Gleam (The Plated Prisoner 3)

Once I know the details, I can plan. Then I can go check on Auren. She’s been sleeping for two days now, clearly exhausted from whatever she endured with Fourth’s army. I’ve let her be, while I’ve also had as many comforts delivered to her as I can think of. The softest of silks, the plushest of pillows. I’ve plied her with books and perfumes—I even had a brand new harp delivered to her.

Hopefully, once she rests, she will feel like herself again. I need her to get back on track since I can no longer delay on making changes to the castle and filling the coffers.

My tenuous grip on Ranhold depends on filling the nobles’ palms with gold, on reminding everyone who I am and why it would be in their best interest to support my presence here. I’ve already done it once in Highbell, so I know how to take over a kingdom. You pour out wealth at first, fascinate the nobles and advisors with benevolence, be a shining presence to the commoners. And then you cinch it off little by little, making them dependent and wanting, fighting each other for the king’s favor so that they might reap the benefits.

By the time I’m done, there will be no contest as to who they would rather keep. Me, who can make their kingdom dazzlingly rich, or the prig son of the dead king.

“As you know, the saddles were checked over by the mender once they returned, at your instruction,” Odo informs me.

I cock a brow. “And?”

“The mender just confirmed it and sent word immediately.” My advisor brushes down the ring of gray hair at the back of his head in a nervous gesture. “It...appears as though one of them is with child.”

I freeze.

All thoughts screech to a halt as his words trickle down my spine. A second passes before I burst forward and grip him by the collar of his golden shirt. “What are you saying?”

Odo’s milky blue eyes go wide, his entire body rigid as I yank him up on his toes. “Sh-she claims the child is yours, Your Majesty,” he whispers quickly.

A bastard child...

I roughly release him and he stumbles, catching himself on the wall at his back. “The whore is lying, obviously. She wants to try to bribe me for gold or gain attention. She wants something, Odo, that’s all this is. My saddles take herbs. It’s never failed.”

“Yes, Sire, it never has in the past, but the mender confirmed—”

I cut a hand through the air, making him flinch. “Then she fucked someone else. She was with Fourth’s army, and the damn snow pirates before that,” I point out. “Have her dismissed immediately from my service. I won’t have an unfaithful saddle in my employ.”

Odo runs a shaky hand down the wrinkled front of his shirt, watching me as I begin to pace. “The mender was disbelieving of her claims too, which is why he took longer than usual to alert me. He wanted to be sure, but he believes that she’s nearly

three months pregnant, which would mean that she was still in Highbell at the time she was bred.”

My mind spins, pulse pounding in my head like the sculptor’s hammer, a chisel to my skull as it chips down into aggravation. I don’t like surprises.

My saddles were nearly as protected as Auren. I had a very strict rotation of guards. None of them would’ve dared to sneak in and fuck my saddles. I make a note to change out the guards too, just in case.

If the mender is correct about the timeline, if the babe is truly mine…

“Who else knows of this?”

“No one,” he assures me. “The mender came directly to me, Your Majesty.”

I nod absently.

Odo’s hands fidget as he watches me think. “Would you like me to do anything?”

“Not yet,” I say. “You’re dismissed.”

The man bows quickly and makes a hasty retreat, no doubt grateful to be gone from my presence.

Now that I’m alone, I go over to my desk and brace my hands onto the top, eyes locked on the neatly stacked papers, though not really seeing any of it. My mind is too busy navigating a plan like a sailor charting the stars.

My fingers flex over the wood, irritation locking my knuckles. Malina, Auren, the whore—all my problems are caused by Divine-damned women. This is exactly why you can’t trust females. My mother taught me that.

I’m doing important work, and I can’t allow anything to bring me off my path.

I was the one who pulled Highbell out of debt and made it into the symbol for gleaming wealth and prosperity. And now, Malina dares to test me? She is nothing but a bitter, useless woman, unable to even give me an heir. She’s lucky I married her in the first place and allowed her to keep her crown.

Memories rush in—of my father, of the village children sneering at me, at the parish tossing me out for being unclean, at shopkeepers whispering “bastard” wherever I went.