Glint (The Plated Prisoner 2)

I feel the tic in my jaw twitch. I don’t doubt for a second that he really will leave me out here if I refuse. He’s that much of a prick.

“Yeah, her feet will probably go numb at some point, Commander,” Judd puts in unhelpfully.

“No nice fur pallet to sleep in,” Osrik adds with a nod.

My hands curl into fists. I suppose this is my punishment for interrupting their stupid fight circle, or maybe it’s for being loyal to Midas.

“I hate you,” I glare at them.

“Hate can be a very powerful emotion when fighting. Just make sure to use it to your advantage,” Rip tells me. Arrogant ass.

“Great Divine, I’m not fighting!” I shout, irritated, cold, and more than a little intimidated.

He looks down at me levelly, without remorse, without budging an inch. “Then you’ll stay here in this circle until you do.”

An honest-to-goddess growl comes out of my throat. “Why are you such an ass?”

“Ha! I’ve been asking him that for years.”

My attention snaps to Lu, who’s flitting toward us, steps barely making indentations in the snow. Her hand holds the hilt of her sword as she walks, eyes alight as she looks between us.

“What did I miss?” she asks, coming up to stop beside Rip and Judd with familiarity. Another piece of the little friendship circle snaps into place.

Judd tosses an arm over her shoulder, still bare chested and clearly not minding it even though the temperature is well below freezing. “She thought we were putting on some sort of show to beat Twig up for sport, so Gildy Locks here intervened.”

A puff of air passes through my lips as I look at Lu. “Did you tell everyone that damn nickname?”

She beams, the piercing at her cupid’s bow gleaming red. “It caught on quick,” she says cheerfully. “But back to the point. You stepped into the fight circle?”

If they mention that stupid rule one more time…

“Who’s she gonna fight?” Lu asks, practically bouncing on her feet.

I answer, “No one,” at the same time that Rip answers, “Me.”

My eyes snap to him, my heart skipping a beat. Fight him? Is he insane? Osrik was bad enough. I couldn’t possibly fight the damn commander and live to talk about it.

“Absolutely not,” I say, taking a step back like the distance will help.

A hint of fang shows through his smirk. “Scared?” he challenges, and there’s a croon in his voice that sets me on edge.

“Of course I’m scared. You’re the commander of Fourth’s army.” I retort. “Your damn nickname is Rip because you rip your opponents’ heads off!”

The four of them go still at my words. And then, like a burst dam, they all lose it, laughter pouring out of them in rushing rivulets.

I stand in stunned uneasiness. “What the hell is so funny?”

Osrik’s entire chest is rumbling, Judd is bent over clutching his stomach, and Lu has to wipe tears from her eyes. “Yeah, Rip,” she says through her laughs. “Why don’t you tell Gildy what’s so funny.”

He’s the first one to stop chuckling, but his dry amusement stays on his face. “Which one of you was it who spread that particular rumor?” he asks.

“Me,” Judd says proudly, running a hand through his floppy mustard hair. “Good to know it spread all the way to Sixth Kingdom.”

My brows draw together tight as I try to keep up. “Wait...what?”

Osrik is the one to answer me this time. “We gave him that nickname,” he explains with a lopsided grin. A smiling Osrik is a little freaky. “But it’s not for ripping people’s heads off. Nice touch, though, Judd.”

Mustard looks thoroughly pleased with himself. “I thought so.”