Gleam (The Plated Prisoner 3)

My entire body goes still as I gape at him. “I just watched you change from the king to the commander as quickly as someone pulls on a coat,” I say pointedly. “A few hours ago, you rotted Ranhold’s front yard just by walking, and you threatened the city with war. Behind me right now, I’m fairly certain there’s a roomful of guards that you killed. You just admitted to deceiving me the entire time I knew you, and yet...you think I’m overreacting?”

The muscle in his jaw jumps. “Tell me, which one of those things bothers you the most?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I’m not a fan of lies, but mindless murder is pretty up there too.”

“It wasn’t mindless.”

I swallow, trying to deal with the confirmation that there are definitely dead guards in the next room. “Did you rot them?”

“I’m far more interested in your power,” Rip replies, and my stomach drops as he turns to look at the woman’s statue inside the cage. “Is that the first person you’ve turned gold?”

“It was an accident,” I blurt, because I’m not a mindless murderer.

His eyes flick back to me in victory, gaze sweeping my face, and I want to kick myself for just confirming his assumptions.

Realization dawns over his expression, making his eyes glint in curiosity. “An accident... Is it by touch, then? Is that why you always stay covered? Are you unable to control your own power?”

His condescending questions make shame pool in my stomach. Coming from the male who seems to have insurmountable control over his magic, I shouldn’t be surprised that he picked up on my inadequacy, but it still stings.

“How does it work?” he presses when I don’t answer.

“There you go again, trying to rip truths out of me that you have no right to,” I say. “Is that why they call you Rip?”

“You let people call you the gold-touched saddle,” he counters, making me see red. “For every thing you hate about me, it seems Midas has already done it a thousand times over.”

He’s right, and I hate him for that too.

The skin around my eyes tightens, but I can’t say anything, because all that’s caught in my throat is my own self-loathing.

Rip cocks his head and looks me over. “He plays it very well, to be a king without power. To use you with such clandestine forethought. No wonder he keeps you caged.”

The last thing I want to do is talk about being caged. A cold sweat breaks out over my back at even hearing the word.

“How do you change the way you look?” I ask, changing the subject. “How the hell does no one realize that the two of you are actually the same damn person?”

As furious as I am with him for deceiving me, I’m even more furious with myself for not realizing the truth. Even with the rotted lines of power that crawled up his face, even with the green eyes and the shadows he was bathed in, I should’ve recognized him. I’ve been with Rip enough that I should have seen through it.

Ravinger has the same strong jaw, the same black hair. Rip is just more fae looking. Sharper. It’s no wonder people say that the feared commander has been mutated by King Rot, because Rip looks so other. The bones of his face, the tips of his ears, the spikes on his back and arms, all sharp enough to cut glass and so different from anybody else I’ve ever seen.

In his Ravinger form, he looks strange because of those creeping dark roots that sway against his ski

n like shadows, so much of it hidden beneath the scruff of his jaw. I wonder just how far those lines stretch. I wonder what they mean.

Yet even with these deviances, Rip and Ravinger show enough likeness that I should’ve picked up on it. As soon as the king walked into the room, I should’ve sensed who he really was. Green eyes or black, spikes or smooth, tipped ears or curved, I should’ve known.

Both forms are drop-dead gorgeous and otherworldly, and no matter the eye color, he looks at me with the same intensity as always.

“A learned maneuver,” he answers simply. “As far as other people, they see what they’re told to see, believe what they’re told to believe. But I don’t have to explain that to you, do I? Midas has been reaping the benefits of that for years,” Rip says with apparent disdain. “Why the hell would you let everyone believe that he’s the one with gold-touch power, when it’s been you all along?”

I nearly roll my eyes at his irritated bafflement.

“Are you kidding? I was glad to hide it. The first time gold started to drip down my fingers, I knew I was in trouble. Do you know what people would do to a girl who can turn everything gold?” I shake my head at him, swiping a tired hand across my brow. “No. This world has used me enough.”

Used, abused...and that was when I only looked gold. I don’t even like to think about what would’ve happened if I hadn’t run away when I did. If I’d still been there in Derfort Harbor when my power manifested, things would’ve become much worse for me, and I never would’ve gotten away. A tremor goes through me at the thought.

The spikes on Rip’s back curl like fists, while unreadable expressions move over his face like shadows. “And now? Do you feel like you still need to hide, Auren?”

My golden eyes hold his gaze. “Don’t ask me that.”