surprise at her daring.
“And yet, you’re the first child in the Colier family bloodline that inherited no power,” Midas retorts, his strong baritone echoing throughout the space. “Not only did you not develop any power, your family also dried up every last drop of coin in your coffers. This land was bankrupt before I came. You’d still be a ragged princess with a mountain of debts and no prospects if it weren’t for me. So don’t try to tout that Highbell is yours. You lost it the moment I walked up to your gates.”
My heart pounds in my chest. This is...very private. Not meant for my ears at all. Malina would want to cut mine off if she knew I was hearing this.
I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop myself from carefully hooking my finger under the blanket near my eyes and slowly lifting it up to peek. Through the small gap, I see the king and queen facing off about ten feet away, their expressions hot with fury and their eyes cold with hate.
Gild (The Plated Prisoner Series Book 1) Page 5