Glint (The Plated Prisoner 2)

The man fists my hair in his hand, blessedly letting go of my neck and my mouth, but I’m too busy gulping in the much-needed air that I don’t have the breath to scream. My throat is so battered, I’m not even sure if I can.

My neck is wrenched to the side as he pulls my hair with an agonizing tug, and then there’s a horrible sawing as he begins to cut through my thick golden tresses.

I’m shoved down onto the ground, naked, scalp screaming, throat bruised.

When the last of my hair is cut, there’s no more grip on my body, so I drop uselessly to the ground like soiled laundry dumped on the floor. I can’t get up, I’m too stuck in shock, too focused on taking in one ragged inhale after another.

If they say anything to me, I don’t hear it. All I know is their footsteps run away, taking their menacing shadows with them, and then I’m alone, crumpled in a heap at the edge of the pond. One foot is lying ankle-deep in the cold water while the rest of me is sunken into the grass, but I don’t feel it.

I’m not sure how long I lie there, but I’m too afraid to move. Too afraid to get up and find Midas. Too afraid of everything.

But Midas finds me. Just like before, in that alleyway, he finds me broken on the ground, beneath a watching moon.

I hear him call my name, hear him curse. Then he’s gathering me into his arms, and my tears fall down as he lifts me up.

I cry into his golden tunic, my tears soaking through to his chest—that chest that’s still beating, still singing to me.

I feel the scratchy, crooked ends of my shorn hair scrape against my cheeks. I feel the slice on my stomach where the sloppy blade cut into my skin. But mostly, I just feel fear.

Midas takes care of me, and even though I know I must look ugly now, and that he must be angry that I left the tent without him, he doesn’t say anything. He simply washes the green stains off my skin, cleans the cut on my belly, and kisses my wet cheeks.

All the while, his earlier declaration becomes my mantra, one that makes my heart harden, makes my fear solidify, makes me want to hide away from the world forever.

You can’t trust people.

The only person I can trust is him.

I promise myself right then and there, that from now on, that’s what I’ll do. I will always trust him, in all things, because he knows what’s best. He’s always right.

I’m done with the ugliness of this world, and I want him to keep me safe from it.

All of it.

Chapter 9

AUREN

The brush of silken tendrils across my swollen cheek wakes me up.

As my eyes peel open, I see my ribbons stretching, curling, moving slowly around me, as if testing for tenderness. I smile at the soft golden glow of them, immediately noting how much better they look and feel. I can actually move them without wincing.

I sit up, careful to keep the furs from falling off, because the pre-dawn morning chill is stark. The coals have long since turned cold with ash, and the tent is dark. I can see the shadowed silhouette of the commander’s body stretched out on his furs, his breaths steady and quiet.

It’s not too surprising that he’s still asleep, since the sun hasn’t risen yet. But seeing him asleep like this, without the pressing demand of his power, without the harsh scowl...it makes him seem different. Less threatening.

I find myself watching him, studying the smooth lines of his face. I’m curious what the silvery scales along his cheekbones would feel like if I touched them. I wonder if it hurts to have his spikes retracted beneath his skin for so long or if he doesn’t even feel it.

But mostly, I wonder what kind of power he carries in his veins. Whatever he’s capable of, it’s vast and ruthless. I can sense it.

His power must be the reason why King Ravinger wields him like a hammerhead. But how did the king even find him? How does he keep the truth from the masses?

Are people so content in ignorance that they’ll believe every lie fed to them, despite what they see right in front of their eyes? Then again, perhaps it isn’t ignorance. Maybe it’s just...fear. They don’t want to even consider the alternative. It would make people uneasy, make it hard to sleep at night.

Maybe ignorance isn’t a vice, but a reprieve. And a reprieve into ignorance is something I’ve done myself, many times.

Commander Rip makes a noise in his sleep, low and rumbling, like a faraway quake of the earth, shifting plates that I can almost feel beneath unsteady feet.

He didn’t touch me last night.