Glint (The Plated Prisoner 2)

The babe on her hip fusses, rooting around at her shoulder, its gummy mouth sucking a wet spot on her dirty coat.

“All of this,” she says as she gestures to the table. “What does this do?”

“It’s my gift to the people. To help ease any suffering,” I answer.

The woman laughs. An ugly, crass sound, as if she spends her days steeped in smoke, or maybe the cold has frozen the chords of her voice.

“You think giving away a few coins and dolls is goin’ to ease us? Our great Colier Queen blessin’ us with a single coin. How grand. Must be such a sacrifice, when you’re up there livin’ in your gold palace.”

“Shut your mouth, woman,” the guard snaps, taking a threatening step forward.

I hold up a hand to stop him. My eyes dart around at the crowd, finding people watching her with interest, some of them nodding their heads.

I grind my teeth in frustration.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. I want them kneeling gratefully at my feet. The plan was for the people to see that I’m the one taking care of them, while Midas continues to ignore them.

This stupid woman is ruining everything.

“Where you been, year after year, while the shanties get ignored?” she asks.

I need to take back control of this situation, need to turn it back in my favor. “King Midas ignored you, but I—”

“You ignored us too,” she says, making my advisors gasp that she dared to cut me off. The crowd seems to take a step forward, the energy in the air spiking with something ugly.

“While you’re warm in your palace, do you know how we live? How we die from cold and hunger?” she demands. “No, you’re just a snow bitch pretendin’ to care. I don’t want your flashy tricks. We want real help!” she cries.

She ends her rant by spitting on the ground, and even though it doesn’t land anywhere near me, I feel as if she spat in my face.

My guards surround her in an instant and begin dragging her away, but she just gets louder, more belligerent, her children adding to her shouts with their own wails and screeches.

“Don’t touc

h me!” she hollers before she turns her vehemence to the crowd. “Don’t take the bribes of the Cold Queen so she can feel better when she sleeps in her gilded bed!”

Whatever else she says is drowned out by the crowd as she’s yanked from the square.

Beneath the table, my fingers have curled into fists. I slice my gaze over to my advisors, feeling my anger simmer. “Bring the next person forward. I want to get this over with,” I order.

Wilcox shoots me a look of concern, though I’m not sure if it’s for me or the shifting crowd. Some of them are laughing and cursing at the woman as she’s dragged away, but most are watching, thinking about what she said, flinging dubious expressions at me like spoiled fruit.

They’re considering whose side to be on.

“Next!” a guard barks.

But no one steps forward.

The gatherers have gone guarded, angry. Watching me not with reverence or awe, but with hostility. Not one of the threadbare people comes up to take my offerings.

My mouth tightens.

“Time to leave, Your Majesty,” Uwen murmurs beside me.

“I refuse to let this mob dictate what I do,” I snap.

Jeo comes around to whisper in my ear. “Look at them, my queen. You’ve lost the crowd. They’re looking at you like they want to rip you to shreds. We need to go.”

My eyes dart around, and I realize the truth of his statement when I see the people moving in closer, ignoring the guards’ shouts to back away. The energy has changed in the blink of an eye, as if they were just waiting for a reason. The air is brewing with threat, dirty hands fisting, cold cracked lips pulling into sneers.