Glint (The Plated Prisoner 2)

I blink at him, at the hatred dripping off his lips like a slow, cold rain. If I confirm it, what will he do to use it against me? If I deny it, would he believe me?

He makes a derisive noise at the look on my face. “The goldfinch likes her cage. What a shame.”

My hands curl in anger. I don’t need his judgment, his scorn, his complete assumption that he knows me and my circumstances or has any right to criticize my relationship with Midas. “You don’t know me.”

“Don’t I?” he fires back, his voice grating against my ears. “Everyone in Orea knows about Midas’s favored as much as they know about his golden touch.”

My eyes flash. “Just as everyone knows about King Rot sending out his leashed monster to do his dirty work,” I say, giving the spikes on his forearm a pointed look.

A dark reverberation in the air around him coils, making the hairs on the back of my neck rise. “Oh, Goldfinch. You think I’m a monster now, but you haven’t seen anything yet.”

The implied threat sweeps in like an arid wind, making my mouth go dry.

I need to be very careful with this male. I need to avoid him at all costs, skirt around his viciousness, and try to come out unscathed. But I can’t plan ahead if I don’t know what to expect.

“What are you going to do with me?” I ask, risking the vulnerable question in hopes it will give me a hint of what’s to come.

A dark, threatening smile forms on his lips. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m bringing you back to the captor you miss so much. What a reunion that will be.”

Without another word, the commander turns on his heel and leaves me there to stare after him, my pulse pounding in tune with his footsteps.

I’m not sure what he has planned for my king, but I know it’s nothing good. Midas is expecting his saddles and his favored to arrive, not an enemy army marching up to his doorstep.

Forcing myself to get out of the carriage, my ribbons dragging behind me in the snow, a knowing resignation fills me. I know what I have to do. I need to figure out a way to warn my king.

I just hope it doesn’t cost me my life.

Chapter 4

AUREN

You’d think that after weeks of traveling, I’d be used to using a latrine dug in the ground to relieve myself. But nope. There’s something about having to lift your skirts and squat in the snow that really drags a girl down.

I do my business as quickly as I can. Bright side, I manage to do it without splashing on my own boots or falling ass-first into the snow. It’s all about the small victories right now.

Luckily, I get done before anyone else walks up to use the latrine, so I don’t have to worry about being watched. Scooping up some powdery snow, I use it to rinse my hands before I straighten and run my palms over my wrinkled skirts.

Now that my most pressing need is out of the way, I cross my arms around myself to ward off the chill that’s easily cutting through my wool dress and the pirate captain’s feather coat.

I take a moment to look around and get my bearings, but all I can see is the same landscape more or less that I’ve seen for days. Snow and ice and nothing.

The flat expanse of the Barrens seems to go on forever, the dark outline of the mountains far in the distance, the gentle sloping snow drifts never ending.

Commander Rip is right. I could run right now, and maybe I could even evade him and his soldiers for a while, but then what? I have no provisions of my own, no shelter, no true sense of direction. I would freeze to death out there.

Still, the empty horizon taunts me, a bitter temptress that mocks me with her open freedom. It’s a lie, one that would wrap me in its freeze and shatter my brittle body like ice.

With a hardened jaw, I turn and walk away, heading back into camp. The soldiers made quick work of setting it up. It’s nothing fancy, just crude leather tents speckled every few feet and campfires peppered throughout, but even so, this army doesn’t seem to shirk from the cold, doesn’t seem to be breaking down from the harsh elements.

As I breach the first of the tents, I glance around warily, keeping a look out for the commander or any of his soldiers who might slink out of the shadows and try to hurt me or force me into my tent.

But no one comes.

I don’t trust this fake freedom, not for a second.

Completely on my own, I wander the grounds, my eyes peeled. I don’t see any of the saddles or Midas’s guards, but the sheer numbers in this army make it hard to spot much of anything.

Even though I’m tired and aching, I force myself to push past it for a little while longer, to take advantage of this time alone while I have it, because I might not get this opportunity again.