Gleam (The Plated Prisoner Series Book 3)

by Raven Kennedy

  A few seconds later, his boots tap against the doorframe, and an icy chill blasts in the moment he walks inside. He quickly shuts the door behind him to keep out the wintry air, but I don’t turn away from the window. Not even as I hear him set down the bucket in the tiny kitchen or when he pulls off his heavy boots to dry in front of the fire.

  I just keep staring out this dirty window layered with grime and dust that’s frozen to the pane. Keep staring past the snowy mountain blocking my view of Highbell Castle right on the other side of it.

  Four days we’ve been in this safe house. Four days since I fled my castle to descend a stone stairwell that seemed to never end. I walked until it felt like my legs would give out, swallowed by that tunnel of darkness while my eyes strained on the candlelight that Sir Loth Pruinn carried as he led the way.

  The five of us made it here that night without anyone coming after us or discovering the secret passage. The safe house’s location wasn’t discovered by the rebels. Yet the cost of that confidentiality was paid by my other two guards, who stayed behind to ensure we weren’t followed. They never met up with us and are probably even now lying slain somewhere in that gilded room.

  “Did you get some sleep?” Jeo asks from behind me.

  I look over at him as he pulls out some fish from the bucket and slaps them on the small counter surface. The scent of it immediately clogs my nose, and I wrinkle it in distaste.

  “Must you do that?”

  “Unless you want to starve, yes.” My back stiffens at his tone, at his lack of respect, but if he notices my irritation, he does nothing to appease it. He grabs a knife from the drawer and begins to cut the fish in uneven strokes, half the meat getting ripped off in the process of him skinning it. “Sleep?” he asks again.

  “I can’t rest in that awful bedroom.” My eyes shift to the wooden stairwell tucked in the corner of the house as if I can see all the way to the space in question. I detest it. The lumpy mattress, the fireplace that throws off more smoke than heat, the linens that smell of mold and dust. “It’s horribly drafty.”

  A frown appears between his brows, and his mouth pinches tight. “This house is old, but we’re lucky we have it.”

  Bitterness rises up in the shape of a jagged laugh. “Lucky? You think it’s lucky that I’ve lost my castle, lost control of Highbell in the course of a week?”

  “That’s not what I—”

  “I’m the rightful ruler of Sixth Kingdom,” I interrupt, my eyes feeling as icy as their color. “This is Tyndall’s poison that’s spread through the city, so much so that I’ve been forced out of my home. Forced to hide in this corner of squalor.”

  “Right.” The knife slams down as he starts to chop—to butcher the fish like he’s envisioning hacking off something else entirely. “Well, I’m sorry that this place isn’t lavish enough for you, Your Majesty.”

  A cold burn comes up to sear through my eyes. “Excuse me?” How dare he talk to me in such a way.

  “Look around,” he says, flinging that knife about like it’s an extension of his hand. “Rioters took over your palace. Most of your own soldiers turned on you. You’ve only been ruling here alone for several weeks, and look what’s happened.”

  My jawbone is solid ice. One more clench of my teeth and it’ll shatter. “This was all Tyndall’s—”

  “Yes, it’s all his fault,” Jeo cuts in, turning to look at me fully. For the first time, I notice how chapped his lips are, how the smooth skin of his face has been made rough with lines of pink, like slaps landed there from winter’s windy hands during his many hours of fishing outside.

  And in those lines, that peeling skin, those circles beneath his eyes, I see it. The way I have diminished in his mind. If I were in Highbell, wearing my fine gowns and opal crown on my head, he wouldn’t dare speak to me in such a way.

  But I’m here. Run out of my own castle, wearing decades old clothing found in a trunk and half-eaten by moths. I have no servants, no cooks, no advisors, no crown, no castle.

  “A queen’s saddle doesn’t speak to her in such a way,” I reply coolly, a warning for him to staunch his tongue.

  Redness crawls up his neck, caught low from the stretched out collar of his tunic and coat that’s been worn for too many days. But it’s not embarrassment coloring his freckled skin, it’s anger. “This saddle has been working day and night to keep you fed and warm and comfortable, while all you’ve done is sit around and complain and stare out this dirty window instead of doing something!” he spits.

  Shock pools before my lips like a puff of cold air as I stare at him.

  After a moment, his anger falters, blue eyes softening an inch. I hate him all the more for it. “You can’t keep waiting for everything to be handed to you and then get angry when it isn’t,” he says quietly.

  “If I have a question on how to spread my legs and fuck for a living, I’ll consult you, Jeo,” I say coldly. “But when it comes to being a monarch, you’re vastly underqualified to be giving me any advice.”

  He laughs without lifting his lips, the sound without any joy whatsoever. “Of course. How silly of me.”

  Jeo slams the knife down and stalks toward the door, making to leave.

  “Where are you going?” I demand.

  He stops to chuck on his snow-crusted coat and boots. “I’d rather stand out there and try to catch the cold-blooded fish. They’re better company.”

  I ignore his little tantrum and motion to the kitchen where the fish he’s already started to maul are still lying on the countertop, mouths agape and bones shucked from their bodies. “What about supper?”

  Jeo shrugs as he buttons up. “I’m not a cook, just a saddle, right?” He looks over at Sir Pruinn, who’s just sitting there beside the fire, watching our exchange unabashedly. “Maybe the merchant could get off his arse for a change?”

  Without another word, he lets himself out into the snow, slamming the door behind him like a child. A noise crawls up my throat as I watch him walk away, down to the edge of the lake and out of view.

  My stomach tightens.

  Footsteps click over, and then a pair of hands are on my shoulders, turning me around. My glare drops to the pair of pale hands. “Unhand me, Sir Pruinn.”

  The silver-eyed merchant smiles jovially despite my warning. Instead of letting go, he drops his touch to my arm and pulls me away from the tiny kitchen and into the sitting area in front of the fire. “Your royal saddle will be back. He simply needs to work off some steam. You should come and rest your feet.”

  “I don’t appreciate being manhandled,” I say, though I do sit down on the stiff cushions of the chair nearest the flames. It doesn’t matter that we feed the fireplace day and night from the logs in the woodpile. No amount of fuel can make me feel those orange flickers. I haven’t lost the chill that’s gathered on my skin since the moment I walked out of Highbell.

  Sir Pruinn settles himself on the chair opposite me where he’s been reading some book from the inane collection on the dusty shelf. For a moment, he simply watches me, one ankle resting on his knee, elbow tucked on the armrest so his hand can prop up his head. His idle attention irks me. “What?”

  His nickel eyes seem to twinkle. “You don’t deserve any of this. Not at all.”

  The defensive knots I have tied in my gut loosen ever so slightly.

  He waves his free hand around the room. “You should be in a castle, ruling over subjects who adore and respect you.”

  “Of course I should,” I reply, sitting up straighter. “I would be, if it weren’t for my husband.”

  “He wanted you to claim an heir that wasn’t your own.”

  My nostrils flare, shock coursing through me. “Where did you hear that.” Not a question—a demand for an answer.

  He doesn’t cower under my command. Instead, the pale-haired merchant smiles. “I hear many things. That’s why you continue to meet with me, remember?”

  I sit back in my s
eat, hating the way the cushion beneath me feels as if it’s been stuffed with straw. I don’t care how long ago this safe house was built, the prior monarchs should have kept it furnished with things worthy of the royals who may have needed to flee here. The moment I get out of this horrible place, I’ll be having it fully renovated.

  “You didn’t hear enough,” I accuse. “You should’ve been able to tell me what was happening sooner, how Tyndall used his messenger to spread such violent discord.”

  “A couple of days earlier wouldn’t have mattered. The result would have been the same.”

  “You don’t know that,” I snap. “I could have turned the tide. Highbell is mine. It’s all I want, and I will have it.”

  He leans forward. “You know, there’s another way to get the thing you want most.”

  Our gazes clash again, ice boring through magnets. “I will not speak of your so-called destiny reading. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, there is nothing left of Seventh Kingdom.”

  Pruinn lifts a shoulder, his clothes somehow still looking impeccable. “Magic doesn’t lie.”

  “Magic lies plenty, Sir Pruinn, and so do people who wield it. If you haven’t learned that yet, you’re a fool.”

  He’s quiet as he regards me, but I don’t look away from his assessment. I meet it head-on, let him see the steel frozen in my spine. “A queen does what she must to secure her queendom,” he finally says, his hand waving in the direction of the door. “Your saddle might not understand that, but I do.”

  “You are a traveling merchant who dabbles in fortune-telling. You know nothing.”

  A smile cracks his handsome face, a hard grin split into an indecipherable expression. “As you say, Your Majesty.”

  The posturing in his tone annoys me, as if he’s deferring not out of respect, but from disappointment. He picks up his book and starts to read again like he hasn’t a care in the world. As if the putrid scent of fish still sitting in that bucket doesn’t bother him, or the fact that we’re holed up here isn’t any inconvenience at all.

  I chew on my irritation. It’s become a tangible thing, a wedge between my back teeth. No matter how many times I gnaw and grind, it’s still there, making my jaw ache with it.

  Several minutes of silence pass, and I have nothing to do except sit on a hard cushion and chew.

  Noises break up the monotony spinning through my head, and I look up just as my two guards come stomping in the house. Snow falls off of them like splatters of mud, wet clumps to seep into the floor.

  Their faces are brittle with frost clinging to their eyebrows, reddened cheeks behind scarves they’ve wrapped around their mouths and nose. Jeo walks in behind them and shuts the door, and I get to my feet expectantly.

  “Well?” I ask as they begin to remove their iced capes to hang near the fire.

  The blond haired one named Tobyn bows first, while Nile, the older one with a peppering of gray, leans down to take off his boots.

  “We weren’t spotted, my queen,” Tobyn tells me, still slightly out of breath.

  “But what did you learn in the city?” I press. “Are they still rioting? What sort of force has taken over the castle?”

  “They aren’t,” Nile says, heavy shoes landing with a thump.

  I blink at him, noting the look that he and Tobyn share. I don’t care that they’ve walked miles in the snow both ways from the city to our little hidden hub behind the mountain. I’ve been waiting for over twelve hours to hear what they found. “Explain.”

  “Here.” Jeo comes up, pressing tin cups of steaming tea into the men’s hands. Both of the guards murmur their thanks at him. “Have a seat, you’re probably ready to keel over.” I suppress a sigh of impatience as they take their time drinking half the cups and sit down beside the fire.

  My look of displeasure lands on the side of Jeo’s face, but he doesn’t turn to acknowledge it, even though I know he can feel it clinging to his profile like a frost.

  “I want to know what you found.” My tone grinds against the irritation like a worn cog. “I need to send word to my allies and order for the noble houses to bring their soldiers to me. I will need every last sword, but once they’ve all gathered, I can take back Highbell.”

  Tension pulls between the guards like a sharpened string.

  “Your Majesty,” Tobyn starts, looking like he’s swallowed a bug. “King Midas sent forces...”

  My body goes still. “What do you mean he sent forces?” I exclaim. “The rest of his army is in Fifth Kingdom with him. They couldn’t possibly have gotten here that quickly.”

  “If I may?” Sir Pruinn cuts in. With a sharp glance from me, he says, “I informed you that King Midas had sent his messenger man to deliver his...deal with you, knowing more than likely you wouldn’t agree to it, and he was ready for such a response. He had his messenger and possibly others help speed discord throughout the city. It wouldn’t be a great leap to believe that, since he had the foresight to spread the rebellion, he’d have a way to snuff it out too.”

  My sharp nails dig into the wood of the armrest. My tone is so even, so quiet, that every man in the room goes tense from the taut line of it. “Are you telling me that this rebellion that Tyndall engineered to happen was just as easily squashed by the very person who machinated the entire thing?”

  “I don’t know anything about all of that...” Tobyn says, scratching the back of his head nervously. “But we can confirm that the riots have been controlled. It seems King Midas’s force re-took the castle, arresting most of them, and the revolters backed down. The king then offered payment to anyone who ceased their part in the destruction of the city, and is allowing some to relocate to Fifth Kingdom.”

  I leap to my feet and pace toward the window, my fists bunched at my sides so hard that it feels as if my bones might shatter.

  “Your Majesty?”

  I stare out the dirty panes, across the frozen water, into the back of the mountain. Gaze boring through the ice and snow and rock to find my castle behind it.

  He took it from me. Again.

  My throne, my crown, my castle, my home.

  He’s not even here, and still, he managed to take it right out from under me.

  “Send word to my allies,” I say, turning around. “The ones who swore loyalty to the Coliers. Tyndall couldn’t have sent many forces, not if he’s kept some with him in Fifth. With their men, I can take it back, I can—”

  Tobyn cuts me off with a shake of his head. “My queen, the nobles have fled to Fifth already, and...”

  “And what?” I demand past a snap of teeth.

  Tobyn shares another glance with Nile, and my attention bites into the older guard. He straightens up, as if he’s anticipating a blow to land after he says, “There was a public announcement yesterday. That you were...well, assassinated in the rebel attacks. King Midas’s sigil was branded on the statement.”

  Assassinated? “He’s claiming that I’m dead?” I say, voice gone shrill.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Some say rage burns hot.

  Not mine.

  Mine turns solid ice. It goes crystalline, reaching fingers of frost covering every inch of my insides, chilling my nerves, frigidity coating my expression.

  “We were able to bring a cart and a couple horses back,” Tobyn blurts. “It’s no royal carriage, but that would only draw attention, anyway. The city is crawling with guards we don’t recognize. We don’t know who we can trust. If the king made that announcement...we have to assume that he’s set on making sure you stay dead, if you catch my meaning. We could get you away from here. Get you somewhere safe.”

  “No.” My head shakes in time with the windstorm that begins to rattle outside. “I will not be run out!”

  “Malina,” Jeo says gently. “It’s over.”

  My eyes flash to him and his cowardly words, and my mask cracks, revealing the fury beneath. “It is not over.”

 
He walks to me, frustrated concern bleeding into the blue of his irises, and I hate that look of pity, hate it when his hands come up to cradle my arms. “It’s over, Malina,” he repeats quietly. “He’s taken back the city, the soldiers, your allies. He’s just declared that you were killed. You need to leave before he actually does that too.”

  “For the last time, you are a saddle,” I spit. “You are beneath me, bought to be ridden. A whore will not dictate what a queen does!”

  His hands fall, the weight of the drop slamming at our feet, its reverberation traveling up my legs.

  Perhaps later I’ll be able to care about the hurt I see in his expression, but right now, I feel nothing as I stare back at him.

  “You sure are one cold bitch, Malina.”

  My teeth clench. “That’s Queen to you.”

  He gives me a humorless laugh. “Is it?”

  Taken aback, I glare at him. Before I can chop out a scathing response, a shadow passes in front of the window, making me turn. “What was that?”

  The mood in the room immediately shifts, everyone going tight with tension.

  Jeo moves to look out, swiping his sleeve against the glass to see better. Behind me, the guards are up, already moving. Nile goes to the door, Tobyn to the back window.

  “Do you see anything?” I ask.

  “No, nothing,” Tobyn answers. “I’ll go out and do a perimeter check.”

  He opens the door, wind and snow battering the threshold before he manages to shove it closed.

  I walk over to the window to look out, but Jeo stops me. “Wait.”

  I start to push aside his arm, but before I can, the sound of Tobyn screaming outside makes me freeze in place. My heart stops, a paper-thin exhale rustling past thinned lips. Yet what’s even worse than the blood-curdling scream that seems to echo through the mountains is what follows it.

  Deathly quiet.

  “Great Divine...” Jeo breathes, all the blood drained from his face.

  Horrible fear consumes me, locking my limbs, my feet like blocks of ice frozen in place. Tobyn’s cut-off scream echoes in my ears.