Glint (The Plated Prisoner 2)

“I was not acting suspicious,” I deny. “I was simply walking around the camp. Something you allowed me to do, since I have no guard or chains. I’m surrounded by these soldiers you trust so much in a frozen wasteland that you promised to track me down in if I should be stupid enough to try to leave.”

“Hmm,” he says, not commenting on my snide tone. His eyes flick down to my coat. “And your ribs? My mender reported that you did not allow him to examine you.”

“I’m fine.”

“If you insist on lying, at least be better at it.”

He’s got it wrong there. I am fine, and I’m also excellent at lying. After all, I’ve been lying to myself for years. Pretty lies cover up a lot of ugly truths.

“My ribs are fine, but why would you care either way?” I snap.

Maybe I speak to him like this because it’s my way of feeling like I hold some power between us. My attitude is a brick façade over crumbling plaster vulnerabilities.

“Since you don’t like lies, let’s speak honestly, C

ommander Rip,” I say with a challenging taunt. “I know what you are, and I also know what I am: a pawn to hold for ransom. Something to dangle in front of King Midas.”

“True,” Rip replies coldly, making my lips press together in a hard line. “Still, it would be rude of me to return Midas’s pet in poor condition.”

A tic jumps in my jaw.

Pet. Saddle. Whore. I am so incredibly tired of the brands people attach to me.

“I’m not his pet. I’m his favored.”

Commander Rip makes a derisive noise in the back of his throat. “A different word for the same connotation.”

I open my mouth in a retort, but Rip holds up a hand to stop me. “This talk of Midas bores me.”

“Good. I don’t want to talk to you anyway,” I retort.

He releases a biting smile, sure to show a hint of fang. “I have a feeling you’ll be changing your mind very soon, Goldfinch.”

My spine stiffens. There’s an underlying threat in those words, but I can’t for the life of me guess what he means.

“Get to the carriage,” he says, his demeanor rigid, settling into his commander role seamlessly. “We move out in ten, and we won’t be stopping until dusk. I suggest you visit the latrine before we depart, or it’s sure to be a very uncomfortable day for you.”

“I want to see the saddles and the guards,” I reply, completely ignoring his order.

He rests a hand on the wooden hilt of his sword and leans in to my face, so close that I nearly swallow my tongue. I lean back, feeling like a rabbit being held by the scruff of its neck.

“If you want something, you’re going to have to earn it.”

Rip turns on his boots and leaves, soldiers moving out of his path as he stalks away, while I’m left to stare after him.

I don’t know what earning consists of, but I have a feeling I’m not going to like it.

Chapter 11

QUEEN MALINA

My handmaidens are uneasy.

I keep catching them sharing looks with one another, but I pretend not to see, not to care. One of them is so nervous that she seems close to fainting. If I weren’t so well-trained at keeping my expression as flat as a stone, my mouth might’ve lifted in a sly smile.

The dressmaker I hired from the city sits back on her knees, a deep V creased between her brows as she peers at the hem of my dress with assessing, aged eyes. She has sharp needles stuck in the pincushion that’s sewn into the belt around her waist, like a metal cactus jutting from her stomach.

“All finished, Your Majesty.”