Glint (The Plated Prisoner Series Book 2)

by Raven Kennedy

  I lock my knees into place. “Do what you want to me, but I’m not going to stand by and let Twig get beaten.”

  Beside me, Judd whistles low under his breath.

  Osrik rolls his brown eyes, his beard looking even wilder than usual. “This may come as a surprise, since you’re used to being coddled in your castle,” he begins. “But guess what? There is no coddling in the real world, and there sure as hell isn’t any going on in Fourth’s army either. Everyone has to earn their place here. Including Twig.”

  My hands fist at my sides. “He’s a child.”

  “Yep, and he’s gotta learn how to defend himself. So that he can be a good soldier one day, so that he can have a future. Earn coin. Have honor. He chose to be here.” Osrik waves a hand around the circle. “This isn’t cheap entertainment, and I’m not having him beaten. This is fucking training.”

  My lips part in surprise, all of my righteous indignation deflating. I look at Twig, who’s glancing back at me sheepishly, with visible embarrassment tinging his cheeks. “You...you want to do this?”

  Twig nods slowly, like he’s worried about hurting my feelings. “Yes, Miss. Sir Os and Sir Judd always let me train a little during fight circles.”

  Great Divine, where’s a hole in the ground when you need it?

  “Oh. Well…” I clear my throat, try to muster up some dignity. “Carry on then. I’ll just...be on my way.”

  Osrik sidesteps in front of me, eyes dancing, scruffy face pulled into a shit-eating grin. “Not so fast. You heard the rule. If you step into the fight circle, you have to fight.”

  I glare at him. “I will knee you in your balls if you don’t move.”

  Judd barks out a laugh. “Now that would be entertainment.”

  Osrik just continues to smirk at me. “Come on, then. I’d love to see you try.”

  The joined voices of the crowd go berserk, a roar from the jaws of a beast.

  Osrik looks like he thoroughly enjoys cornering me like this in front of everyone. “You’re not in Sixth Kingdom anymore, little pet. If you want to toss around accusations and orders, then you better back up your shit. And rules are rules. You stepped into the circle.”

  I shake my head, feeling strands of my hair come loose from my braid, sweat gathering at the nape of my neck.

  He leans in, getting closer to my face, making me flinch back. “Aww, come on, show me your golden claws, pet. Let’s see what you got.”

  The shouts of the crowd crash against my ears, yelling at me to fight. The sound, the very energy beats against my skin, against my resolve, pushing me from every direction. I can taste violence from their every exhale until it feels like I might burst from it.

  I’m surrounded by noise and pressure, pressure and noise, and I just want it to stop.

  “Stop,” I say, but my hands are shaking now, the bloodthirsty onlookers making my own mouth go dry.

  “You walked in here, what did you think was going to happen?” he demands.

  “I hadn’t thought that far ahead, to be honest,” I mumble. Judd tips his head back and laughs.

  Osrik would love if I tried to attack him, because we both know I wouldn’t stand a chance. And if I attacked him, he’d have free reign to attack me. No thanks.

  “Come on, Midas’s pet. Where’s your fight?” Osrik goads, the taunt beating against my chest.

  My entire body is tense, everything so loud that I can’t discern between my pulse and the stomping feet of the crowd.

  I back up a step, two, three.

  He eats up the space in a single stride. “What’s wrong? You’re not scared, are you?”

  I am scared. But it’s not just of him. Not, really.

  I’m here, but I’m also there. Cornered against a building, rough brick at my back, while men peck at me, plucking at my ribbons, ripping at my hair, tugging at my dress.

  The crowd back then, even though it was only half a dozen or so, still sounded the same. That familiar clamor, with me caught in the swell of its crash.

  I don’t want to get swept away again.

  “Enough, Os.”

  Somehow, that single steady voice pierces through all the noise. The sound makes everyone go quiet, the bubble of pressure suddenly popping.

  I turn my head and see Rip standing there, and the shock of his presence is like a bucket of cold water dumped over my head.

  Osrik, the bastard, has the audacity to chuckle. “Aww, but it was just starting to get interesting. I think I almost got her.”

  Rip’s face is unreadable as his black eyes skate away to the soldiers standing around. “Everyone back to camp.” His command strikes down like lightning, and everyone scatters, trying to outrun a storm.

  It’s shocking just how quickly they follow orders. No grumbling, no hesitation. In a split second, they go from a riled horde to a compliant regiment. Absolute obedience to their commander.

  Osrik looks at Twig. “Go on, boy. We’ll train tomorrow.”

  Twig nods and scoops up his clothes. He hesitates, turning to me. “Umm, Miss?”

  “Yeah?” I ask.

  “Thanks for thinking you were protecting me...but can you not do that again? They’re gonna give me shit for this for weeks.”

  “Umm, yes. Sorry.”

  Osrik and Judd snicker.

  “Language, Twig.”

  The boy’s head swivels toward Rip, who’s somehow made it all the way over to us without me seeing him move. “Sorry, sir,” the boy replies with immediate contrition.

  Rip nods at him. “Go on.”

  Twig doesn’t need more encouragement. He turns and sprints off like he can’t get away fast enough.

  I turn and start to walk away too, but of course, I don’t even make it three steps.

  “Not you.”

  With a sigh, I turn around, but I keep my attention stubbornly off of Rip. Instead, I choose to watch the retreating soldiers as they make their way back into camp.

  Soon, the only people left are Rip, Osrik, Judd, and me.

  Their intense scrutiny makes my skin crawl. It was foolish for me to step in and make assumptions, but the fact that Rip saw it somehow makes it so much worse.

  I feel vulnerable. Beaten. Like I was one of those soldiers who got bloodied in the snow.

  My eyes settle on the commander, my body braced with tension. “Alright, out with it.”

  Rip arches a black brow, those tiny, stubbed spikes lifting with it. “Out with what?”

  I wave a hand at the three of them. “Mock me for stepping in. Get pissed for my assumptions. Make fun of me. Whatever you’re going to do, just get it over with.” My voice warbles at the end, and I hate myself for it.

  “Maybe later,” he replies with a tinge of amusement. “For now, we’re going to be busy with something else.”

  Alarm pulses through me like a drum. “With what?”

  I can’t read the expression on Rip’s face, but I’m sure it’s nothing good. “You heard Os. You stepped into the fight circle. You’ll have to fight before you can leave it.”

  My mouth drops open. “You can’t be serious.”

  “The commander is always serious, love,” Judd cuts in. “It’s one of his worst qualities.”

  Rip lets out a long-suffering sigh and says, “Os.”

  Without missing a beat, Osrik reaches over and smacks Judd on the back of the head. The mustard-haired man just laughs.

  I shake my head, bewildered at the sight as realization clicks.

  They’re...friends.

  I knew Osrik was something of a right-hand man to Rip, but now, I can see the camaraderie between them, the trust. The fact that the notorious killer is actually friends with these two men somehow changes things. It leaves me reeling, like my mind is trying to look at every interaction and reanalyze it.

  “Nothing to say?” Rip asks me, tearing my attention back to his question.

  I shake my head. “Yeah, can I go? I�
�m cold.”

  “Sure you can. As soon as you fight,” he replies with a smirk, making the other two snicker.

  Irritation bubbles up. “I don’t know how to fight,” I grit out.

  “No better place to learn,” Rip counters.

  My eyes flick between the three of them, waiting for the punchline, but I realize that he’s entirely serious. Not only that, he looks excited at the idea. No wonder his soldiers are so damn bloodthirsty. They get it from him.

  I cross my arms in front of me. “I’m not going to fight.”

  “Well, then you’re going to be very uncomfortable staying out here in the circle all night,” Rip replies smoothly.

  I feel the tic in my jaw twitch. I don’t doubt for a second that he really will leave me out here if I refuse. He’s that much of a prick.

  “Yeah, her feet will probably go numb at some point, Commander,” Judd puts in unhelpfully.

  “No nice fur pallet to sleep in,” Osrik adds with a nod.

  My hands curl into fists. I suppose this is my punishment for interrupting their stupid fight circle, or maybe it’s for being loyal to Midas.

  “I hate you,” I glare at them.

  “Hate can be a very powerful emotion when fighting. Just make sure to use it to your advantage,” Rip tells me. Arrogant ass.

  “Great Divine, I’m not fighting!” I shout, irritated, cold, and more than a little intimidated.

  He looks down at me levelly, without remorse, without budging an inch. “Then you’ll stay here in this circle until you do.”

  An honest-to-goddess growl comes out of my throat. “Why are you such an ass?”

  “Ha! I’ve been asking him that for years.”

  My attention snaps to Lu, who’s flitting toward us, steps barely making indentations in the snow. Her hand holds the hilt of her sword as she walks, eyes alight as she looks between us.

  “What did I miss?” she asks, coming up to stop beside Rip and Judd with familiarity. Another piece of the little friendship circle snaps into place.

  Judd tosses an arm over her shoulder, still bare chested and clearly not minding it even though the temperature is well below freezing. “She thought we were putting on some sort of show to beat Twig up for sport, so Gildy Locks here intervened.”

  A puff of air passes through my lips as I look at Lu. “Did you tell everyone that damn nickname?”

  She beams, the piercing at her cupid’s bow gleaming red. “It caught on quick,” she says cheerfully. “But back to the point. You stepped into the fight circle?”

  If they mention that stupid rule one more time…

  “Who’s she gonna fight?” Lu asks, practically bouncing on her feet.

  I answer, “No one,” at the same time that Rip answers, “Me.”

  My eyes snap to him, my heart skipping a beat. Fight him? Is he insane? Osrik was bad enough. I couldn’t possibly fight the damn commander and live to talk about it.

  “Absolutely not,” I say, taking a step back like the distance will help.

  A hint of fang shows through his smirk. “Scared?” he challenges, and there’s a croon in his voice that sets me on edge.

  “Of course I’m scared. You’re the commander of Fourth’s army.” I retort. “Your damn nickname is Rip because you rip your opponents’ heads off!”

  The four of them go still at my words. And then, like a burst dam, they all lose it, laughter pouring out of them in rushing rivulets.

  I stand in stunned uneasiness. “What the hell is so funny?”

  Osrik’s entire chest is rumbling, Judd is bent over clutching his stomach, and Lu has to wipe tears from her eyes. “Yeah, Rip,” she says through her laughs. “Why don’t you tell Gildy what’s so funny.”

  He’s the first one to stop chuckling, but his dry amusement stays on his face. “Which one of you was it who spread that particular rumor?” he asks.

  “Me,” Judd says proudly, running a hand through his floppy mustard hair. “Good to know it spread all the way to Sixth Kingdom.”

  My brows draw together tight as I try to keep up. “Wait...what?”

  Osrik is the one to answer me this time. “We gave him that nickname,” he explains with a lopsided grin. A smiling Osrik is a little freaky. “But it’s not for ripping people’s heads off. Nice touch, though, Judd.”

  Mustard looks thoroughly pleased with himself. “I thought so.”

  My thoughts stutter. “So Rip isn’t for...ripping off heads?” I repeat lamely.

  Lu shakes her head. “No, but that’s funny as shit. Does everyone in Sixth think that?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I just heard it somewhere.”

  “Divine, no wonder Midas’s guards nearly piss themselves every time you come around,” she laughs to Rip.

  My shoulders stiffen as I round on him. “The guards? My guards?”

  Black eyes flick over to me. “Midas’s guards, yes.”

  I ignore his pointed correction. “I want to see them,” I say, taking a step forward as new desperation fills me.

  He doesn’t even blink. “No.”

  Anger makes my ribbons tighten. “Why not? You let me visit the saddles.”

  “That’s different.”

  “How?” I press.

  “Because those soldiers were meant to serve as your protection, and they failed,” he says evenly, all amusement gone from his expression, the shadows seeming suddenly darker over his face. “They don’t deserve for you to visit them.”

  My head jerks back. “Don’t talk about them that way. There was nothing they could’ve done against the Red Raids. I want to see them,” I demand, my glare daring him to deny me.

  The other three grow quiet, and I can practically feel their gazes bouncing between Rip and me.

  The commander takes a step forward, and I instantly back up a step. I tell myself it’s an automatic reaction because he has all those sharp spikes out, but really, he’s plenty intimidating even without them.

  “Fine,” he says, surprising me.

  I should’ve known better, though. Should’ve seen where this was going by the arrogant tilt of his mouth.

  He leans in dangerously close. “If you want to see them that badly, then I guess you’d better get started,” he tells me, black eyes glinting. “Because like I said, you’re not leaving the circle until you fight.”

  Chapter 24

  AUREN

  Rip circles me.

  The highest spike between his shoulder blades juts up like the fin of a shark breaking the surface of the water.

  The other three have squared off against each other, every man and woman for herself, fighting like it’s their favorite game as they trade insults and goad one another.

  But I can only pay attention to them for the barest of moments in my peripheral vision, because I know better than to take my eye off the male stalking me.

  The bonfire is to my left, draping a blanket of orange over the snowy ground, casting everything in fiery light.

  “You still look scared,” Rip says as he comes to a stop in front of me.

  “I’d be stupid not to be.”

  I don’t care if he really doesn’t rip people’s heads off. He’s still a killer. Still capable of cutting down armies and slaying kingdoms. His entire body sings with strength. I can almost hear the vibrato of violence as it hums through his veins.

  “You’re right.” He shrugs off his fitted leather coat and drops it to the ground. My heart starts to pound.

  His eyes stroke over the length of my body, probably to set me even more on edge. “Do you want to take off your feathers, Goldfinch?”

  I clutch my own coat to my chest. “No, thanks.”

  With lips twitching, his hands come up, deft fingers unlacing the brown straps across his jerkin. The spikes along his forearms and back recede beneath his skin before he slips the leather off and tosses it away.

  He watches me as he reaches behind him, pul
ling the black cotton tunic off and dropping it on the pile. Then he’s standing there bare-chested in front of me, and time freezes, like suspended sand in an hourglass, grains paused in their plummet.

  I shiver from the intimidation of seeing him like this, because he is intimidating. But he’s also beautiful. Rip has otherworldly allure and unmistakable magnetism.

  I suddenly understand the insects that fly willingly into carnivorous plants. The draw is too strong, the pull too bewitching, that you forget about the danger until you’re already trapped inside.

  Why is it that he can undress, and yet, it makes me feel vulnerable?

  Bright side? At least the view is nice.

  My eyes drift of their own accord as I take in just how strong Rip really is. His body is a vessel for battle. Every single muscle has been worked to perfection, and the sight makes my mouth go dry.

  His pale skin isn’t ghostly or sickly like Malina’s. It’s chiseled, with a light dusting of hair on his chest, but my eyes move to the row of black dots that go up his forearms.

  It should look odd, or freakish, or scary, but it’s none of those things.

  He’s so entirely fae.

  He stands in front of me, not hiding, but letting me see, letting me assess, and I can tell from his stance that he’s proud of who he is. Of what he is.

  It makes something in me ache. I can’t look away from the fierce refinement of him, the predatory grace. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, my lips parting with a shaken breath.

  Before I can stop myself, I’ve stepped forward, so close that my skirts brush against his pants. Rip goes still. I don’t think he’s breathing.

  I stare at the four spots from wrist to elbow where the spikes have sunken in. There’s just the slightest peek of them beneath the separation of his skin, like a notch in his arm. There’s no strange bulging or odd angles with them retracted. It’s as if they’ve melded into his bones.

  “Incredible...” My whisper passes unbidden.

  Unable to help myself, I lift my hand, my fingertips brushing against the black indentations in his ashen-white skin. I hiss out a surprised breath when I feel the spike catch on the fabric of my glove, the sharp tip of a talon ready to pierce.