Glint (The Plated Prisoner 2)

“Queen Malina.” He bows with practiced ease.

“What is your name?”

“Loth Pruinn, Your Majesty,” he replies smoothly.

I rack my mind to connect his family name, but for the life of me, I can’t. Strange, considering I know every nobleman in Highbell. “Sir Pruinn, you’re in our way.”

He smiles, a dazzling display to appease me. “Apologies, my queen. My wheel broke, and I was only mending it. I’m finished now, so I’ll make quick work of getting out of your path.”

“Good. See that you do.”

I turn to go back to the carriage, but he says, “Might I offer you a token? To show my appreciation for your patience.”

Facing him again, I hesitate for a moment, while the sky above us blows down soft flakes of snow.

“Please, Your Majesty,” he says, placing a hand over his chest in supplication. “It would greatly honor me.”

I nod, his respect somewhat calming my anger. “Very well.”

The guards and my driver move away while Pruinn beams and walks to his cart. It’s built like a covered box with a latch at the back. He opens it with a flick of a hook, lifting up the back wall and sliding it into a notch at the roof.

Inside, there are shelves that reach all the way to the front from bottom to top, the space cramped and loaded with too many items to count.

My eyes skim over the shelves. There seems to be a little bit of everything. Glass vials filled with exotic perfumes, baubles, shiny gems, books, spices, teacups, honeycombs, and candlesticks. It’s all a mishmash of odds and ends, my eyes unable to take in every piece.

“You have quite the collection. Are you a traveling merchant, then?” It would explain why I don’t recognize his name and why he looks and behaves the way he does.

“Something like that, Your Majesty,” he replies with an ambiguous curve of his lips. “I collect rare and priceless items.”

“Is that so?” I muse, picking up a silver hair brush and testing its weight and shine. Real. I can’t help but be intrigued. “What is the rarest and most priceless thing you have then, Sir Pruinn?” I challenge.

His magnet-gray eyes latch onto mine. “That would be my power, Your Majesty.”

My brows rise up in surprise. “You have magic?”

He nods. “I do.”

For the second time today, jealousy wells up inside of me. If only I’d been born with magic, then I wouldn’t be here now, struggling to take control of my own damn kingdom.

“What kind of magic?” I ask, eyeing him in a new light.

A wry grin pulls at his cheeks. He leans an inch closer, and that sense of being pulled toward him returns. “I can show someone how to gain their greatest desire.”

All of my interest fizzles out, and I pull back with a disinterested sigh. “I don’t take kindly to charlatans,” I tell him, my tone cross.

He shakes his head adamantly. “No tricks, Your Majesty, I swear it.”

I arch a condescending brow. “I’m sure,” I say sardonically.

“Please, let me prove it to you,” he says, probably because he knows I’m quite close to calling my guards over and having him arrested for being a swindler.

“And how will you do that, Sir Pruinn? Have me close my eyes while you read a crystal ball?”

“Not at all. I only need to hold your hand.”

“You won’t be touching the queen,” one of my guards intervenes.

Sir Pruinn ignores him, his attention staying on me. “No tricks, Your Majesty.” He holds out his hand palm-up.