Glint (Plated Prisoner Book 2)

Ranhold Castle is cold.

That’s the first thing I notice after I’m put into a covered carriage and brought around to the side of the castle through a small set of doors. Six guards escort me—Midas’s favorite number.

The walls in this hallway look like ice, but it’s a trick of the eye, a triumph in architecture. When I tap a gloved finger against it, I can see it’s made of smooth stone bricks, yet covered with a layer of blue blown glass.Material © NôvelDrama.Org.

We edge around what looks to be the main entryway, where purple flags hang from the rafters, a crisscross of white wood that arches up against a window laid into a ceiling that’s shaped like a ten-pointed star.

Aside from my guards, the space is empty, quiet, while my nerves are nearly rabid, nipping at my skin, breathing down my neck. I don’t even know how I’m able to walk so calmly, to not break out into a run or stop dead in my tracks as I’m led into a narrow hall.

There’s no doubt that the palace is beautiful. The elaborate glass moldings, the trimmed windows, the curved sconces. Every flair is a celebration of ice, every purple tapestry an homage to Ranhold’s monarch.

But the further inside I go, the colder I become. Maybe it’s all in my mind, maybe the glacial-looking walls are tricking me into thinking that it’s colder than it really is. Either way, goose bumps have risen across my skin, and I find my ribbons wrapping around me just a little bit tighter.

I’m about to be reunited with Midas.

He’s here somewhere, waiting for me, and my heart leaps at the thought. I haven’t seen him in weeks, the longest I’ve ever been apart from him in over a decade.

I long for his familiarity. To be able to tell him about Sail, about Digby, and have him understand because he knew them too. My life changed drastically since I’ve been away, and I can’t wait to tell him everything.

The guards lead me to yet another narrow passageway, and still, no one greets us, no one is around. The whole floor is empty, and I frown in confusion as to why I’m not being led through the main parts of the castle. But then it dawns on me.

I’m a secret.

Until this second, I didn’t even remember that when he traveled here, Midas used a gold-painted saddle as a decoy. A move that was supposed to protect me—one that didn’t work out so well.

The silence of the guards, the lack of a welcome, and the clandestine routes of emptied servant’s passageways solidifies my guess. It’s probably not public knowledge that I was captured, or that I’ve been traded now, not if Midas has kept up the façade.

I don’t know how I feel about that.

I’m led up a bare stone stairway and then led down a path with slits of windows at the high ceiling carrying a smear of light that dusts the narrow hallway.

Then we seem to exit the servant’s walkways, because I’m herded into a hallway that’s much more decorated. A straight runner of plush purple extends the length of the floor from one end to the next, and gleaming silver sconces hang from the walls, unlit. The windows are tall and wide, curtains pulled back, letting in both the sunlight and a wintry draft.

Another set of stairs, then a second, and then we finally reach a wing of the castle that isn’t empty.

I recognize Midas’s king’s guards immediately—six standing against either wall. They eye us, saying nothing.

I don’t feel my chest rise or fall with breath when one of them raps a knuckle against a set of double doors. I don’t feel my eyes blink when that door is opened. I definitely don’t feel the weight of my steps as the guards move aside, and I walk through the doorway.

But when I enter that room, when I lay eyes on my golden king for the first time in two months, I do feel my heart leap.

The door closes behind me as I stop, and then it’s just us. Just him and me.

He stands in the very middle of a large private study, the entire room bathed in deep purples and blues, all except for him. He practically shines with the golden threads of his clothes, the slightly tanned skin, his honey-blond hair. And those eyes, those warm hickory eyes—they glint most of all.

He releases a breath, one that’s ragged, short. Like he’d been holding it in his chest ever since he knew I was captured, and he’s only just now able to let it out.

“Precious.”

The single word is nothing but a murmur slipping out of his mouth, but the agony of his pent-up worry blares through it, loud enough that it cracks his expression as if it were made of glass. His handsome face shows overwhelming relief that’s so stark, so palpable, I can almost taste it.

At the sight of him looking at me like that, at hearing him speak, my own face crumples. In the next instant, I’m racing forward to close the distance between us, because I can’t bear to not be in his arms for a second longer.

But right before I fling my arms around his neck, his hands come out to stop me, grasping my upper arms to hold me still. I notice he’s wearing gloves too, though his are pristine, while mine are filthy and worn.

“Precious,” he says again, but this time, I can hear the shade of reprimand tinging it.

I shake my head at myself as I wipe the tears from my eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

“Are you alright?” he asks softly.

It’s like his simple question throws open the gate that I had shut on everything that happened. The fear and grief of those terrible moments come flooding out. Digby’s and Sail’s faces immediately flash through my head, making a golden tear drip down my cheek.

His eyes widen slightly. “What’s wrong?” he demands, shaking me a little. “Did anyone touch you? Tell me every single name of who dared to lay a finger on you, and I’ll burn them all to their bones and crush their ashes beneath my boots.”

Startled at the vehemency of his words, I just stare open-mouthed at him for a moment.

“Who, Precious?” he asks, shaking me again.

I immediately think of Captain Fane, but I’m not ready for that discussion. Not ready to tell him what I did. I still don’t even know what I’m going to do about Rissa.

“No, it’s not that. It’s my guards.” I say with a shake of my head. “Digby and—” I sniffle, trying to shore myself up, trying to get the words out. “After the attack, what the pirates did to Sail…it was horrible. I can’t stop replaying it in my head, of him being murdered right in front of me.”

My heart feels like someone is squeezing it in a punishing fist, fingers digging in, making it hurt, making it bleed. “I didn’t do anything to stop it. I just let him die there in the snow.”

My guilt is a writhing, pitiful beast, dragging its claws beneath my skin and ripping me to shreds.

“They dragged him onboard and they—” The vision of the pirates tying Sail up to that pole makes my throat close up. I’m crying so hard now that I’m not even sure he can understand what I’m saying.

“Shh,” Midas croons, his hands running up and down my arms in comforting strokes. “It’s alright. You don’t have to think about any of that anymore. You’re here now. No one will ever take you from me again.”

I nod, trying to get a hold of myself, trying to stop the flood of golden tears pouring from my eyes. “I missed you.”

He squeezes me slightly, warm eyes looking at me like I’m his greatest treasure. “You know I would stop at nothing to get you back.”

A small smile tilts up my lips. “I know.”

We simply watch each other for a moment, and I feel his presence tethering me to the comfort he represents. It’s that old, familiar warmth, that sense of security. It makes the beast inside of me settle, her claws drawing back, maw closing.

All of the uncertainty and anxiousness that I’ve felt all of these weeks, it all slowly retreats until I’m standing on familiar footing again. It’s a relief that I no longer have to be so alert, to be so careful. A quiet sigh slips out of me, and my shoulders lower slightly, losing the months of tension I’ve been carrying.

Midas’s brown eyes go soft, cushioning soil to pillow the vulnerable seed. “You’re here with me,” he murmurs. “Everything is okay now.”

I desperately want to reach up and brush a hand against his chest, to feel the beat of his heart, but I manage to hold back.

After a moment, Midas’s gaze takes on a more assessing edge, sweeping over me from head to toe. “You look a mess. Did they not even allow you a bath? A brush?”

I cringe, suddenly feeling self-conscious, embarrassed. Here he is, looking just as handsome as always, while I probably look like something not even the dogs would drag in.

I try to give him a smirk, but it feels forced, my cheeks trembling slightly. “It’s not like there were many bathhouses in the Barrens,” I joke lamely. Midas just frowns.

Pulling away, I look down at my wrinkled dress, hem stained and fabric loose. The top of my torn bodice is still gaping from where Captain Fane tore it, and my coat is ripped too. My boots are scuffed, my socks worn with holes, and I don’t even want to think about the state of my body and hair.

“I know, I look awful.” I pull at the end of my braid, thankful that I kept my hood on. Weeks and weeks of rag baths have not done me any favors.

“We’ll get you right as rain in no time, Precious,” he says with a warm smile. “Now that you’re back, we have so much to discuss. So much to do.”

I’m content to simply hear him talk. I’ve missed the sound of his voice, missed the way he lights up when he has plans and dreams to share with me.

“I won’t ever make the mistake of separating from you again,” he vows solemnly. “I’ll make it up to you. I swear it.”

“You couldn’t know this would happen.”

“No, but I’ll ensure it doesn’t ever happen again.”

With his fierce promise, he moves and goes around the desk where there are a pile of rolled up messages. I wander closer. “Did you get my hawk?” I ask.

“What hawk?”

I blink for a moment. “You…I sent you a letter. I found the army’s messenger hawks and managed to sneak out a message to you. To warn you that Fourth’s army was coming. You didn’t get it?”

He shakes his head and grabs a golden-fur monarch robe from the back of the chair. Slipping it on, he then picks up his crown that I hadn’t noticed was sitting on the desk.

“I received a message from King Ravinger himself. The bastard was gloating that he had you, that he rescued you from the Red Raids,” Midas scoffs angrily. “As if you were in any better company with his soldiers.”

“Actually, they treated me well. Much better than the pirates,” I explain, and I can’t suppress the shudder just thinking about them. I don’t even feel a lick of remorse for killing a man. The world is better off without Captain Fane.

Midas places the crown on his head and shoots me a dark look. “I will deal with the Red Raids,” he says, the promise darkening his eyes. “I’ll skewer their wretched bodies on solid gold spikes, letting their screams echo from the ramparts. If they so much as touched a hair on your head, I’ll peel the fingertips from their hands. I’ll cut out their eyes for even daring to look at what’s mine.”

The threat brings a chill to my skin.

“There’s so much I want to tell you,” I say, hoping to redirect his thoughts.

I don’t want our reunion to be tainted with his fury. I want to hold on for a little bit longer, to just bask in his nearness. I’m also desperate to talk to him. To really talk, the way we used to, when we wandered from Second Kingdom to Sixth, traveling by day and talking by night, wrapped in each other’s arms beneath the stars.

“Soon,” he promises. “For now, I have to meet with that bastard, King Ravinger. But I have a gift for you first.”

“A gift?”

He tilts his head. “Come.”

Intrigued, I follow him as he leads me through two rooms—a sitting room of some kind and then a bedroom. I look around, briefly noting the coat flung over a chair, the fireplace, the large bed. Both rooms are built with black iron and gray bricks, lush whites and purples to decorate every inch.

“It’s so nice in here,” I muse, looking around. I start walking toward the balcony so that I can check the view while he grabs a candlestick from his bedside table.

Before I can reach the doors, he lights the candle and gestures to me. “This way.”

I give a longing look at the balcony before I turn around and trail after him into the next room. I come to a stop just inside the doorway, immediately understanding the need for the candle. There aren’t any windows in here—it’s nearly pitch black except for a lantern flickering at the back of the room, but it’s obscured slightly by something.

Midas strides confidently forward while I hover at the door, trying to get my eyes to adjust. “What’s this?”

He stops by a spot at the wall to the left and fiddles with something with his lit candle, and I realize he’s lighting a wall sconce. A soft orangish glow flares to life.

“This is technically my dressing room, but I’ve made some adjustments.”

A fingertip of unease prickles on the back of my neck as Midas goes to the opposite end of the dark room and lights another sconce.

As soon as he does, my blood runs cold.

Because there, built into the middle of the room, is a beautiful wrought iron cage.