Gleam (The Plated Prisoner Series Book 3)

by Raven Kennedy

I’ll remind them that there’s a reason I’m the Cold Queen.

  Chapter 18

  AUREN

  My power burnout must’ve been really bad, because I sleep right through the next day. When I finally drag myself awake, dusk isn’t far off, the last hours of day burning through the windows.

  I stretch and yawn as I get up, rubbing at my eyes. I strip out of my wrinkled dress and pull on a silk robe and a pair of gloves, though I’m just going through the motions. My mind is full of the man who haunted my dreams, his words a heartbreaking melody that won’t stop replaying.

  I’m saying that you are my own good.

  And for you, I gave you a choice.

  But you chose him.

  My tongue drags against my lips, like I might still get a lingering taste. I don’t know if I’ll ever forget the feel of him or ever lose the thrill I felt when he looked me in the eye and told me that he was choosing me. It makes my heart feel so hopeful and yet so damn terrified too.

  With an anxious sigh, I run my hands through my tangled hair and grab the fae book I stuffed under my mattress, before I take a seat on the gilded chair in front of the fireplace. I was woken up earlier when the servant came in to build up the flames and bring new wood, though I groaned at the unwelcome presence of the two guards monitoring her. Luckily, they were all out again before I even cracked open both eyes, and none of them said a word.

  Digby would’ve grunted at me, telling me in that wordless way of his to stop moping around, but that thought just makes my stomach twist with a hurt I can’t ease.

  Tucking my feet underneath me, I stare off into the fire and look through the book absentmindedly when a knock sounds on the door. For a second, my heart beats wildly, like it might be Slade on the other side, though I know that’s a stupid thought. Setting the book down, I wander over to the door, cracking it open to find Scofield.

  I’m careful to keep my body mostly hidden, since the robe only reaches my knees. “Yes?”

  “My lady, King Midas has summoned you,” Scofield tells me, though his tone is formal, and he’s not quite looking me in the eye, probably because of my state of undress. “You’re to meet him in the formal dining room in an hour.”

  “Alright...did he say why?” Up until now, he’s preferred that I stay shut away in my rooms during the day unless I’m gilding the damn castle. This summons is reminiscent of when I’d be called to formal meals in Highbell...and not in a good way.

  “Her Majesty the Queen of Third Kingdom arrived last night. King Midas and Prince Niven are hosting a welcome meal in her honor.”

  “Is that so,” I say under my breath, my mind already working. It won’t be dusk for a while yet, so I’ll have to be careful. “Thanks for the heads-up, Scofield.”

  I move to shut the door, but he raises a hand, stopping me. My brows pull together. “Is something wrong?”

  Scofield looks just over my shoulder. “No, but...we are also to assess your rooms.”

  I look between him and the other unfamiliar guard, and irritation roots my bare feet right into the ground. “Now?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  For a second, I envision slamming the door in his face, but that would really only be satisfying if it were Midas standing here.

  Instead, I spin on my heel and walk away, leaving the door ajar behind me, letting Scofield and three more guards file inside.

  None of them will look at me.

  Systematically, they all start checking the entire space. I’d forgotten how much I hated Midas’s random room checks. Back in Highbell, they were often. But no matter how many times it happened, I never stopped hating them. They always feel like such an invasion of privacy, reminding me that even though these are my rooms, they aren’t really mine.

  Midas could’ve had this done while I was gone, but he purposely has me in here while they’re doing it. As a warning, maybe, to remember that everything belongs to him.

  My eyes fly to the book I haphazardly left on the chair. I look back at the guards, but so far, they’re all near the bed. I hold back the urge to run and take measured steps instead. The second I’m sitting down, I stuff the book beneath my thighs and fix my robe to make sure it’s hidden.

  Body tense, I watch the guards sweep the room with meticulous attention. One of them even has a little piece of parchment in his hand that he keeps referring to, and based on the way he’s counting my pillows, I know it’s a tally mark of all the possessions I should have.

  The sheets and blankets on my bed are scrutinized. The rugs and curtains are checked, the chairs and walls examined. I wonder if they know why they’re doing this or if they count it as another one of Midas’s controlling tendencies.

  My eyes follow them as they turn over everything in my bedroom before moving on to the dressing room and bathroom.

  The sound of fabric shuffling around and shoe boxes being opened comes from one door, while quieter scrutiny happens in the other. By the time they all come filing back out, I’m simmering in both irritation and anxiousness, though I try not to show it. I braid my hair and keep my legs still, the forbidden book digging into my skin like the pinch of a lie.

  The men are just about to leave when Scofield walks over to me. “Sorry, my lady. The chair. Could you…?”

  My heart slams against my chest so hard I worry it’s going to crash right through. I grip the reins of my panic and shove them down, reminding myself that none of them have permission to physically move me.

  “Scofield, do you really expect me to get up in my current state? It’s not appropriate. I’m not properly dressed,” I say with as much indignation as I can muster, my hand sweeping down my body. “Midas wouldn’t like it.”

  His cheeks redden, and he immediately backs up. “I—apologies, my lady. Of course you should stay there.”

  With fire in my eyes, I nod and then watch as he spins on his heel. The men do another cursory look around for any unapproved paraphernalia, checking the list every two seconds like a cook with a recipe to make sure nothing is missing.

  Finally, all of them leave, Scofield unable to even look at me as he goes and shuts the door behind him. I let out a relieved breath and pull the book out from under me.

  I was too careless, and that’s one thing I can’t afford to be. I need to return this book the first chance I get. I don’t know if Midas would care that I had it or not, but he’d certainly question it. He might know a lot of things about me, but being fae is one secret I’ve never told him, thank the Divine. To him, I’m just a very powerful Orean, my ancestors’ fae magic not as diluted.

  This room sweep is also precisely why I can’t turn anything gold in my room and sneak it to Rissa. Everything I have, everything I use, is accounted for. Evaluated. Checked.

  Midas is always making sure that not a single piece is missing, whether by my hand or someone else’s. He used to say the checks were to ensure that nothing had been stolen or broken. But really, he likes to make sure I’m not doing anything secret with the things I’ve gold-touched. As if it all belongs to him. As if it’s his power that’s made anything of worth.

  I need to take another trip to the library soon, but for now, I have a dinner to get to. Spurred into action, I force myself to head into the dressing room to get ready. The evidence of the search is very apparent in here, dresses scrunched together on the hanging racks, hat and shoe boxes opened and shoved against the wall. Every drawer in the bureau is open too, gloves and undergarments in counted piles while perfume bottles lie knocked over.

  With a gritted sigh, I hide the book inside one of the hanging dresses, cinching up the bodice ties to hold it in place. When I’m satisfied it won’t fall out, I strip off my robe and look through the gowns with an assessing eye so I can choose what to wear.

  I’m not sure what I’m walking into in that dining room, but I know that whenever royalty is involved, there are always plots and plans. Midas will have his schemes, and I’m sure the queen will h
ave hers.

  I rack my mind, trying to remember exactly what I know about Third’s Queen. I know she’s a young widow. She married someone much older than her, and he died not long after. Since she has power and the legacy, she kept the throne, but I can’t for the life of me remember what her power is, and that leaves me feeling uneasy.

  In my defense, I’ve tried blocking out everything about Third Kingdom. That land brings up memories I want no part of. I was stuck in Derfort Harbor for ten years, owned by a flesh trader whose only stake in life was acquiring wealth on the backs of children.

  This queen wasn’t ruling during that time, but I’m still wary. Whenever I think of Third Kingdom, my mind irrevocably puts me right back there as the painted beggar girl. The girl who almost didn’t get away.

  Shoving aside those thoughts, I shuffle through the dresses, snagging one that’s already been turned gold by my touch. The corset on this one is visible, the stiff fabric stitched around the outside.

  I get dressed, harden the edge of one ribbon, then cut a short line down the back. This way, my ribbons won’t be squished uncomfortably against my spine, and the corset will stay up, but not squeeze the life out of me. Win-win.

  Once I get my top secured, I have my ribbons drape around the gauzy skirt in wide hanging arcs before tucking the ends behind me in a loose bow. I grab a pair of silk slippers and gloves appropriate for dinner, and then set the task of taming my hair in a long braid that I wrap around my head like my very own version of a crown.

  When I’m done, I leave my room and step out into the corridor. Scofield leads the way, while two more guards follow behind me. I should probably feel nervous that I’m about to be shoved into a royal welcome dinner, but I’m not.

  I’ve spent far too many years being nervous. Being timid and worried. Always trying to make the first impression that Midas wanted me to make, whether that was shy or seductive, adoring or proud. He always had an angle to play.

  With King Fulke, it was the lure of having me visible but not accessible. Teasing the man with me present in the background but always in my cage. There for him to covet, but unattainable.

  I don’t know what Midas’s angle will be with the queen, but whatever it is, I hold no stake in it anymore. I’m not on Midas’s side. It’s not my goal to please him other than behaving enough to keep Digby safe.

  Once downstairs and past the main hall, I walk through the doors into the formal dining room. The focal point of the space is the long glass table in the middle of the floor. It’s at least six inches thick, with bluish veins running through it to make it look glacial. Stretching along the top, the glass has been blown to spike up in jagged crystals like upside down icicles jutting from the center.

  All around the table are high back chairs with plush purple cushions, enough seats for three dozen people. Unfortunately, nearly all of them are occupied.

  I recognize a few of them: Midas’s advisors, Fulke’s advisors who used to visit with him in Highbell, but there are new faces too, I’m assuming from the queen’s kingdom.

  The royals are congregated in the middle, looking across at each other between spires of fake icicles that are lit up between flickering candles. Midas sits with the prince at his left, their advisors sprinkled off to the side. With her back to me sits the woman who must be the queen. There’s really no question, not with the glittering crown resting on her head, thick sable hair securing it in place with pins of pearls and sea stars.

  When I’m halfway across the room, Midas looks up from his discussion and raises a hand to beckon me over. Keeping my steps unhurried and even, I let my eyes sweep across the faces that turn to track my arrival.

  Above me, the chandeliers throw off crystalline light, and there’s a harp in front of the windows behind the table. A fireplace is roaring off to the left, big enough that I could walk inside and sleep on its logs.

  I round the table, murmured voices lifting to my ears as people sip from wine goblets, waiting for dinner to arrive. At least I’ll be able to stuff my face, because I suddenly realize that I’m starved.

  As I reach his chair, Midas’s assessing gaze roves up my form, not with appreciation, but with appraisal, like he’s checking to make sure I’m suitable for his fancy supper. His eyes snag on the torn strip at the back of my dress, and a tic appears in his jaw. “Auren.”

  I nod and give him the same sort of evaluating look, just to irritate him. “King Midas.”

  Across the table, the queen of Third Kingdom arches a brow at my exchange. At the very least, a full curtsy would’ve been proper, but I won’t bow to him anymore. The only reason I’ll be bending the knee for him again is to jerk it right back up to hit him in the groin.

  “So this is your golden girl...” The queen regards me with her attentive umber eyes, and I use the moment to do the same to her.

  Her tawny complexion goes beautifully with the gown she’s wearing, the buttermilk fabric molding to her curves, with wide buttons down the bodice that shine like diamonds.

  “Yes, this is her.” Midas’s hand reaches over to run a knuckle up my sleeved forearm.

  My ribbons tighten around my hips, the silken strips going hard like they want to lash out and smack his touch away. A creepy crawly feeling tapers down my skin as he continues to stroke me, and it takes everything in me to school my features and not yank my arm away.

  “Auren, meet Queen Kaila Ioana of Third Kingdom.”

  I dip into a curtsy. “Your Majesty,” I murmur. “I hope your travels to Fifth Kingdom weren’t too taxing.”

  Her lush lips pull up at the corners. “Not nearly as taxing as I’ve heard your travels were,” she replies. “Captured by the snow pirates, then taken by Fourth’s army, all while traveling across the Barrens into Fifth.” She makes a clicking noise. “It’s a wonder you’ve made it in one piece.”

  “I was lucky that Fourth was there to intervene.”

  Midas stiffens and drops his hand, though he says nothing to dispute my words. He and I both know it’s true. If I’d gone with the Red Raids, there’s a good chance I’d be dead right now. So much has happened since then. If Fourth’s army hadn’t been there, I would still be that girl pining after her captor.

  “Well, isn’t she just a golden doll?”

  My attention goes to the man sitting to the queen’s right, and I immediately see the family resemblance.

  “My most trusted advisor and brother, Manu,” the queen introduces.

  He has thick black hair pulled back tight at the nape of his neck, and he’s wearing a yellow vest beneath his dress jacket, a tuft of silken fabric pooling out across the neckline. With one hand holding his goblet and the other flung across the back of the chair of the man sitting next to him, he gives me a look that I can only describe as delighted.

  “Keon, don’t you think she’s a doll?” he asks, leaning into the man at his side.

  Keon runs dark brown eyes over me, the shine from his bald head gleaming beneath the chandeliers and highlighting the dangling necklaces roped down his front. “She’s taller than I thought she’d be,” the slight man responds.

  Manu nods. “And look at that hair.” He leans in, the collared frills gaping down to reveal his tawny chest beneath. “Doll, you could sell that for barrels of coin.”

  “Umm...thank you?”

  Queen Kaila shoots him a look. “Don’t fluster King Midas’s favored, brother. It’s bad manners.”

  A dazzling smile encroaches over Manu’s handsome face. “But being bad is so much more fun, dear sister.”

  She gives him a deadpan look, though it’s impossible to miss the affection sparkling in her eyes.

  “Ah, dinner is served.”

  Midas’s announcement pulls everyone’s attention to the dozen servants filing in from a doorway at the back and carrying platters of food.

  “Auren.”

  I look over at Midas, who gestures to the empty seat at his right. My brows notch up in sur
prise. He’s never had me sit beside him at a formal dinner, especially not at a table full of royals. I take a tentative seat, though my hackles are up, wheels churning. Because this isn’t a boon. This isn’t him showing me favor. I just don’t know what his play is yet.

  The servants begin to place heaping platters of food along the table, the scent of syrups and sugars immediately engulfing the air, while I silently hurry along the setting sun so I can eat and, more importantly, drink.

  Picking up my goblet, I find it empty. That just won’t do. “Excuse me, may I have some wine?” I ask the servant nearest me.

  The girl dips her head and retreats as soon as her platter is set down. Up and down the table, voices are lobbed back and forth, everything boring and political. Since it’s not night yet, I can’t eat. Well...I could, but the moment it touched my lips, I’d be chewing on metallic gruel.

  So instead, I pretend and make myself look busy. I drown out the talk by serving myself from the platter nearest me. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look very appetizing, but it’ll have to do. With my spoon held in my gloved hand, I stir around the coagulated sugary oats.

  I’m really going to need some wine to wash this stuff down.

  “So, Doll, I heard you got captured by the Fourth Commander hunk.”

  Startled, my eyes rise to Manu between two cerulean blue icicles of the table’s glass centerpiece, finding his features lit up with mischievous intent.

  I shoot Midas a look out of the corner of my eye, but he and Niven are talking about something. “Yes, I was.”

  “Now there’s a story ripe for the dinner table.” Eager eyes stay riveted on mine as one brow arches up. “I wouldn’t mind being captured by him. All those hard spikes and thick...muscles.”

  I practically choke on my tongue, feeling my cheeks flaming with heat.

  Beside him, Keon reaches over and stabs a hunk of meat right off Manu’s plate and shoves it into his glowering mouth as he gives him a glare. Manu just laughs and smacks a kiss on his cheek. “Don’t pretend you wouldn’t jilt me in a second for that monster man.”