Glint (Plated Prisoner Book 2)

I look around the formal dining room, at the tapestries hanging over windows that stretch from floor to ceiling, the paneled walls adorned with ornamental embellishments. A chandelier hangs like icicles above us, its crystals glittering like the sparkle of a lover’s eye.

Even after months of being here, I’m still not over all the lavishness, the sheer size of the palace. It’s all incredibly elaborate, making me feel so out of place, so small.

The amount of wealth in Highbell Castle is enough to make my head spin, and that was even before Midas decided he wanted everything to be turned gold.

“You alright, Precious?”

At Midas’s query, I glance over, a smile already turning up my lips. “Yes,” I reply. “It looks good like this, don’t you think?”

We both stand alone in the room, and it’s still strange to think that this is where we live now. I haven’t gotten used to it. I also haven’t gotten used to us, either. Midas used to wear cheaply made trousers and scuffed boots. Now, he’s always in silk tunics and perfectly tailored pants. The strangest of all is when a crown rests on his copper-blond head.

Even so, it fits him. It’s like he was made for it—all of this finery doesn’t leave him feeling awkward or make him seem out of place. If anything, he’s flourished in Highbell despite having to take up the mantle of king so quickly.

I’m proud of him. So proud of the way he hasn’t faltered, hasn’t backed down. For a man who was raised on a farm with no family left, he’s taken on the role of king with ease.

His eyes, the color reminding me of the pod on a carob tree, look over the room with meticulous assessment.

I’ve been all over the castle with him today, parts of it transforming before our eyes. A windowsill here, a rug there, teacups and chair cushions, wall sconces and doorknobs.

Night fell a few minutes ago, taking away the last of the day’s watery light. Servants have already come in to feed the fireplace, the flames a hungry, wakeful beast that growls and spits, casting the room in its orange glow.

Dozens of candles adorn the dining table, place settings waiting perfectly arranged over the newly shimmering surface. I can still see the grains of the wood, but the polished timber is now remade—gold, to match the rug and curtains and dishes.

“It does look good,” Midas hums, his eyes catching on the spots that haven’t been turned yet—the white marble floors, the paneled walls, the ceiling, and the backs of the chairs. “But it will look even better when it’s all golden in here,” he finishes with a smile in my direction. “You must be hungry. Let’s eat.”

With a hand on my back, he leads me toward the table, two servants already there with our chairs pulled out. Before I’ve even finished sitting down, my ears prickle with the noise of a door opening, of heels clicking against the floor.

I freeze, unable to help the servant to push in my seat. I shoot Midas a wide-eyed look, but he’s looking at the doorway where she just walked in. His wife, his queen.

I hear her skirts swish against the floor as she comes closer. She rounds the table, sitting at Midas’s right, directly across from me.

The dining room is filled with sudden tension, and Queen Malina knows it. A gentle nudge behind me unsticks my hesitation, and I murmur a thanks to the servant as they finish pushing in my chair.

“Wife, you’ve joined me for dinner,” Midas says, the cool blanket of his tone covering up whatever other emotions he might be feeling.

The queen never dines with him for supper unless they have guests. They share breakfast or sometimes tea, but not dinner.

Dinner is supposed to be mine.

The servants come up, placing a plate and bowl in front of each of us, wine poured in our glasses. If they’ve picked up on the discomfort, they don’t let it show.

“I was out all afternoon in the city, and I’ve only just gotten back. I skipped lunch, so I thought I’d dine with you tonight,” Malina says with unruffled ease.

Her snow-white hair is parted on the side, front strands swept over loosely, all of it gathered into a knot at the nape of her neck. She’s wearing a gold dress, just like me, but hers is far more elaborate, the skirts full, the bodice bedecked with lace and frills and layers.

Compared to her, I feel like my satin slip of a dress is barely a step above a nightgown. The only garnishments are the gold rings at my shoulders that hold the fabric in place.

“I’m glad to have your company,” Midas replies.

My gaze burrows into the bowl of soup in front of me, wishing that I could be anywhere but here. I’m angry that she’s here taking away my one meal with him. It’s all I get anymore, and sometimes, I don’t even get that.

I can feel the queen’s eyes on my downturned head, my scalp tingling with cold, like her wintry blue gaze carries the chill of winter itself.

At the sound of Midas starting to eat, I lift my hand woodenly, forcing myself to do the same. I can’t let myself look at him, since that would only enrage her. The last thing I want to do is gain attention. I don’t dare slurp or drop my spoon as I eat. In fact, I try not to make any noise at all.

All three of us eat in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, throats swallowing, broth sipped. I’m sure it’s delicious—everything here always is—but I can’t taste it around the bitterness I feel.

Malina sits straight and proud across from me, no hair or thread out of place, her very essence regal and overwhelming. Looking at her, there’s no doubt she’s royal.

“Hmm,” she hums, stirring her soup before lifting her gaze up to me. “It seems your gilded orphan girl has learned better table manners since last time.”

I freeze, the spoon halfway to my mouth.

A quiet sigh comes from Midas. “Malina, don’t start.”

She manages an elegant, uncaring shrug, except I can see the hardening ice of her gaze. “It was meant as a compliment, Tyndall. The last time I saw her eat, I thought we were going to have to sop up the stew from her lap.”

My fingers tighten as I lower the spoon, my eyes flicking up to her. Our gazes collide, blue and gold, ice and metal. I can see it, there in her eyes—the jealousy, the anger.

And she can see it too, in mine.

Beneath the table, Midas’s foot brushes against my leg. It’s a small, hidden touch of comfort that helps me loosen my breath, but it’s also a reminder.

Malina can provoke me all she wants, because her status allows it. But I’m just the favored saddle that she tolerates. I’m the other woman, and I can’t openly do anything to show disrespect.

Subtly put in my place, the stirring fire inside of me goes out, like a snuff over a lit wick. My eyes drop from hers.

“How do you like the room?” Midas asks Malina, diverting her attention, changing the subject. I’m grateful for his attempt at moving the conversation away from her verbal criticism of me, but for once, I wish he’d stand up for me instead.

He can’t, though. That’s his ring on her finger. She’s the one who sits beside him on a throne, the one on his arm when they visit town. I can’t be that with him.

He’s a king, and I’m no queen.

Malina looks around, noting all the changes in the room, all the places that have been gold-touched. I wonder what she thinks of it, all the things tinged new.

Ever since her father passed away, Midas has been dubbed the Golden King. He’s certainly living up to the title, too. Room by room, the castle is being transformed. Every day, a little bit more gold shines on its surfaces.

Sometimes, Midas wants things to go solid because he likes the way it looks—like the plants in the atrium, now ageless and unchanging. A bold statement of wealth that requires no words.

But that wouldn’t do for everything. It certainly wouldn’t be comfortable to sleep on solid gold beds. So for the most part, the material itself is morphed, glass cups tinted, supple thread spun golden, wooden frames gone gilt, all of it done with a single touch.

“It looks fine,” Malina finally answers, voice gone stiff.

“Fine?” Midas repeats with a frown marring his tanned, handsome face. “Highbell has never looked better. By the time I’m finished, it will be so superior no one will even remember what it was before.”

If I wasn’t looking at her already, I’d have missed the flinch of pain that crosses her face. It’s a split second, there one moment and gone the next, but I saw it.

It surprises me, because the cold queen never shows any emotion other than superiority.

Malina swallows, delicate throat bobbing, before placing her spoon down on the napkin in front of her. “The soup seems to be disagreeing with me,” she states. “I think I’ll head up to my rooms, after all.”

“Would you like me to escort you?” Midas asks.

“No, thank you.”

I can’t help it—a sigh of relief passes my lips, and my eyes lighten with the weight of her presence lifting.

But I should’ve hidden it, shouldn’t have reacted, because she notices. Her eyes narrow, an acrimonious chill meant to freeze me out.

I immediately install my cordial, careful expression again, but it’s too late. The damage is done.

A servant rushes forward to pull out her chair as Malina rises to her feet. She pauses beside Midas, her ghostly pale hand coming down to rest on his shoulder. I can see the blue veins beneath the cream of her porcelain skin as her fingers toy with the short ends of his hair.

“Coming up tonight?” she asks him, voice dropped low.

Midas’s leg moves away from mine before he nods at her. “Yes, of course.”

She beams, but her attention is on me, stealing every bit of that relief and replacing it with something that makes my stomach churn.

“Wonderful,” Malina purrs before bending forward to place a kiss on his cheek. “Have a good supper with your pet, Midas. I’ll see you soon in bed.”

The ice from her gaze goes right through my heart.

I don’t know what she sees in my expression, but it makes the grin of smug vindication spread on her face. Satisfied, Malina straightens up and turns away, walking with the click, click of her heels, while I’m left stuck in grim jealousy that I can’t let show.

Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry.

When the dining room door closes, Midas immediately reaches over, his bent finger tapping the bottom of my chin. “Auren.”

My eyes lift to his, his expression apologetic yet stern, soft lips pressed together.

“You can’t react to her,” he tells me.

A well in my eyes fills up, like water in a bucket, threatening to spill over. “I know.”

“Oh, Precious,” he murmurs, gaze caressing my face. “You know you have my heart. I need an heir, that’s all.”

I may not be a queen, I may not be his wife, but I have his heart.

It’s enough. It has to be. Yet this keeps happening, this gutted feeling, over and over again.

I liked it better when Malina ignored me. I think she thought he’d tire of me at first. Maybe now, she’s come to realize that he never will.

When a tear slips down my cheek, Midas brushes it away with his thumb, and I lean into his touch.

“Come here.” He scoots back, and that’s all the invitation I need. I slip into his lap, and his arms come around to hold me as the servants scurry away. “You’re still adjusting,” he says, his hand brushing my braided hair off my shoulder.

“I guess so.”

“It’ll get easier with time,” he assures me.

I sniff, pulling myself together. “Yeah.”

His chin rests securely on the top of my head, his thighs beneath me, holding me up. “We both knew what was going to happen when we decided to come here to Highbell.”

“I just…I didn’t know it was going to be this hard,” I admit in a soft voice. I didn’t know it was going to hurt this much.

A comforting stroke skims down my back. “Marrying Malina was necessary. Not only because it secured the future of Sixth Kingdom, but also because it’s secured a future for you,” he says, the timbre of his voice rumbling evenly against my ear pressed to his chest.

He’s right, of course.

His hand moves, again tapping my chin so I’ll look at him. “You’re safe and protected here, Auren, and that’s what matters the most to me. You know that, right? I won’t ever let the world hurt you again.”

I nod, my eyes dropping to his lips. I want to kiss his cheek, to replace the one his wife left there, but that feels juvenile, so I don’t.

“I am safe, thanks to you,” I tell him with a small smile.

The skin of his eyes crinkles in the corners as he smiles back. I love that smile. It makes my heart squeeze inside my chest, like the feel of someone taking your hand. “And you always will be, here with me,” he promises. “Are you still hungry?”

I shake my head in answer. What little I managed to eat has gone sour in my stomach.

“Alright, how about I walk you upstairs and I’ll send for some food to be brought up a little bit later?”

“Yes, please.”

He places a kiss on my forehead and helps me stand, his hand going to my back again as he walks me out of the dining room.

I’m quiet while he leads me up floor after floor of the castle. I’ve grown used to taking the trek by now, so my legs don’t ache as much from all the steps, yet my spirit seems to drag its feet.

When we get to the top level, Midas nods at the guards standing watch in the hall. We go through the doorway together, stopping in the middle of the room. Not just any room—my bedroom. Complete with an attached dressing room and bathroom.

“Ready?” he asks, and I nod, though a small sigh escapes my lips as I look at the gilded bars.

Midas had a renowned blacksmith come to the castle to build this for me. It took weeks, but now there’s an elegant birdcage built into the room, except it’s big enough to house a person, its size easily accommodating all the furniture inside.© NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

Its domed structure is elaborate, swirling metal that coils at the bottom and top, pretty vines engraved into the golden band that circles around the roof.

It’s intricate and beautiful and strong. No man could break the bars, no body could squeeze between them. When Midas promised to keep me safe, I asked him to prove it.

This is him proving it.

He strides toward the cage door, and the hinge doesn’t make a single squeak when he opens it. Midas comes inside with me, both of us passing the bed and chair as I head for the window. The glass panes are rimmed with snow, like powdered sugar clinging to the edges. I don’t have the best view from it, but I still love looking outside.

His fingers come up to play with my ribbons tied into bows at my back. I know the caress is meant to make me feel better. Not just because of the confrontation with Malina, but because as much as I’m comforted by the safety of my cage, I still get lonely inside. Bored. Sometimes, when I sleep, I wake up panicked at the feeling of being trapped.

“Eat more food tonight,” he tells me.

“I will.”

“And play your harp. You’re so good at it.”

I laugh, turning away from the view of the window to look at the golden harp he gifted me a couple of months ago. “You’re just saying that. I’m awful at it.”

His lips twitch. “You’ll get better with practice.”

“I have lots of time for that,” I tease. Though I’d much rather be bored sometimes than be back on the streets with someone like Zakir. If all I have to complain of is a little boredom here and there, then my life is really good. Something I need to remember.

“I have a surprise for you,” Midas says suddenly.

My eyebrows lift, and I bounce on my feet. “What is it?”

His lips tilt up at my brimming excitement. I can’t help it—I love gifts.

“I’m going to have your cage expanded.”

My eyes widen. “What…?”

“It’s going to take a bit of work, and it won’t happen overnight,” he quickly explains. “The carpenters will have to cut out a few walls and build a private hallway to connect to your cage, but when they’re done, you’ll be able to visit the library and atrium whenever you like and be safe in your own space.”

Lips parting in shock, all I can do is stare at him for a moment, like I’m checking to see if he’s actually serious. “Really?” I breathe.

His grin dazzles me. “Really.”

Before he’s even finished answering, I’m launching myself at him, my arms wrapped around his neck as I pepper his face with kisses. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

He laughs, the carefree sound warming me up from the inside, my heart swelling. “I know how much you like the atrium and reading,” he tells me, leaning back to look at me as I pull away. “And you know I like to make you happy.”

“Thank you,” I say again, my face stretched wide with a smile. Once I’m able to go into the atrium whenever I like, I won’t feel so trapped all the time. I’ll have the best view of the castle.

“Happy?” he asks.

I nod through my grin. “I’m happy.”

“Good.” Midas taps me on the nose.

The giant bell in the castle’s tower begins to chime, the sound marking the hour of the night. It trills loud enough to be heard all the way down the mountain and into Highbell city proper, its resonance like rippled air.

When the noise stops, Midas brushes his hand over my cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning. Make sure you get plenty of rest tonight. We have a lot to do tomorrow.”

“I will.”

I walk him to the cage door, and he goes out, turning to shut it behind him, locking it securely. He slips the key into his pocket and lightly pats it. A reminder that no one can get to me, that he and he alone can open my cage.

“Good night, Precious.”

My hands come up to curl around the bars. “Good night.”

With a nod, Midas walks out, the bedroom door closing behind him.

As soon as he’s gone, the happy smile slips off my face, like water that drips from slow-melting snow. I try not to think of where he’s going, what he’ll do. She’s his wife, and I’m the gilded pet she tolerates.

I turn, my back leaning against the bars, my gaze skimming over the chair, the table, the pillows piled on my four poster bed, the blankets in a fluffed tangle. I have everything I could ever need here, every comfort I never thought I’d have.

Midas has never let me down. I’m no longer in danger. I no longer have to worry every moment of every day. He’s kept his promise, kept it the moment he found me.

So why, when that cage door shuts, do I still feel lost?