Gleam (The Plated Prisoner Series Book 3)

by Raven Kennedy

  “Like the stronger alliance you’re forming with Third,” I put in.

  “Precisely.” Midas pretends to appraise the room again before he goes on to say, “I was so pleased we could come to an agreement to avoid battle. That plot of land you bargained for seemed to be such a small sacrifice in the name of peace.”

  My shoulders go tense.

  His brown eyes flit over to me, and I can see the bastard trying to read my expression, though he won’t be able to. I learned a long time ago how to shutter every feeling and thought away from my face.

  “Deadwell,” he says, running a hand along his shaved chin. “A fitting name for the place you encroached on with your deadly rotting power. Such a curious piece of land, is it not? I’d thought it was nothing but a frozen wasteland at the border of Fifth, but that’s not entirely true, is it?”

  My teeth grind. Out of all the times he could’ve approached me, it had to be right now, when I’m pissed beyond belief and my power is scraping beneath my skin.

  When I don’t reply, Midas turns toward me fully, smug arrogance bleeding through his expression. “Drollard Village, ever heard of it?”

  My insides turn to ice. The chunk of sharp freeze appears right there in the center of my chest, ready to stab straight through.

  Because of my encounter with Auren, because frustration is clawing relentlessly at my back, I let my expressionless mask crack. Just for a split second.

  But Midas sees.

  “Yes, I thought you had,” he goes on, and I don’t fucking like the gleam in his eye. Not one bit. “Drollard Village, an unsanctioned town, right there at the edge of Deadwell.”

  Beside me, Osrik has gone as still as I have.

  “Not very pleasant names are they?” Midas muses, toying with me. “But then, it’s not a very pleasant place.”

  Fuck.

  “Strange how it’s technically been a part of Fifth Kingdom all this time, yet there’s no record of it. Not part of any historical data or population information. The people there have never paid any taxes. In fact, Drollard Village isn’t even on any Fifth Kingdom maps. And now, it’s part of your territory,” he says, and the shrewd edge of his gaze tries to scrape over my expression, attempting to glean anything from my reaction.

  I force a bored look over my face. “Yes, it is mine now. As you said, my power encroached on it, so I’ve simply made it officially part of my domain. As such, it’s not Fifth Kingdom’s interest anymore, seeing as how you gave up the rights to it. Unless you’re going back on your trade?” My question is a threat and we both know it.

  “Not at all,” the slimy bastard replies. “I am a man of my word.”

  I nearly roll my eyes at that.

  “Of course, I had a few of my advisors escorted there in an official capacity to mark the new boundary lines. A king must keep up on his precise record-keeping, but I’m sure you agree, don’t you, Ravinger?”

  My eyes drop down to where I know for a fact he has his little journal of scribbles hidden away in an inside pocket. “Yes, the notes a king keeps are very interesting.”

  Midas finally loses the smarmy look on his face at what I’m implying. Good. Let him worry about whether or not I would’ve ever had a chance to get my eyes on his notebook.

  It takes him a few seconds, but he springs back. “You know what’s also interesting about that tiny village? The people there were very forthcoming. It seems you visit quite often.”

  There’s a roaring in my ears, and my power coils and snaps at my skin. Yet I hold it all back. I learned control a long time ago—I had to.

  “What can I say? They make good jerky out there. I’m a repeat customer,” I drawl.

  Midas’s lips tighten ever so slightly that I’m not rising to the bait. It’s obvious now that he has assumptions and inklings, but he’s fishing for more information.

  “Since Deadwell is no longer Fifth’s concern, I’m confused as to why you seem so interested in it. As you said, it’s not a very pleasant place,” I add.

  “No, certainly not,” he agrees with a tip of his head. “And my people will be out of Drollard Village the moment they finish drawing the new boundary lines, of course. It belongs to you now, and I think it’s important that we respect what belongs to others.”

  And there it is—the knot he’s trying to weave. Always so many steps to get the perfect loops he likes to tie.

  If I didn’t already have a tight leash on my reactions, I might have wavered again and given away too much. I need to get my shit together. I know better than to let my guard down while in his presence.

  Temptation ferments on my tongue. The forbidden knowledge of his greatest secret is baiting me like a worm on a hook. The king in me wants to do it, to meet Midas on his playing board and tell him that I know his secret too, and his is a hell of a lot more damaging than mine. I’d enjoy kicking his arrogant feet right out from under him and putting panic in his eyes. But I hold back, because as gratifying as that would be, it would negatively affect Auren, and that isn’t something I’ll allow.

  “What do you want, Midas?” I say with a sigh. “I have affairs to see to.”

  “Then I’ll speak plainly.” Midas has lost the fake pleasant look on his face. “Deadwell is yours? Well, Auren is mine. I want your army commander to stay away from her.”

  I knew something was going to come of his little power play at the dinner.

  My gaze goes impassive. “You were the one who had him carry her to the harp. He has no interest in her.”

  But I fucking do.

  Midas’s lips press together in a hard line. “My people will leave Drollard Village when your commander leaves Ranhold.”

  Last loop, pulled tight.

  “Deadwell isn’t yours anymore, so you can pretend that you sent your advisors there in an official capacity, but I want them out of my village,” I remind him.

  “It’s within my rights to re-mark boundary lines after a land exchange.”

  Leaning in close, I let the fucker see the magic lines crawling up my neck. He can never look at it without flinching.

  I need him out of Drollard. Every second he has eyes there is time for him to find out more shit I don’t want him knowing. No one has ever uncovered the secret I’ve kept buried there, and I sure as hell am not going to let him of all people gain entry to one of my only vulnerabilities.

  Since he’s shorter than me, I lean my head down, albeit exaggeratedly, so that he can feel smaller than me as I look him in the eye. “I don’t like when people try to coerce me, Midas. It would serve you well to remember that I still have my army on your doorstep. Do you really want to get on my bad side?”

  “Not at all,” he says easily, that annoying amiable tone back in his voice. “It’s about respect, is it not? As allies, we respect what belongs to others.”

  The fact that he thinks he owns Auren makes me see red.

  Just then, the old man leading around the gaggle of saddles interrupts with a bow. “Your Majesty, I have a few questions we need to address for the ball.”

  “Of course, Odo,” Midas replies to the robed man before turning back to me. “I must see to some affairs,” he says, regurgitating my own damn excuse. “I’ll let my people know they can leave Deadwell at your earliest convenience. Although, I think they’re rather enjoying getting to know everyone there.” He sends me a smirk that makes me want to knock his teeth out. “Enjoy your night.”

  Midas turns and walks off with his man, the saddles trailing after him in a sweep of perfume and swaying hips.

  I can feel Osrik shoot me a look, but I shake my head imperceptibly, and then we stride out of the room, both of us knowing better than to speak until we get outside. Even when we pass through the main castle doors and are greeted by the stark night air with nothing but fog and frost, we wait.

  Seething silently, the two of us pass through the front gates of the wall, where Ranhold’s soldiers spring to attention and op
en it for us in haste as soon as they see us coming. I don’t know who scares them more, Osrik or myself.

  When we’re well enough away from the castle’s walls and heading for my army’s camp just over the crest of the snow-clad hill, Osrik finally lets out a curse. “That fucker,” he growls. “How the hell did he find Drollard?”

  “Scouts, obviously. I should’ve anticipated that he’d send people when I traded for Deadwell,” I say, pissed at myself for not preparing for that. I was preoccupied, distracted. I’ve had tunnel vision with Auren and let some of my responsibilities slip through the cracks.

  “We didn’t expect for him to put in the effort. Not for a land known for being empty.”

  “I still should’ve planned for it just in case,” I reply, the frustration in my voice coming out in a cloud of cold.

  The two of us walk in silence for a moment, the only sound coming from the trek of our boots as we cut through the snow. The glow of campfires hangs at the top of the hill where most of my soldiers are gathered. The rest are probably still in Ranhold City finding whatever entertainments they have enough coin for.

  “What are you going to do?” Osrik asks.

  “I need Midas out of there,” I reply with frustration. “Maybe I should send all of you. Make sure the situation is handled.”

  Osrik cuts me a look as we get to the top of the hill, just as countless leather tents fill my view.

  “Fuck that. We’re not leaving you here with that golden prick.”

  I cast him a look. “Worried about me, Os?”

  He stops walking, turning his huge bulk to block my path. “If you really want us to go, you know we will. We’re your Wrath, and we will carry out whatever action you want, you just say the word. But Lu is gonna be pissed if you have no one to watch your back.”

  “You’re a bunch of mother hens,” I mutter with a shake of my head.

  Osrik just smirks. “Yep.”

  With a sigh, I scrub a hand down my face. This was the last thing I needed right now. My responsibilities are piling up, and now I have to deal with Midas sticking his nose where I can’t have him or anyone else sniffing around. I didn’t go through all of this trouble to finally lay claim to Deadwell, just for Midas to figure out why I want it.

  “Make Midas back off by doing what he wants and send your army commander to Deadwell,” Osrik suggests with a wry twist of his lips. “I’m sick of the fucker anyway.”

  I chuckle low, watching some of my soldiers walking around in the distance, dark shadows moving from tent to tent. “We need to get back to Fourth. Maybe we should all move out.”

  Osrik’s bushy brows rise up. “Leave? Without...?”

  My teeth grind at the thought.

  It goes against every instinct, but if I don’t respect her wishes, I’m no better than Midas.

  I sweep my gaze along the castle as if I can see straight through the walls within. “We’ll leave in two days. Fuck the ball and the priggish prince. I should let them all plot and scheme to their graves. Stay in Fourth and forget all about these fucking monarchs.”

  Osrik hesitates, probably at the frustration sharpening my tone. “You sure about that?”

  My nod feels heavy, the roots of my power pinching at my skin. I’m surging with restless energy. “I’ll get Midas’s spies out of Deadwell myself. They’ll have nothing to report if they’re rotting corpses.”

  “If that’s what you want to do, then we’ll make it happen.”

  Simple as that. And yet, leaving is anything but simple.

  “But are you sure you want to leave so soon?” he presses.

  My magic snaps at the thought, and I’m forced to fist my hands at my sides. Instead of answering him, I turn on my heel, heading away from camp, my boots clomping through the deep snow as I cut toward the copse of trees in the distance.

  “Where are you going?” Osrik calls behind me.

  “Need to go rot something,” I reply over my shoulder. I hear him grumble something under his breath, but he leaves me to it.

  It’s time to face facts. Like I told Auren, I’ve been away from my kingdom for too long. She’s made her choice, and I have to accept that, no matter how strongly my instincts try to convince me otherwise. No matter how much my magic rebels.

  I abhor the politics that Midas plays, so perhaps it’s time to cut ties and just let it all play out. I’ll return to Fourth, shore up my borders, and go back to not caring about the other kingdoms, so long as they don’t try to fuck with mine. Since Midas is big on appearances, it’ll piss him off immensely if I leave early and skip his celebration, so that’s one bit of silver lining I have.

  I’d really only been staying here for one reason anyway, and it certainly wasn’t for a fucking ball.

  Chapter 27

  AUREN

  I toss and turn in bed, twisted up in both my blankets and my thoughts. Only after the sun comes up do I finally fall into an exhausted sleep, but even that doesn’t bring much rest.

  Every single word Slade spoke to me replays over and over. Not just what he said earlier in the library, or when he carried me upstairs and sat on my balcony, but even further back too. When we were together in a coal-lit tent, or fighting in a snowy circle, or walking along the edge of his army’s camp.

  Small, stolen moments.

  Dangerous, forbidden moments.

  Tell me.

  I can’t.

  I’m a once-clear pond gone all murky, like Slade dove in and splashed around in my depths. Without me realizing it, he slipped into my veins and now swims through my every thought, steeped into every drop.

  When I drag my eyes open again, it’s late in the day, although I feel as if I haven’t gotten any rest at all. How could I, when even in sleep, Slade seems to have soaked into every inch of me?

  You’ve chosen to sit back and wither.

  Sometimes, things need first to be ruined in order to then be remade.

  Listen to your instincts and stop holding back.

  The silence of the room only makes his voice louder in my skull. Ripping back the blankets, I get up with a restlessness that prickles my skin. Liquid gold bleeds from the soles of my feet as I begin to pace, covering the parts of the stone floor that my power hadn’t yet reached. But even that use of magic doesn’t help moor me. I’m drifting in a sea of my own tangled thoughts, caught up in the swell.

  Hitching my body against the wall, I let my forehead rest on the gilded wallpaper and squeeze my eyes closed. Taking steadying breaths, I lean there for a moment, palms pressed to the doorframe and a war crowding my chest.

  Three more days until the ball. Three days until I’m supposed to leave. Somehow, the sum of those days seems to equate to the missing pieces inside of me.

  Right or wrong, trust or doubt, mind or heart.

  I’m at a fork in the road, and I can’t linger at its point anymore. I have to choose a path.

  With the sudden clarity of a cloudless sky, my eyes spring open and my body lurches upright. I cross into the dressing room and pull on a long-sleeved gown, the silk molding with gold the minute I tug it over my body. For once, I leave the corset be and don’t cut or break it, but I don’t bother to do up the back either.

  My ribbons plait my hair as I tug on undergarments, stockings, gloves, boots, and a coat, and then I tear out of the room and through the balcony doors. The dogs are already back from their daily hunt, most of them out in the pen and sniffing around in the snow.

  The sky is as broody as I am, with simmering gray clouds dropping lazy flakes of snow to float in the air. I do a quick check to make sure no one is near before I climb up onto the railing. I loop my ribbons around the banister before letting them drop like ropes that I then use to climb down. My arm and leg muscles are sore from my exercise sessions, but I hold on tight as I lower myself.

  I keep a steady grip and manage to curl the ends of my ribbons like a hook to solidify them enough to hold my weight. Looking d
own, I judge the distance of the balcony a floor below to my left. I know I have to time this just right and jump with enough distance so that I don’t break a damn ankle. But I did it before, and I can do it again.

  So without giving myself time to overthink, I swing my body forward, once, twice, three times, and then I release my ribbons and jump.

  I land hard onto the balcony floor, and a jolt of impact shoots up both of my legs, but I smile in victory that I made it. Below, the dogs whip themselves into a frenzy and start to yip and howl at me. The last thing I want is for someone to come investigate why they’re making such a racket and find me up here. I wave my hands at the dogs below, but they just start barking louder.

  “Okay, doggies, shh!”

  They don’t shh.

  I glance around nervously, but no one has come to check out the noise yet—though they will. I hurry to the door, thanking the Divines when the knob opens and I’m able to rush inside. I yank my ribbons in with me and shut the door, blocking out the howls and hoping that they’ll settle down now that I’m out of view.

  My ribbons coil around my waist like loosely hung belts, and I inhale a steadying breath as I take in the room. It’s blessedly abandoned and freezing cold in here, clearly closed up from disuse. White sheets cover the bedroom furniture like cumbersome ghosts, and a fireplace lies empty and stained with soot.

  “Alright. I made it this far,” I whisper to myself, equal parts determined and impressed. I check that my gloves are secure and pull up my hood before I cross over to the door. I cock my head to listen, making sure there aren’t any sounds before I open it just enough to peek out.

  The hallway is empty.

  I’m not about to waste my chance, so I quickly exit, closing the door softly behind me, and then I walk as fast as I dare in these boots without making my tread too loud.

  “Opposite side, snowflake door. Opposite side, snowflake door...” My whisper carries me forward, down the hall of icy blue. The stony glass walls reflect my body as I go, and I pass white pillars cut like rough icicles dripping from ceiling to floor.