Glint (The Plated Prisoner 2)

“Fine,” I bite out, conceding to retreat, though it irks me.

Foolish, ungrateful lot. How dare they snub their true queen!

I rise from my chair, refusing to look flustered. With Jeo at my side, I start to walk back to the carriage, but as soon as I do, the crowd begins to shout, heckle, hiss. As if my retreat broke the tentative speculation.

Eight guards surround Jeo and me as we walk to the carriage, and my saddle grips my arm, urging me to walk faster. My heartbeat races when people begin to hurl things at my guards, my own gifts being thrown back at us, items clanging against my soldiers’ new armor.

My men close in while Jeo flings his arm protectively over my head, making sure that nothing hits me. I duck down, steps quick as we rush forward inside our wall of steel and strength. Soon, we’re ushered inside the carriage, and the driver lurches forward the moment the door is shut.

The shouting is louder now, a dull roar emitted from hundreds of malcontent mouths. I flinch when things are thrown at the carriage, something hitting and nearly breaking the window.

Jeo is wound tight, his movements jerky as he yanks the curtains closed while he still holds an arm over me.

I shove him away, vexation filling me, anger piercing through like splintered ice at how quickly the tables turned.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I cut him a look. “Of course not! All my efforts were just wasted,” I hiss out of the corner of my mouth. “I spent the last hour handing all of that out, and now, these ungrateful rats think that they can rebel against me?”

My mind spins with what to do as the carriage rolls on, putting more and more distance between the angry mob and me.

I wanted open dissent against him. Not me.

I played my hand wrong, and that incenses me more than anything.

My father used to say that people are just an unlit wick ready to catch. I was supposed to get them to hold a candle for me, not burn me instead.

“What a bloody mess,” I seethe to myself. “I want that woman punished.”

Jeo says nothing, which is probably best for him, because my temper is an arctic bitterness ready to bite.

The carriage takes a sharp turn, making me nearly fling against the wall, and then it jolts to an abrupt halt.

Jeo frowns and looks out the window. “Seems we took a side street to get away from the crowd. There’s some kind of cart in the way.”

“I’ve had enough of this,” I snap before I shove open the door.

“My queen!” Jeo calls, but I step out and slam the door in his face. I’m finished with this day. I want to get back into my castle and regain control.

Stalking forward, my guards jump from their horses to follow me, but I wave them off. “My queen,” one of them says, rushing forward. “We’re taking care of it. You can go back inside where it’s warm.”

I ignore him, getting to the front, ready to lay into whoever dares to block a royal carriage.

In front of me is a weathered cart hitched to two horses, their brown coloring letting me know they’re not from Highbell. My driver and two guards are arguing with a man, urging him to move aside so we can pass.

“What is the meaning of this?” I demand.

All four heads turn to look at me, but my gaze hooks onto the man standing in the center. He’s not a Highbell peasant, I can see that immediately.

He wears finely tailored blue clothing, his shoulders are straight instead of hunched, and he dons a clean-shaved face. His blond hair is cut short against his scalp, and his eyebrows are a shade darker than the hair on his head. They arch up dramatically, giving him a look of intrigue.

He’s handsome, but there’s something more than just that, something that makes me want to keep looking at him. He’s magnetic.

“My queen...” one of the guards says.

“Why are you blocking the road?” I say, my attention on the man.

As I stop in front of him, I notice that his eyes are a peculiar color. Not blue, but gray and almost...reflective.