Magic, strong magic, isn’t as common as it once was in Orea. Without any more fae to mix with, it’s slowly petering out of our world. It’s held mostly in the royal lines, but that’s only due to carefully arranged unions.
But the man in front of me is one who slipped through the cracks, who went unnoticed for too long. Just a common, albeit skilled, foot soldier. His secret was discovered only after a particularly bad fight, seven against one, and he disappeared in plain sight.
Luckily for me, Fulke kept good notes.
“I have a job for you.”
Hood waits, unspeaking, just as I knew he would. Through the weeks of observing him, he hasn’t spoken once. I view his silence as another asset.
“The cold queen has become a problem. I want you to take care of her for me.”
Part of me is disappointed in Malina. I thought she’d be smarter than this, though I anticipated that she might react this way. Her bold refusal sits creased in my palm, her letter sealing her own fate.
That was the only chance I was willing to give her, and she just threw it away because she overestimated her own importance. With her pathetic scheming to try to keep Sixth, with her refusal to claim an heir, she’s now become ineffectual.
Expendable.
“How quickly does your magic work?” I ask curiously as I walk closer.
In answer, he settles his arms at his sides, lifting his head slightly to reveal the patch around his mouth and nose as his eyelids drop closed in concentration.
The change happens slowly, like a roiling cloud high in the sky. His form builds and billows before it becomes a dark, translucent wisp inside the cover of smoke.
The man is stock-still silence and churning shadows.
I hum in approval at his wraithlike form, at the magic of a hidden phantom who can disappear into his own umbra and bend the light around him to make him disappear. I put my hand out to test these strange shadows, but my fingers pass right through, feeling nothing but cold smoke.
Fascinating. Effective. Perfect magic to put to use as an assassin.
Dropping my hand, I watch as Hood reappears, shadow and light coalescing around him until his body is solid and visible once more.
“I want you to leave tonight,” I tell him. “Don’t fail me.”
Hood dips his chin in agreement at the order and then turns and slips away, leaving just as silently as he entered.
Malina will be sorry she ever refused me. I’m going to ruin her feeble efforts at holding my kingdom, and then, my shadow will extinguish her.
Chapter 14
AUREN
“You missed a spot on the floor, Auren.”
I turn my head to look and see where Midas is indicating. My tired eyes land on a spot on the marble, gilded veins now running throughout every polished tile.
With weighted steps, I pad across the room to the offensive spot that didn’t take. Beneath my bare feet, I will some of my gold to trickle through my heels and toes, but it’s sluggish, drying up, my arches aching like someone’s nails digging into the strained muscles.
As soon as I manage to gild the spot, I slump against the wall, limbs shaking with exhaustion. A layer of sweat pearls against my brow, and it takes all my willpower not to lie down right here in the middle of the throne room and pass out.
“It’s nearly dusk,” Midas says, as if I need the reminder.
He’s sitting on the throne with a ledger in his lap that he’s been going over for however many hours we’ve been in here. While he’s been reading and making notes on who-knows-what, I’ve been systematically gold-touching everything in the room. Just as I’ve been doing in other various rooms for the past four days. Turning a castle gold is more draining than I remember.
When I did this at Highbell, my powers were still new. My gold-touch came in spurts and depleted quickly. Yet over the years, my magic has become stronger. I’ve been able to do more at one time for longer, but four days of draining my power again and again has caught up with me. So much so that the impending dusk makes me want to sigh in relief.
The fact that my power only works during the day means I’m limited, but it can also be a blessing. As soon as the sun sets, I can relax. I don’t have to pay attention to every single movement, to be so aware of my skin and my touch. More importantly, I can have a break from Midas’s incessant requests.
All I’ve done is work myself down to the bone, using my power again and again and again to please him. He’s dangling Digby over me. Every time I want to tell him to shove it instead of turning another piece of clothing, plate, plant, or table gold, I’ve had to bite my tongue. I’ve had to fist my hands and do it anyway, because the threat of him hurting Digby looms over me like a dust storm ready to descend.
The only good thing about my constant work these past few days is that they’ve been enlightening. I’ve been able to see more of the main parts of the castle without having to sneak around, been able to make more of a map of everything around me. Now, I’m not just searching for ways out, but also trying to figure out where Digby might be held.
“I can’t do any more today,” I tell Midas honestly, shaking my head as I look down at my sticky hands. The liquid gold is claggy and clumped, half-drying against my palms like thickening paint. “I’m wiped out.”
With a furrowed brow, he closes his ledger and tucks it beneath his vest before getting up from the throne. A throne, which, thanks to me, is now solid gold just like the raised dais beneath it. Gold-touch is immediate with whatever comes into contact with my bare skin, but the more I use it, the more difficult and exhausting it is. I don’t know how many more days of this endless demand on my magic I can handle. Already, I feel like I’ve aged twenty years.
Midas walks toward me, gaze sweeping the throne room. He glances at the floors that now gleam, at the gilt window frames and the panes that are now tinged gold. I even managed to gild every inch of the walls, which took hours in this massive space since I had to do it in spurts so I didn’t drain myself too quickly.
But now I’m tired, I’m cranky, and I’ve reached my daily limit with tolerating Midas’s soft suggestions of what else needs to be gold-touched.
Midas’s eyes lift as he takes in the ceiling with a frown. I wasn’t able to get my power to stretch that far, so the ceiling and blue crystal chandeliers are untouched. Personally, I think the white and blue looks better.
The only other thing left in here is the viewing section to the left, the wooden banisters and benches intact. Although, considering the size of the room, I’ve done far more than I thought I could today.
“Shame about the chandeliers,” Midas muses as he stops in front of me, head tipped up.
I have to hold my tongue to keep from cursing him. I’ve worked tirelessly all damn day, and that’s what he has to say to me?
I can feel that earlier anger from the parapet wall peek its head up in the chasm of my spirit, an eye cracking open. I’ve tied my ribbons into simple bows at my back, but they tighten instinctively with my spark of temper.
While he’s looking around the room, I look at him. “Sorry to disappoint you,” I bite out.
“We’ll get it done tomorrow,” he says absently, not picking up on my tone.
Why he says we, as if he does anything other than sit there, is beyond me.
“Just in time too. I’ve received word from Third Kingdom. They were held up by their timberwings, but they’re back on course and will be arriving soon.” He looks at the gilded throne with pride, like he’s already envisioning sitting in it while his new admirers look upon him.
The monster that’s taken up residence in my chest trills out a warning, but I tamp her down.
Since I’ve been gold-touching every day, Midas has worked quietly, only offering a few words every so often, which means I’ve had plenty of time to think. I’m figuring out who I am outside of his control, but...I want to like who I become. I’m worried about what might happen if thi
s dark beast that’s taken root inside of me rears her ugly head.
Letting out a strangled breath, I suppress my temper once again, while my fingers come up to press against my aching temple. “I’d like to go lie down now.”
Midas looks at me for the first time, a frown curving down as his brassy eyes skate over me. “Are you tired?”
“Of course I’m tired,” I say snappishly.
Instead of the flash of anger or the pointed look that warns me to remember Digby, his frown only deepens. “You’re right. You’ve done a lot of work for the past few days, and I should’ve ensured that you didn’t tax yourself too much. Come, we’ll go out the back door and I’ll escort you to your rooms where you can rest.”
Rest. Sounds heavenly.
He turns and starts walking, but I wince when I realize that before I can achieve said rest, I’m going to have to walk. Far.
I bribe my body with thoughts of my fluffy bed and feather pillows just waiting upstairs. The real tragedy of this throne room isn’t that I didn’t manage to gild the chandeliers, it’s that there isn’t a single pillow in here.
Since the softest thing present is now a solid gold throne, I give myself a pep talk.
I can do this.
I can walk the very long way to my rooms after hours of depleting my magic to the point of exhaustion. I can, because I don’t want to show weakness in front of Midas. I’m a strong woman who’s learning to be independent, dammit.
Ish. I’m a strongish woman. That ish is going to have to be good enough for now.
With a determined breath that comes out a little bit like a whimper, I manage to peel myself off the wall and stand on two feet.
Bright side, I don’t fall flat on my face.
But then I remember all the stairs I have to climb, and my ish falters a little bit. Stupid castles with their stupid multiple levels.
I snag my shoes and gloves where I left them on the dais, slipping both on, just as my skin prickles with the telltale sign that the day is ended.
I let out a shaky exhale as my gold-touch power evaporates like mist, going dormant for the night as the sun sets, and my aching palms twinge as the last of the gold soaks back into my skin.
Midas waits for me by the door, no doubt noting how long it’s taking me to get there. My silk slippers drag, every step feeling heavier than the last.
His brow furrows as I finally reach the doorway. “I’ve overworked you. I apologize.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not,” he replies as he leads me through the empty meeting room and then toward the door at the other end. “I’ve just been impatient to get started, and there’s so much to do here...but it’s no excuse. I shouldn’t have pushed you for so long today.” He stops before the second door and turns to me like he’s actually concerned. And maybe he is, but it’s not for me, not really. He can’t have more gold if his spout drains dry. “Forgive me. I don’t mean to be overbearing, you know that.”
I know he’s full of shit, and it’s certainly not gilded.
“I just need to sleep, Midas,” I say thickly, feeling like I’m about to topple right over. Stopping is not a good idea right now, because I might not be able to get going again, and the last thing I want is him touching me to help me along.
“Of course,” he nods. “I can let you rest tomorrow as well. You’ve done so much already. If you’re still too weak in the morning, we’ll wait until the following day to do more of the castle.”
Dizziness overwhelms me at just the thought of how much more he wants me to do.
He clears his throat. “And, if you continue on the way you’ve been behaving, until the celebratory ball, I’ll let you visit Digby.”
My stomach squeezes, chest leaping. “Really?”
“You’ll have earned it by then,” he says, flashing me a bright grin.
I’ll have earned it...or I’ll have found him myself.
I give Midas a shaky, desperate smile because it’s what he wants. “Thank you.”
With a nod, he opens the door, and we walk out into the empty hall. Every day this week as I’ve worked, he’s locked the area down, not allowing anyone to come near the room we’re in, guards included. Wouldn’t want anyone to walk in and see who’s really turning things gold, now would he?
As we walk down the hall together, I watch my dragging feet while Midas peppers the air with one-sided conversation. Telling me about which rooms we’ll do next, which things I missed for my first go-around, how much gold the nobles need... Sometimes it feels like he’s talking directly to my magic instead of to me. At least there’s no need for me to reply.
By the time we spill out into the grand entrance, twin staircases curling up on the left and right, sweat is trickling down my back, and my legs are shaking.
I pause on the landing, gripping the railing to hold myself up as I catch my breath while Midas chatters on about some damn thing.
“King Midas.”
Midas stops on the stairs above me and turns, while my own head swings to face the new voice. On the second staircase to our left, there’s a boy descending the steps with three Ranhold guards trailing after him, purple cloaks hanging heavy at their backs.
“Prince Niven,” Midas replies smoothly with a bow of his head. Only because I know him so well, I catch the hint of distaste in his polished voice. “I was told you were still unwell.”
The boy is dressed in mourning black with silver icicles embroidered into his cuffs. Mourning for his father, the man who almost killed me.
My hand comes up, fingers sliding over the scar at my throat. It’s not very noticeable anymore, just a small, jagged line, but when I touch it, it’s almost like I can feel the edge of Fulke’s blade digging in.
“I am having a better day today,” the prince says, quick steps taking him down the rest of the stairway.
Niven is young. If I had to guess, I’d say he can’t be older than twelve. And yet, he carries all the airs of a royal-born boy. A haughty chin, perfectly combed brown hair, and finely tailored clothes. When his eyes cut over to me, I’m glad to find that they’re blue, not brown like Fulke’s were.
He blinks at me in surprise, as if for a second, he thought I was a statue instead of a person. “So it’s true,” he says as he strides right up to me. “She’s completely gilded.”
I tense, but Midas is at my side in an instant to head him off. “Prince Niven, this is Auren. My gold-touched favored.”
The boy’s eyes rove over me. “Strange,” he murmurs before glancing at Midas. “Why don’t you turn all your saddles gold?”
“Because she’s special.”
I inwardly snort.
Based on the slight lift of his lip, Prince Niven doesn’t seem very impressed with that answer either. “My father could duplicate everything one time, but his power didn’t work on people or animals. But when my magic comes out, it’s going to be even more powerful than his. Maybe even more powerful than yours,” he says, tone as pompous as only a child prince’s can be.
“I’m sure you’ll be very impressive once your magic manifests,” Midas replies placidly.
“Yes.” Niven nods, casting his attention over me one last time before he seems to dismiss me completely. “I’m glad I caught you, King Midas. I would like to discuss some matters with you. Shall we go to the meeting room?”
I cut my glance over just in time to catch the irritated tap of Midas’s finger at his hip, six consistent thrums against the golden fabric of his trousers.
Oh, he just hates this, doesn’t he?
I have to keep myself from grinning like a loon. I might be a little slap happy right now from how drained I am, but this conversation has perked me right up. Midas must loathe dealing with the pompous little prince while he’s busy playing ruler of Fifth Kingdom.
It almost makes my exhaustion worth it, just to see the look on Midas’s face. I’m immensely pleased that I get to see how he has to fo
rce himself to swallow down every scathing thought he has and nod at the prince instead.
“Of course, Your Highness. I am here at your disposal to help in all matters.”
“Excellent,” Niven says, voice a little high-pitched and nasally. “Let’s go.”
“I’ll meet you shortly, right after I walk my favored to her rooms,” Midas tells him as he begins to motion for me to follow him up the stairs.
Prince Niven frowns. “Surely a king doesn’t need to do something so trivial?” The boy looks around, spotting two of Midas’s gold-clad guards on the landing above us. “You there! Come down here and escort King Midas’s favored back to her rooms. Your King has very important business to attend and can’t be bothered with such things.”
Midas’s face flushes red, and the sight makes a laugh bubble up in my throat. I staunch it before it can come out, but I make a choking sound that I have to cover up with a cough.
Both royals frown over at me.
“Sorry,” I rasp. “Dust in my throat.”
The guards from above quickly make their way down to us, while Midas steps up to my side. “Go straight up to your room.”
I dip my chin, playing the part of his subservient saddle. “Yes, King Midas.”
He pauses, eyes narrowing slightly, and it takes me a second to realize it’s because I called him King Midas instead of my king. That should be telling enough for both of us. I don’t consider him mine anymore.
The guards’ arrival rips Midas’s attention away from me so he can glare at them. “Escort her straight to her rooms,” he commands before digging in his pocket and pulling out a key. He shoves it in one of the guards’ hands.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Come along, King Midas. I have much to discuss,” Niven says, impatience dripping off his pretentious tone as he begins to walk past us in the direction of the meeting room.
Midas’s shoulders go tight, brow lowering with irritation. I wonder what he’d really say to the prince if he weren’t busy spinning a political web threaded with fake niceties.
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