Glint (The Plated Prisoner 2)

Just like I’ll never forget the way I used every ounce of my strength to push his body overboard so the pirates couldn’t continue to abuse and disrespect him.

My aching ribbons throb with the memory of slicing the ropes that held him, of dragging his cold corpse across coarse wooden planks.

He was the first friend I’ve had in ten years, and I only got to have him for such a short time before I had to watch him be brutally murdered right in front of me.

He didn’t deserve his end. He didn’t deserve an unmarked grave in the emptiness of the Barrens, his body entombed by an ocean of snow.

It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.

I squeeze my eyes shut, his voice echoing in my ears and piercing right through my heart. He tried to reassure me, tried to hold my spirit and courage up, but we both knew the truth. As soon as my carriage toppled over and the Red Raids captured us, it wasn’t going to be okay.

He knew, but he still tried to defend me, to guard me, until his last breath.

A painful sob rips up my throat, snagging against the soreness like string caught on a hangnail. My golden eyes burn as another droplet of salt slips down my windblown cheek.

Maybe I’m being punished by the great Divine—the entity that makes up all of the gods and goddesses of this world. Maybe what’s happened is a warning that I was overreaching, that I need to remember the terrors of the outside world.

I was safe. At the top of a frozen mountain, up in the highest point in a golden castle, I was safe inside my gilded cage. But I got restless. Greedy. Ungrateful.

This is what I get. This is my fault. For having those far-reaching thoughts, for wanting more than I already had.

I feel my wilted ribbons quiver, like they want to rise up and brush against my swollen cheek, like they want to offer me comfort.

But I deserve none. Sail won’t get comfort from his mother ever again. Rissa won’t get comfort in the arms of the men she’s paid to bed. Midas won’t have comfort with an army marching toward him.

Outside, the soldiers of Fourth Kingdom travel through the snow, a dark force moving across the empty landscape. They’re a river of black leather and sleek obsidian horses, cutting across the land of perpetual cold.

I can see why all of Orea fears the army of King Ravinger—of King Rot. His magic aside, these soldiers, even without being clad in their battle armor, are an intimidating sight.

But none so much as the commander leading them.

From time to time, I glimpse him riding his horse outside, the line of vicious spikes along his spine curving down like cruel frowns. Black eyes like bottomless pits, waiting to ensnare anyone who looks into them.

Fae.

A full-blooded fae right here. Not in hiding, but leading an army for a cruel king.

Our earlier conversation replays in my head, making my palms go clammy, making my hands shake.

I know what you are.

Funny, I was about to say the same thing to you.

My mind stuttered when he said those words, mouth opening like a gaping fish. He merely smirked, flashing a glimpse of his wicked fangs, before jerking his head to this carriage and locking me inside.

But I’m used to being locked away.

I’ve been in here for hours now. Worrying, thinking, letting tears and ragged breaths fill the space, letting my mind catch up on everything that’s happened.

Mostly, I’ve just allowed myself to react while no one’s here to see.

I know better than to show weakness to the soldiers outside, especially the commander.

So I let myself feel it all now behind the privacy of the wooden walls, let my emotions roil, let the anxious “what nows” run through my head.

Because once the carriage stops for the night, I know I can’t afford to let any of this vulnerability out for anyone to see.

So I sit.