Glint (The Plated Prisoner 2) - Page 21

The soldiers begin to mutter quietly to one another, noticing me for the first time.

“That’s her.”

“She’s Midas’s gilded woman?”

“She don’t look like much.”

“Eh, I gotta couple of coins more golden than her.”

I sink my chin down until it nearly hits my chest. Their undivided attention makes me want to bolt. Keg must see it in my expression, because he smacks the spoon against the bowl like he’s hitting a gong, the noise clanging loudly enough to put a wince on several soldiers’ faces.

“Come on, girl. Up front,” Keg calls.

Steeling myself, I walk forward, trying to ignore the attention of the others as I approach. I stop a couple feet away from him, and his dark brown eyes sweep over me. “Ho boy. You’re the Sixth King’s gilded saddle?”

My ribbons tighten around for a moment before I answer. “Yes.”

He nods his head, making the winding lengths of his long hair fall in front of one eye. “I thought you’d be shinier. Stiff. Like I could rap my knuckles against you, and it’d clang like a statue.”

I blink. “What?”

A dripping spoon moves up and down the length of me. “You know, more metallic. Reflective. Cold. But you’re all flesh and warmth, aren’t you? All womanly curves and soft flesh, but just…” He tips his head as if searching for the right word. “Gilded.”

My cheeks are hot beneath the shadow of my hood, and I shift on my feet, undecided if I should spin around and walk away or if it’s worth it to stay so that I can eat. Though, I realize that his words weren’t spoken with any cruelty or lewdness, just with pure surprise instead.

“That’s why she’s called the gilded pet, you idiot,” one of the soldiers gripes behind me, making me tense. “Now can you stop yapping and serve us? We’re hungry, and your slop doesn’t get any better when it’s cold.”

Keg’s attention shifts over my head, and he points his spoon again, making a particularly lumpy bit fall to the ground an inch away from my skirts. “You can fuck off and wait in line, or I’ll dump this here slop on the ground and then plant my foot up your arse, how about that, soldier?”

I can’t help it. I smile.

Keg sees, his smug eyes moving back to me, same as his still outstretched spoon. “See? The gilded one gets me. That means she gets to be served before the rest of you ungrateful lot.”

The men in line groan, but my smile drops off my face, and I shake my head adamantly. “Oh, no. No, that’s okay. I’ll wait,” I insist. The last thing I need is the men behind me taking offense and making me pay for it.

“What the fuck, Keg? She’s a Divine-damned prisoner!” One of them directly behind me growls, which only proves that this is a bad idea.

Keg doesn’t look nearly as worried as I do. “Yeah, well, I like her more than I like your annoying ass voice right now, and seeing as how I’m the cook here, I decide who gets served. So you can take your hairy arses to one of the other cooks’ fires if you don’t like it.”

Keg turns away from the men and grabs a tin cup from a pile on the ground. He dips his spoon into the bowl and plops a serving of porridge in it before holding it out to me. “Here you go, Gild.”

I look over, waiting for more objections, but Keg practically shoves it in my face. “Take it, girl.”

Blowing out a breath and hoping I won’t regret this, I take the cup. “Thanks,” I say quietly.

I grasp the iron cup between my gloved hands, the warmth soaking into my cold palms.

“So...your name is Keg.”

The army’s cook grins at me. “My family owns a brewery back in Fourth. But I got off easy. My older brother is named Distill.” His brown eyes gleam with mirth as he shakes his head. “Unlucky, that. But we’re both a bit jealous of our sister, Barley. She’s got the best name of the lot.”

A surprised chuckle sneaks out of my mouth before I can tuck it back in. Despite my reservations and doubts, Keg is way too easy to like.

I lift the cup to my mouth, the rough metal scraping against my lips as I tip the contents into my mouth. I swallow it all down without really tasting it, which is probably for the best based on the way the men complained about it.

The sludge has the consistency of watery porridge with a few clumpy bits, but it’s hot and it’s edible, so I’m grateful for it. As soon as I swallow every bit, I turn and deposit the empty cup on the ground with the rest of the dirty ones.

Keg bangs his spoon against the bowl with a grin as he looks at me. “Ha! See how fast she ate that? Couldn’t get enough. You all would do well to take some lessons from her.”

Tags: Raven Kennedy The Plated Prisoner Fantasy
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