Glint (The Plated Prisoner 2)

I turn and snatch a fur from the cart behind me, draping it over my shoulders. “I was cold.”

He gives me a look that tells me he doesn’t believe a single word out of my mouth. “Cold? Then maybe Midas’s golden pet should have gone to her tent.”

I tug the sleek black fur tighter around my shoulders. I’ve known men like this, they’re nothing but bullies. The worst thing to do is to let him walk all over me and make myself an even easier target.

I raise my chin. “Am I not allowed to walk around? Am I going to be forced in there against my will?” I challenge, because it’s what I expect, and I want to beat him to the chase.

The scowl on his face deepens, and my heart pounds in my chest like it wants to get out and go hide. I don’t really blame it. If this man wanted to, he could take my neck between his meaty hands and snap it in half.

Instead, he crosses his arms in front of him, his intimidating posture bearing down on me. “Rumor is, that’s exactly the way you like it, pet.”

Anger surges through me. That’s the second time tonight I’ve been looked at so scathingly, judged for the cage I live in.

“Better to be safe with the Golden King than to serve in the army of your rotten monarch who’s nothing but a scourge to the land,” I spit.

As soon as my words hit his ears, he goes preternaturally still.

I know I’ve made a mistake. I’ve way overstepped. I let him get to me, and I allowed my mouth to run away with my anger and fear instead of being that unmovable stone I need to be.

I went from standing up to a bully to bullying him back. Considering his heft, that probably wasn’t the smartest move.

I wasn’t paying attention to the murmuring voices at the campfire, but I do when I hear the soldiers go quiet. There’s a tinge of tense excitement in the air, as if they can’t wait to see what he’ll do to me.

My heart gallops with the need to flee, trapped in the thrumming of my pulse.

With deadly enmity, the man leans down until his face is just an inch from mine. Furious eyes glare bright, burning up any hope of air for me to breathe.

His voice goes as low as a warning growl from a wolf, and it makes my blood run cold. “Insult my king again, and I don’t care what color your fucking skin is, I’ll whip the flesh from your back until an apology sobs out of your throat.”

I swallow hard.

He means every word. Of that, I have no doubt, because I can see it in his face. He’ll toss me down in the snow, right here and make pain my only reality.

He nods as he looks me in the eyes. “Good. I can see you’re taking things more seriously now.” He’s still standing entirely too close, still stealing all my space, my air, an invisible bubble bursting with his invasive presence. “You’re not with that gilt prick Midas anymore. You’re here now, with us, so if I were you, I’d be respectful, and I’d make myself very useful.”

My eyes widen at the dark things his words imply, but he cuts off my train of thought.

“Not that. None of us are interested in having Midas’s gold-plated leftovers,” he sneers, and I immediately exhale in relief. But I shouldn’t. “You want to make your life easier? Then be the caged bird that you are and sing.”

Comprehension dawns on me like a jaundiced sun. “You think I’ll give you information? You think I’ll betray my king?”

He lifts a shoulder. “If you’re smart.”

Loathing hammers inside of me in a fierce melody. Whatever he sees in my eyes makes the cruel giant lean away, straightening up to his full height with a sigh. “Hmm. Maybe not. What a shame.”

My hands curl into fists. “I will never betray King Midas to you.”

A wicked grin splits his mouth. “We’ll see.”

The hammering melody skips, thumps, crashes into my gut. I don’t know whether I should be more offended that he thinks I’m so weak, or fearful that I’ll turn out to be.

“Where are the other saddles?” I ask suddenly, wanting to take the reins of the conversation and steer it in my favor. “The other guards?”

He says nothing, arrogance rising off him like steam.

I dig in my heels. “If any of you hurt them—”

He lifts his palm up to cut me off, and I notice an old scar there, a straight slice cut all the way across. “Careful, there,” he growls. “Fourth’s soldiers don’t take kindly to threats.”