Glint (The Plated Prisoner 2)

AUREN

“Come, Auren.”

I look back at Midas, at his outstretched hand. Such a simple gesture to many, but for me, it’s a big deal.

It took me a while to willingly place my palm in his. Every time he did it before, I’d flinch.

But he’s been so patient with me, so kind. I’ve never known kindness before, not since I was a little girl still safe at home with my parents.

I slip my hand into his before I glance longingly back at the fire several yards away, at the group of nomads gathered around it on the grass, the pond glittering behind them.

Midas and I are normally alone on the road, but we’re going to cross out of Second Kingdom soon, and there are always more travelers near the borders. The nomads have been keeping pace with us for a few days now, and I’m curious about them.

“Can’t we share their fire?” I ask as Midas starts to tug me away. The night is balmy with a hint of a breeze, an inky sky dipped with a dusting of stars.

“No, Precious.”

Every time he calls me that, I still get butterflies in my stomach. The fact that anyone would consider me precious, let alone someone as handsome as him, makes me surge with newfound happiness.

I keep thinking that this happiness is going to be torn away—that he’s going to leave, but Midas tells me I don’t ever have to worry about that.

He pulls me to our own small campfire, and I settle myself close to his side. I keep my thigh pressed against his because I crave the contact. Now that I’m getting touches that aren’t meant to hurt, I can’t get enough.

“Why not?” I ask curiously. Midas is so friendly and charismatic. I’m surprised that he doesn’t seem to care for the company of others.

He releases my hand so he can grab the meat he’s been roasting, and he splits off the bigger piece for me. I smile as I take it, biting into the tender meal with relish.

“Because it’s best that we keep to ourselves,” Midas patiently explains while he eats, stripping the meat of the bone. “You can’t trust people, Auren.”

I look across at him, wondering if he’s learned that the hard way, as I have. Neither of us likes to talk about our past, though, and I’m glad he doesn’t needle me. We’re both happier in the here and now.

“I thought it would be nice to have other company,” I admit quietly, slurping the juices from my fingers as I finish up the last of the meat. “We’ve been traveling, just the two of us, for a couple months now. Thought you might be getting bored of me,” I tease, but there’s always a hint of question there, always an edge of self-doubt.

I still don’t understand why someone like him bothers with someone like me.

Midas turns to look at my face, the orange glow of the flames blending with his eyes, making them crackle with warmth. He reaches over and strokes a thumb over my cheek. “I will never get bored of you, Auren. You’re perfect.”

My breath catches in my throat. “You think I’m perfect?”

He leans in and kisses me, and I don’t even mind that our lips are greased with food or that the smoke of the fire clings to my hair. He thinks I’m perfect. He saved me, and he’ll never tire of me, and he thinks I’m perfect enough to kiss.

I didn’t know happiness could ever feel like this.

When he pulls back, his flame-filled eyes caress my face, an adoring look in his expression. “Don’t ever think that I’ll get bored of you or that you aren’t precious to me. You’re my gold-touched girl, right?”

I nod shyly, my tongue darting out to lick my lips, tasting the sweetness of his kiss. This still feels so new, so fragile. My heart is full enough to burst, and I’m always afraid that it will.

“Why me, Midas?” I ask quietly, my question slipping out to float in the air.

It’s one that’s been tumbling silently in my head for weeks, months, ever since he lifted me up from my lonely squalor, stuck in an alleyway with nowhere to go, no one to care.

Maybe I’m finally letting the words out because he breathed some of his unending confidence into me. Or maybe I feel bolder when I’m shadowed by night.

I think some questions can’t bear to face the light. It’s easier for hesitant words and feared answers to be given in the dark. At least then, we can hide them in the shadows—hide ourselves from them.

I wait for him to answer, my fingers curling in the grass, plucking at the blades just so I have something to do with my hands.

Midas taps my chin so I’ll look up at him. “What do you mean?”