He must come to the same conclusion as me, because I see it the moment Midas decides to back down. It takes effort, but his features smooth out, his fingers relax, and he forces his expression to go blank with a courtly visage, scrapping all traces of his true emotion.
Midas is no fool. He knows how to study his opponents, and right now, he sees that he doesn’t have the upper hand. When you can’t play to win with your power, then you play politics instead.
Which is why I’m not surprised when he clears his throat and says, “We are indeed allies, as you say. So I will forgive this mistake.”
Ravinger tilts his head, mouth playing with a smirk. “Much obliged.” His eyes slide to me again, and he tosses a wink in my direction before strolling out of the room.
As soon as the rotten king is gone, my eyes drag over to Midas, but he’s busy watching the guards.
“You failed me,” he tells them.
The men go tense, and some of them flinch when he strides past them into the hall, speaking words too low for me to hear. As soon as he pulls back in, ten new soldiers file inside, and they immediately grab hold of the guards who were charged with watching me.
The men don’t fight as they’re hauled away, and I know with sinking realization that Midas is going to have them killed for witnessing what I did to the door.
“Don’t kill them.” The plea sprouts up from my mouth like a reaching plant, though I know it will be fruitless. So many of my requests to Midas are.
“It’s done,” he replies, eyes pinched. “They sealed their own fate by seeing what they were not allowed to see.”
My throat clogs with irrevocable guilt. Not only did I lose control and gild the woman who acted as my stand-in, but now these men are going to die because of my power too. Maybe not by my hand, but the end result is the same.
Like I told Ravinger, I’ve seen plenty of death.
Maybe the guards would have been better off as rotted heaps on the floor. Who knows what the kinder fate would have been? Which king’s retribution would they have preferred?
I swallow hard, but this time, the nausea that rises in my stomach has nothing to do with Ravinger’s power. Instead, it has everything to do with my own regret, and the man standing next to me.
Chapter 3
AUREN
With Ravinger gone, the room suddenly feels empty. I hadn’t realized just how dominant his presence really was until he left.
I should feel relief that he’s gone, but I don’t.
My gaze locks onto Midas, bitterness breaking through the planes of my face like cracks in the glass. It’s a wonder I’m not openly snarling. My entire body is tense, anticipating what he’ll do.
For a moment, he does nothing but look at me. He’s no longer wearing his crown or his robe, just a gold tunic and pants tucked into gleaming boots.
Ravinger mentioned that it’s been hours since they made their treaty. Which means Midas was off doing who knows what, leaving me in here to pace like a savage animal. Anger simmers alongside the pain in my chest, both emotions bubbling beneath the surface.
I don’t know what he sees in my face, but I see plenty in his. I’m reading him now, like everything he’s ever spoken is a scrawl of lies across his lips. The pages he’s taken up in my life are empty of anything real.
A knock at the door interrupts our silent regard. Midas strides over to the room where the cage is and closes the gilded door, shutting away what happened before he calls for whoever it is to enter.
Two maids walk in from the corridor, their golden dresses covering them from head to toe, with matching bonnets tied at the tops of their heads. One carries a pile of clothing, and the other holds a tray of food. They both dip into a curtsy before heading for the washroom.
I hear the clank of pipes and the screech of water.
Midas clears his throat, voice softer. “They’ll get your bath ready, and you can clean up and eat.”
I pause in surprise. I was expecting him to try and toss me back into the cage room. I was ready for him to berate me with questions about how I got out, about what Ravinger was doing in here, but instead, he holds his hand out like an olive branch.
“I don’t want to take a bath,” I grit out. What I really mean is, I don’t want to take a bath just because he ordered it.
Midas lets out a breath. “Auren, the cage—”
“I will not go back into a Divine-damned cage!” I hiss in a vicious whisper. “You can bring in every blacksmith in the kingdom, and I swear to the goddesses above, I will break every single door. You can lock me in that room, set a hundred guards to keep me, but I will—”
I stop abruptly, aware of the two maids in the other room, both of us stealing looks toward the washroom.
Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I lean in closer to him, lowering my voice so that only he can hear. “If you try to shove me in there again, I will fight you every step of the way, and I won’t ever turn another thing gold for you again.”
The vitriol that spews from my mouth flares hotter than any fire. May it burn him as badly as he has burned me.
Midas goes stiff, his tanned face staining with twin spots of red anger on his cheeks. I’ve shocked him. I can see it in the way he’s forgotten to breathe. He’s not used to this version of me, this person who isn’t bending over backwards and kneeling at his feet.
My chest heaves with the furious passion in my voice. I wouldn’t be surprised if my golden eyes started to blaze.
Midas stares at me. I can see him calculating, can practically hear the thoughts spinning around in his head as he tries to think of how to handle me. I know this, because for all those years I was in love with him, I didn’t just pine after him. I watched him, too. I learned him, as one learns a language.
It was necessary, because of his temper, because I never wanted to get on his bad side or set him off. It’s because of my sensitivity to his emotions, because of my many years of studying him, that I know the way his mind works.
His expression softens, his carob pod eyes becoming tender, as if my words have gotten through to him.
Midas lifts a hand, letting the pad of his thumb brush along my jaw. I stiffen and move my head to pull away, but he brings up both palms to hold my cheeks, looking at me with tortured eyes. “I’m so sorry, Precious.” His breath is at my lips, repentant voice in my ear.
Before, I would’ve melted at this. I would’ve leaned forward like a flower bending in his presence. But I don’t curl into his touch, and my lips don’t lift up in a forgiving smile. My lashes don’t flutter closed, and a sigh doesn’t pass my lips.
Because...it’s too late.
The blindfold has been ripped from my sight. Now, my heart doesn’t squeeze. My stomach doesn’t flutter. He broke something inside of me far more than just my heart. He broke my will. My drive. My voice. He broke down my very spirit, and I let him.
The burden of love I held for him for so long has scraped off. Peeled away like dried, dead skin flaking in a scorching sun. Colorless, depleted strips that no longer feel a thing. Never again will I be the clay that he molds in his hold. I’m going to shape myself.
“I acted abominably. I was completely out of my head,” he says, soft fingers caressing my cheeks as I stare at the gilded buttons on his shirt. “I was just so damned worried about you, and I needed to keep you safe after what happened. I only just got you back, and all this stress with Fourth Kingdom...” Midas trails off, hands dropping away from my face.
I say nothing, too busy seeing past his flowery words and digging into the gritty ground of what he’s really doing.
He’s changing tactics.
Midas is no fool. He knows that my threats would make his life difficult. After all, he needs me. His entire claim to the throne depends on it. The laws of Orea demand that only those with magic can reign, and Midas needs my power to uphold his deceit.
What would people say if he suddenly stopped turning thin
gs gold?
He needs me complacent. What better way to get me back under his control than to tug at my heartstrings?
He was always able to convince me to behave in the past. To do as he said, trust that he knew better, and let him do whatever the hell he wanted while I wasted away behind gilded bars.
But Midas can’t keep me without my compliance, and that’s a truth he never wanted me to see. He never wanted me to wake up and realize just how much power I actually have.
While we steep in silence, the sounds of the water cut off in the washroom, and the maids file out a moment later. They bob into a departing curtsy before letting themselves out of the room. Still, I say nothing.
“Come, I’ll take care of you, and we can talk, just like you wanted to,” he says beseechingly. He plays it so well—the remorse, the heartfelt acknowledgement.
I could fight him. I could spit in his face and tell him I know what he’s trying to do. I could turn and run out of the room and try to get out of the castle. Even though those options sound wildly appealing, I hold myself back.
If I want to be free of him, truly free, I can’t act impulsively. Like Midas, I have to plan. Because he will never let me go. Not ever. So if I’m going to do this, I have to be smart.
“Precious?” he prompts.
I have no allies, no connections. What’s to say that, even if I could get out of Ranhold, someone else wouldn’t capture me and use me for their benefit? No, I’m done being a prisoner. I’m done being owned.
I have to plan and do things right, flee where Midas can’t get to me ever again. I have to become strong so that I can protect myself against the world that would use me.
So...I nod. It’s time for me to play the game.
“Alright.”
Midas’s expression smooths in relief, the lines of worry around his eyes changing into the crinkling of a smile. How satisfied he must be, to think he’s so easily hooked me again.
What a pushover I was.
He leads me into the bathroom, past a silver-framed mirror and the toilet, right over to a large iron tub at the back wall. It has clawed feet and a painted rim, with glass-covered stone carved into the shape of a lion, its mouth gaping in a roar that spews water instead of sound.
“Let’s get the filth of Fourth’s army off you,” Midas says as I stop in front of the tub. It’s already filled with steaming water, a thin layer of bubbles waiting along the surface like drifting lily pads.
“Did King Rot hurt you?” he asks, keeping his tone carefully even.
Yes. But not in the way you think.
“No. He only just walked in before you came.”
Midas seems to be placated by that. “I don’t like that ugly bastard being in the same room as you.”
I blink in surprise. Ugly?
His power is ugly, sure, but the male himself? No. Far from it. Ravinger is achingly beautiful in the same way as when he’s in his Rip form. There’s an ethereal masculinity that doesn’t quite fit in this world. Of course, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at Midas’s evaluation of him. Midas abhors anything less than perfect. He probably looks at Ravinger and sees those strange marks of power that slither just under his skin, and he thinks that makes Ravinger grotesque.
Choosing not to reply, I turn away slightly while Midas busies himself with the tray of food that’s been left on a stool beside the tub. Slowly, I begin to strip out of my clothes. Each piece is overworn, dirty, wrinkled. They feel heavy as I drop them into a heap on the floor.
For a moment, I just stare at them. So much happened in those clothes. I wasn’t the same person before I wore them. It’s like stripping off the armor that I’d worn during battle. The Red Raids, Sail, Captain Fane, Rip, Midas...all of it happened in that dress.
I don’t know if Midas’s eyes are on me, and I don’t care. He’s seen my naked body many times. I’m far more protective of what lies beneath my skin. What’s inside of me—my mind, my heart, my spirit—those are the things I want to keep from his sight.
Taking a breath, I leave behind the pile of clothes and step into the tub. Sitting down, I’m immediately wrapped in warmth that seems to sink all the way into my cold-pressed bones. My ribbons slither to the bottom, their tired lengths soaking up this simple comfort.
I groan as I lean my head back against the curved rim, relishing in the heat. After weeks and weeks of nothing but rag baths in the snow, this is heavenly. I won’t even let Midas’s presence ruin it.
Eyes fluttering closed, I breathe in the scent of the floral oils the maids must’ve mixed in. But I flinch and spring them open again when Midas’s hands suddenly begin to stroke my hair from behind. “Shh, it’s alright, Precious. I’m going to make it all up to you.”
“The only way you can make it up to me is by not trying to lock me away ever again,” I tell him evenly, focusing on the bubbles as they float on the surface of the water.
I might need to play along, to act like I’m once more ensnared by his charm, but I won’t go back to being a captive.
Midas hesitates for a moment, hands paused at my hair. “Of course,” he says after a stunted breath. “Of course. The cage was only ever there for your protection. But if you don’t need it anymore, then I’ll keep you safe without it.”
He backtracks beautifully.
I let a small smile play on my lips and turn to look at him over my shoulder. His handsome face is the epitome of adoration, but his shoulders are stiff, betraying the burden of his lingering anger. “Truly?”
“Yes,” he replies vehemently, grasping onto my tentative hope as he reaches down to cup my face, as tendrils of blond hair fall across his forehead. “I’m so sorry for the way I behaved earlier, Precious. Forgive me.”
“You hurt me,” I say, and this time, I’m speaking true.
He leans down from where he’s perched on the stool beside the tub and presses his cheek against my forehead. His skin is cold, while mine is dewy with the steam of the bath whispering between us. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll earn your trust and forgiveness again.”
“You said you didn’t need my forgiveness,” I remind him with a bite in my tone.
Midas winces before he reaches over and picks up a silver pitcher from the floor. He dunks it in the water and begins to wet my hair.
“I wasn’t thinking straight.” He rolls up his sleeves and drags the tray of food closer to me. Then he begins to lather soap in his hands and starts washing my oily, tangled strands. “I don’t expect you to forgive me right away, but I only acted that way because I was worried about you.”
I believe that Midas does care for me, in his own twisted way. But it’s not healthy, and it’s not enough. It’s not what I deserve. I don’t think I’ll ever have the kind of love that I crave.
That thought makes my eyes blur as I stare at the ceiling, gaze locked onto the frosted window at the top of the wall. Grief clings to me as much as the beaded water against my skin.
As sadness overtakes my anger, I wonder what’s wrong with me. Why couldn’t he love me? Truly love me?
Midas loves my shimmering skin, my gleaming hair. He is undoubtedly in love with my power. I gave him my heart, and I was too young, too stupid to see that his adoration was for my gold, not me.
I must be defective in some way. Unworthy.
Or maybe this is simply what I’m destined for. Maybe this is all I’m allowed to have. The woman who can turn the world gold has to have a check on her own greed.
Perhaps love is the price of my power.
My thoughts droop down like a weight depressing at the edge of a petaled conscience. Midas continues to wash my hair, keeping up conversation in a steady cadence. He talks of how much he missed me, of the things he’s been doing in Fifth Kingdom since we’ve been separated, of how much work we have to do now that we’re together again.
I let him speak and he lets me stay quiet, using the food as my excuse not to talk. I eat everything on
the tray without tasting it, too busy chewing my own quiet contemplation. I can’t help but think about the last time he did this, took care of me, bathed me, right after the attack with King Fulke.
Automatically, my hand lifts to my throat, fingers stroking over the small scar that still resides there. It wasn’t Midas who saved me that night, not really. It was Digby, and I lost him too.
Somehow, in some way, everyone I’ve ever loved has been taken from me. Even Midas, and he’s sitting just inches away.
After I’ve scrubbed, rinsed, and polished off the last of the food, I get out of the tub and pull on a fresh night dress. It’s thick white cotton, the hem reaching my toes, the sleeves wide and ending at points past my fingers. My ribbons wring themselves out before hanging loose in lazy strips against my back.
“There,” Midas murmurs, looking me over from head to toe. “You’re shiny and new again.”
I offer him a tight smile. My body is as tired as my spirit, and all I want to do now is get away from him. “I need to sleep.”
He quickly nods. “I’ve had the maids make up a room right across the hall,” he says. “You can stay there. Have your own...space.”
Wary surprise has me turning to face him. “My own room? Without bars?”
He tucks a damp strand of hair behind my ear. “No bars. Just your own room where you can relax and be safe,” he says quietly. “I meant what I said. I was wrong, and I’ll make it up to you, Auren. Now, come. You must be tired.”
I let Midas take my hand, and he leads me out of his rooms and into the hall. Nodding to some guards, he opens the door across from his. I step inside with him and look around the dark room, though all I can see by the weak moonlight is a pillowy bed.
Letting go of me, Midas walks to the wall and closes the curtains, while I go lie down. I barely have the energy to pull back the covers before I slip onto the feathery mattress.
I stiffen when I feel the bed dip as Midas lies down beside me. He wastes no time pulling me in and arranging me so that my head rests on his chest. I’m like a block of ice against him, refusing to melt, wanting to slide away.
Gleam (The Plated Prisoner Series Book 3) Page 4