A couple of hours later, I get lucky as I peek around a corner and find a pair of guards sitting outside a door.
“This post is a hell of a lot better than north wall. We don’t have to freeze our asses off for once,” one man says.
The other guard is leaning back on his stool, ear pressed to the door. “Shit, I think I can hear one of ’em moanin’.”
“Really?” That perks the other one up, and I roll my eyes as he presses his ear to the door too. “You think they just...fuck each other all day?”
A male groan echoes down. “Shit, I hope so.”
“Midas has much better whores than Fulke did. Did you see the tits on that redhead?”
Well, I found the saddles.
I hesitate for a moment, trying to formulate a plan, but I know that I don’t have all day lurking around this corner. Sooner or later, someone is going to walk by.
I don’t recognize the guards, and obviously, they’re new at this post, which may work in my favor. So, with a half-cocked idea, I take a deep breath and round the corner. I walk confidently down the ice-blue corridor, passing the decorative pillars that line the wall.
Since they’re still trying to spy on the saddles, the gold-clad guards don’t notice me until I’m two feet away. They immediately jump to their feet at my approach, looking flustered. One is older, with graying temples, while the other seems to be younger than me, with blond facial hair growing in sad little patches over his chin.
“Who are you?” Patch Beard asks.
The older one glances at him pointedly. “Who is she? Look at her. She’s gold, you idiot. Who do you think it is?”
“Oh. Right.” Twin dots of red appear on his cheeks.
I smile brightly. “Hello, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m just going inside the saddle wing.”
Gray Hair frowns in confusion. “Uh, that’s not permitted, miss.”
I adopt a haughty look. “Of course it’s permitted.” The best way to convince people that you’re allowed to do something is to act offended when they assume otherwise. “You know who I am.”
It’s not really a question, but they nod anyway.
“So you know that I’m King Midas’s gold-touched favored. His favorite saddle,” I say slowly, my words punctuated with an arch of my brow to make them feel like idiots for not realizing this. “And this is the saddle wing, is it not?”
They hesitate.
“Well. Yes...” Patch Beard answers, that blush still on his cheeks.
“Right, so can you please move so I can go inside? I’d hate to have to tell the king that you barred his favored saddle from entering her own wing. I’m sure he wouldn’t be too pleased about it.”
The young guard blanches and whips his head toward Gray Hair. “You’re insulting King Midas’s favored,” he says through his teeth.
“I am not,” he argues. “I thought she—”
Patch Beard cuts him off, looking back at me. “Go right on ahead, miss,” he says as he reaches over and opens the door grandly.
I make sure to give him a sweet smile as I walk past. “Thank you.”
When the door snicks shut behind me, I hear the two of them immediately start to bicker, making a snort rise in my throat. I didn’t expect that to actually work, but I’m certainly going to take advantage of it.
I look around the small, empty entryway and hear a noise coming through the door to my right. Walking over, I peer inside from the doorway and find a large room. There are two white pillars standing along the back wall like bookends holding together the windows. The space is basked in the brooding light of frosted window panes, while icy blue paint and matching rugs makes it seem cold despite the fire burning in the hearth.
Egg-shaped chairs woven with straw are hanging from the ceiling, deep enough to fit a few saddles at once. Some of them are doing just that, lounging on plush pillows inside like the strange swinging seats are their shared cocoons.
My eyes dart from them to the decadent piles of more pillows on the floor in the corner, all white, blue, and purple. There’s a skinny table filled with food platters and pitchers of drink on the opposite wall, and several chaises scattered around the middle of the room. All in all, it looks decadent, if a little messy.
I pick out most of the saddles I traveled here with, along with a few new faces, but none of them have noticed me yet. The ones in the swinging egg chairs seem to be dozing, lazy legs hanging out, the hems of silk dresses dragging against the carpeted floor.
They’re all so...comfortable together that I have to tamp down a pang of jealousy. What would it have been like if I’d been included with them while we lived in Highbell? If I’d been allowed to visit the saddles, if they hadn’t resented and hated me, my life would’ve been far less lonely. I know they argue and fight—I saw that while we were with Fourth’s army—but they’ve formed friendships too. Even if some of them hate each other, at least they have each other. I had no one. Have no one.
A giggle to my right cuts off my pity party, and my gaze swings over to one of the chaises to find one person I do not want to be friends with.
Polly seems to notice me at the same exact time that I notice her, because her crystal blue eyes flash to me, the giggle dying on her lips. Beside her, the male saddle, Rosh, stiffens. Three more saddles sitting in the other lounger turn to look at me as I make my way over.
“Nice dress,” Polly sneers, lips curling up in a malicious smile as she looks at my bent and awkward bodice.
A bit of heat rises into my cheeks at her scathing look, but I shrug it off. “My ribs aren’t a fan of Fifth’s clothing.”
She snorts derisively, her body slumped against the purple cushions, blonde hair in disarray. “Pain is beauty. But I guess you wouldn’t know.”
The other saddles cackle. More heat blooms in my cheeks.
“Pain shouldn’t be the requisite of beauty.”
“Spoken like a true pampered whore,” she lobs back, though her eyes are glassy, unfocused. “What are you even doing here? You’re not welcome in our wing.”
I glance warily at the other three women, who are watching me with a kind of bored interest. “I wanted to see how you were all settling in.”
Polly rolls her eyes. “Liar.”
“Fine,” I concede with a shrug. I don’t want to talk to her any more than she wants to talk to me. “I came to see Rissa. Do you know where she is?” I ask, looking around.
Her shrewd, albeit slightly bloodshot eyes, narrow on me. “Why do you always want to talk to her lately? You aren’t friends.”
It’s like a kick to the gut, like she saw what I was thinking before I walked over here, and she wants to drive the knife in.
“How do you know we aren’t friends?” I ask defensively.
“Because Rissa is my friend,” Polly replies, her cheeks blooming with an angry blush that surprises me.
One of the other saddles laughs—Isis, the statuesque one with black hair. “Are you jealous of the gilded cunt?”
I bristle at her words, but Polly does too. “Shut your fat mouth,” she snaps.
Isis just laughs harder, so much so that she ends up falling into the saddle sitting beside her, making that woman erupt into laughter too. They flop onto the floor together in a heap of uncontrollable giggles, and then—
Okay, now they’re kissing.
The petite, pixie-looking saddle named Gia—rolls her eyes and gets to her feet. She steps over the two women on the floor before plopping in Rosh’s lap, and then she starts to kiss him.
There’s a lot of kissing going on all of a sudden.
Polly takes one look at Gia and shoves her face away. “Go fuck someone else.”
The girl pouts but begins to pepper kisses on Rosh’s neck instead of sucking his mouth off. “Aw, come on, Polly. Let’s all join. I feel so nice right now.”
I stare wide-eyed as she starts to stroke Rosh’s groin, who tips his head back with a g
roan.
Polly’s mouth presses into a hard line, making her usual pink, plush lips go thin and white. An irritated sigh strangles through the tightly cinched gap of her lips. “I knew you bitches couldn’t handle that much dew.”
I frown. “Dew?”
Polly looks about as impressed with me as ever. “Yes, dew,” she says with an exaggerated eye roll. “You’re not that stupid, are you?” When I just continue to look at her with confusion, she sighs. “You know, painted petal, the rouged maiden, dewdrops, cherry dew...”
A snort comes from Isis, still straddling the other saddle on the floor. “Cherry dew, because one lick and it makes even the most prudish maidens want to pop their cherries.” She starts to laugh again until the girl beneath her gyrates, and then her amusement turns into a moan.
“Dew is...a drug?” I ask incredulously. Now, I’m looking at their glassy eyes and flushed faces in a different light, their lusty, languid behavior making me uneasy. “Won’t you get in trouble?”
“From whom?” Polly asks with an arch of her brow.
“The king.”
“Well, that would be strange, since he’s the one who gave it to me.”
My mind churns with a clunk. “What? Midas gave it to you?”
“Well, the mender gave it to us first. To help us cope after everything we endured with the Red Raids and the army. But Midas gave me my very own box because I pleased him,” Polly replies proudly, shooting a vindictive smile my way, though she’s still slouched against the cushions. “I pleased him immensely.”
I swallow hard. “Recently?”
It’s obvious she’s enjoying this, because her eyes sparkle and an impish smile curves her lips. “Just last night.”
There should be a dagger that goes through my heart at her words, but I’m not hurt—not like that. Or if I am, it’s an echo of past knee-jerk reactions to Midas’s sexual exploits. I always had to suppress my jealousies. He made me think I was the one who was being unreasonable, unfair. But hearing that he left my bed to visit hers doesn’t make me feel jealous right now. Instead, I’m just disgusted by him.
I was obviously very good at lying to myself, because there’s no other way I could’ve convinced myself that he loved me.
We tell ourselves twisted lies to tangle around our wicked truths, all so that we can get caught up in the bind and not have to face bare regrets.
There were too many times that Midas had been with me, just to leave and visit one of them. Or make me watch him with them, like he got some perverse pleasure from the extent of his complete control over me. I should’ve busted his balls years ago, the saddle-riding snake.
And now, he’s giving the saddles whatever this dew is to affect their behavior. The whole thing leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be taking that…” I say cautiously.
Polly stiffens. “There you go with your superiority complex. You just can’t help yourself from thinking that you’re better than us, can you?” she challenges.
“That’s not—”
“King Fulke’s saddles have been taking it every day for years. They love the stuff. It makes everything so much more...enjoyable,” she says, leaning over to drag a finger down Rosh’s bare bicep as the man nuzzles into Gia’s neck.
My brows fall down. “Fulke’s saddles?”
Rosh lifts his head long enough to answer me. “Yep.” He looks me up and down in a lust-fogged haze, his eyes more intense from the kohl that lines them. “Those ones over there,” he says, gesturing behind me.
I turn to look, finding a group of women I hadn’t noticed in a small alcove. Their bodies are slumped against the wall with pillows beneath them, hands between thighs. Unfocused eyes are staring at the walls like they aren’t completely aware of where they are, even as their fingers move and their lips moan.
An unsettled feeling sifts through my chest, a sieve of grating sand to scrape at my worry. “What’s wrong with them?”
“Fulke was a flesh trader,” Rosh says with a shrug, voice slightly slurring as Gia rakes her fingers through his hair. “His royal saddles weren’t permanent, so he switched them out a lot from what we’ve heard. They mostly keep to themselves, but they love their dew. King Midas has been making sure they still get it.”
I drag my eyes away from their lax faces, their empty eyes. “I don’t think you should take it.”
“But feels so good,” Isis says from the floor, her hand trailing up the other woman’s dress. ”You should try some.”
“Like I would ever waste my gift on her,” Polly snips.
I ignore that. “You don’t want to end up like...like them,” I say in a whisper, eyes darting over to Fulke’s saddles. But even if I’d yelled it, I’m not sure that they’re aware enough to care.
“They’re happier this way,” Rosh says absently, his gaze zeroing in on Gia’s chest.
“Mmm, I want to be happier too,” Gia croons. “Come on, Polly. Let us have some more.”
“I can’t even see your irises anymore, and you’re dry humping Rosh. You’ve had enough,” Polly retorts testily. She then reaches beneath the pillow at her back and pulls out a small glass box. As soon as she flips open the lid, all four of the saddles perk up, heads swinging her way, like dogs scenting a bone.
Isis tries to lean over and reach inside the box, but Polly yanks it out of her grasp and slaps her hand. “No, you’ve had enough, too.”
Isis scowls and rubs her hand. “You’re not the boss of us.”
“King Midas gave me this extra dew. That means it’s mine. If you three bitches aren’t careful, I’ll cut you off. You’ll have to try to get some from the Fulke phantoms over there,” Polly says, waving a hand in their direction. I can’t help but wince at her description of them. She’s not wrong, they are like phantoms, listless and empty-eyed ghosts. “I said you’ve had plenty for now, and I meant it. Now go away. You’re annoying me.”
Isis shoots her another peeved look but obviously takes her threat to heart, because she gets up, offering a hand to the girl beneath her. The two of them stumble away toward the first swinging cocoon they reach and climb inside. Moans strike up soon after.
A throaty laugh pulls my gaze back. “That was mean, Polly,” Rosh purrs. Gia is rocking on his lap now, the length of him noticeably growing beneath his velvet leggings as her small hips move up and down.
“You like it when I’m mean,” Polly replies with a sultry look.
Rosh simply chuckles again before turning his head to lick a line down Gia’s chest. She arches back in response, making an incredibly carnal noise that seems to rumble out of her.
“Can someone just tell me where to find Rissa?” I ask, growing impatient. I don’t want to be here anymore. Uneasiness is crawling over my skin at how wrong this all feels.
“Nope,” Polly says before flipping open the box again. Inside, there’s a stack of thick white petals with what looks like blood-red droplets on them.
“Polly…”
She ignores me and raises a petal to her lips, setting it on her tongue. She closes her mouth with sensual decadence, her eyes rolling into the back of her head as a look of euphoria crashes over her features.
She chews slowly, as if savoring every grind of her teeth and lap of her tongue. Rosh grabs Polly’s face before she can swallow the petal, devouring her mouth, tongue thrusting greedily as if he’s trying to lick away every essence she just ingested.
I’m still staring at them when a voice behind me says, “You should probably leave them to it. They’re going to be at it for hours now.”
I whirl around to find Rissa standing behind me, looking beautiful as always. “There you are,” I say in relief. A loud moan erupts behind me, making me wince.
“Not a fan of dew?” she asks knowingly.
I shake my head.
“It’s a popular commodity here in Fifth Kingdom, though I’ve heard it’s quite expensive. King Fulke ke
pt a stockpile of it, apparently. His old saddles don’t seem to care about much of anything else. Well...that and fucking, since it enhances sexual desire. It’s quite useful for saddles to be hooked on something like that, don’t you think?”
Her words are bitter, biting. The snap of dainty teeth behind pretty lips.
I take in Rissa’s coiffed blonde hair, her clear eyes, her lack of blushing skin. Unlike the rest of the saddles in the room, who I now realize are either doing something sexual or dozing in a stupor, she’s completely put-together.
“You don’t partake?” I ask curiously.
Her blue eyes go shuttered. “No. I don’t want my problems to be shoved aside or to be forced into lust. I refuse to stay here and succumb.” I don’t say anything to that, and she finally drags her eyes away from Fulke’s saddles and smooths a hand down her skin-tight dress. “I assume you came here to speak with me?”
“I did.” Another breathy, sensual noise comes from behind me. “Can we talk somewhere that’s more private and less...moany?”
Rissa snorts but turns and leads me through a doorway at the back. Inside, the space is stuffed full of unmade beds, though it’s thankfully empty. Closing the door behind us, she takes her place by the far wall, leaning against it to face me. “I was wondering how long you’d make me wait until you came to visit.”
“I’m not making you wait,” I say. “I told you it would take time for me to get things in order.”
“And? Are you getting things in order?” she asks, and I notice it then—the underlying desperation. She’s hiding it well, but I see it in the way she stretches her tense fingers, the way her gaze fastens.
“I am.”
“Are you?” she asks again with clear doubt in her tone. “Or maybe you’re lying to me right now and instead, you’ve told the king and plan to double-cross me.”
I don’t point out that she’s the one who’s blackmailing me. “I gave you my word, Rissa,” I tell her. “I said I’d get you the gold, and I meant it. But...I do need to make a new deal with you.”
Rissa’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “What is this new deal?”
I lick my lips and look around nervously before I whisper, “You said you needed enough gold to buy out your contract and to start a new life somewhere. But I know King Midas. He won’t let you out of your arrangement until he decides. Trust me in this.”
Gleam (The Plated Prisoner Series Book 3) Page 12