Glint (The Plated Prisoner 2)

Curiosity tumbles through me like a windswept plant with no roots. I wonder how Commander Rip got here, what his purpose is. Is he simply King Ravinger’s hired guard dog, put out on a leash to snap and snarl at enemies? Or does he have another agenda?

He assesses every inch of me while I sit, trapped in the confines of the carriage, and I can see him mentally taking notes. It takes everything in me not to fidget, not to cringe beneath his stare.

His eyes catch on my swollen cheek and split lip before dropping down to my crumpled ribbons sprawled throughout the space. I don’t like his interest in them. Every time he looks at them, I want to hide them away. I would’ve wrapped them around my torso to keep them out of sight if they weren’t so sore.

When he’s finally done with his appraisal, he lifts his black eyes to look into mine. I tense, waiting for him to haul me out, bark orders, or issue threats, but he just continues to look at me, as if he’s waiting for something.

If he wants me to break or cry or plead, I refuse. I won’t fold under the pressure of his scrutiny or shatter beneath his piercing silence. I’ll sit here all damned night if I have to.

Unfortunately, my stomach doesn’t seem to have the same stubborn will as I do, because right then, it lets out an obnoxiously loud growl.

The commander’s eyes narrow at the sound, as if it personally offends him. “You’re hungry.”

If I wasn’t so terrified, I’d roll my eyes. “Of course I’m hungry. I’ve been in this carriage all day, and it’s not as if the Red Raids gave us a lavish meal after they captured us.”

If the disrespect i

n my tone surprises him, he doesn’t show it.

“Goldfinch has some bite to her beak,” he murmurs, his eyes flicking over the feathers on my coat’s sleeve.

I bristle at the nickname, my jaw going tight.

There’s something about him. Or maybe it’s something about me after the hell I’ve faced. Whatever the reason, be it circumstances or a clash of natures, anger begins to dominate my emotions. I try to clamp down on the response like a spring in a mouse trap, but it doesn’t want to settle.

I should stay impassive, untouchable. I need to be a stone in the middle of his rushing current. I’m in the thick of it now, more vulnerable than ever, and I can’t afford to get swept away.

The commander tips his head. “You’ll stay in the tent right there,” he says, his hand motioning to his left. “Food and water will be brought to you. The latrine is at the outskirts of the camp to the west.”

I wait for more instructions, or threats, or violence, but none come. “That’s it?” I ask with distrust.

He cocks his head, the move so very fae-like, and I catch a glimpse of the highest spike between his shoulder blades. “What were you expecting?”

I narrow my eyes. “You’re the most feared army commander in all of Orea. I don’t expect you to behave any other way but to reflect your reputation.”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, he leans in, arms braced against the frame of the carriage, the wicked spikes along his forearms on display. The faint gray iridescent scales along his cheekbones glint like the flash of a silver blade, a warning all its own.

The breath I was inhaling stops in its tracks, sticking in my chest like syrup, clogging my throat.

“Since you seem to already know the character of the person whose custody you’re in, I won’t waste your time on explaining anything to you,” Rip says, his voice low, a chilling edge slicing the tip of each word. “You seem to be an intelligent female, so I shouldn’t need to tell you that you can’t leave. You’d freeze to death out here on your own, and I’d find you anyway.”

My heart gallops in my chest, his promise teetering on a threat.

I’d find you.

Not his soldiers would find me, but him personally. I have no doubt he’d search all over the Barrens and hunt me down if I tried to get away. He really would find me, too. That’s just the kind of luck I have.

“King Midas will kill you for taking me,” I say in response, even though my entire body wants to cringe back from his nearness, from his overwhelming presence that fills up the interior of the carriage.

The corner of his mouth curves as much as his bowing spikes. “I look forward to the attempt.”

His arrogance turns my stomach, but the problem is, I know his cockiness is warranted. Even without the powerful, ancient fae magic I can sense in him, he’s a warrior through and through. With muscles boasting of strength and a demeanor that confesses his deadliness, he’s not someone I want anywhere near Midas.

Some of my thoughts must slip through the cracks of my stoicism, because he straightens up, expression melting into condescension. “Ah, I see now.”

“See what?”

“You care for your King Captor.” He practically spits the words, accusation as sharp as his fangs.