Gleam (The Plated Prisoner 3) - Page 24

I turn to look at Lowe over my shoulder as we walk across the castle’s bailey. Who knew trained soldiers could be such whiners?

“Soon,” I assure him.

He doesn’t look appeased. “Forgive me, but that’s what you said after the greenhouse.”

“And the library,” Scofield puts in unhelpfully.

I roll my eyes. None of the damn scribes would even come to the door when I knocked.

“The music hall as well,” Lowe adds.

“Hmm, so I did.”

My steps are unhurried, the hem of my dress sweeping the thin layer of powdery snow as I walk the grounds. Lowe and Scofield have taken me all around Ranhold Castle today, to as many places as I could think of to go.

And even though it’s been hours, I’m still not ready to go back to my rooms. It seems I’ve developed a taste for freedom. Every time I take another bite, I want more. My spirit is ravenous for rampancy. Starving for wander. I want to go everywhere, see everything. For the first time, Midas isn’t here to dictate to me.

It’s so liberating not being told what to do. Not being a captive. Not being kept. It’s an indulgence I’ve never had the opportunity to enjoy. It’s a balm, cool and brisk, against a part of me that’s been tepidly stagnant for far too long.

“My lady, you haven’t got a coat. You could catch a chill,” Lowe says, ginger hair blowing around in the breeze as he hurries to keep up with me.

“I’ve lived in Sixth for a decade and traveled through the Barrens to get here,” I tell him. “I’ll be fine. This place is nothing compared to those.” It’s true. The cold air of Fifth Kingdom is like an exhale across my cheeks. It’s the gentle blow of a wintry breath, and I find it invigorating.

I pass a few loaded carts, watching the white birds peck at the snow for invisible bits of food. The guards and castle workers freeze in their tasks when they notice me, and soon, the outdoor bailey goes quiet. Gazes follow me, and whispers begin to hiss out like the curled tongues of curious snakes.

I ignore their stares, even as I feel them on the back of my neck. Although, their mutterings are harder to block out.

“That’s her, King Midas’s favored.”

“That’s the gilded saddle.”

“Look at her face—gold-touched was right, wasn’t it?”

“You think she’s gold between her legs too?”

I’m unable to hold in my sigh. Different kingdom, same words. And therein lies the problem. Because wherever I go, words, attention, and recognition will follow me. Before Midas, I was simply an oddity. But he made me notorious, ensuring that I’m recognized throughout all of Orea.

I’ll have to figure out what to do about that, since it’s pivotal for my escape. For now though, I want to simply enjoy the fresh air.

I make my way across the square lot that’s surrounded on all sides by the castle walls, gray and worn with cold. There’s no layer of glass smoothed over the stone bricks here, no fancy filigree or snowflakes. This part of the castle grounds is not meant to be pretty, but functional.

At my back, there’s a grain shed, the walls bleeding white paint in favor of the raw wood beneath. More birds peck at the ground in front of it where seeds and grain have spilled out, just to be shooed away by a worker. To my left, there are two tall towers at either corner of the wall, but I’m interested in the uncovered parapet.

I head for the coarse stone stairs at the front wall, gripping the front of my skirt so I don’t trip.

“My lady, you’re not allowed up there,” Lowe calls from behind me.

“I just want to see.”

There’s no railing on these stairs, so I’m careful to keep my body close to the wall as I make my way up the steep steps. It’s higher than it looks, and my breathing becomes labored before I’ve even made it halfway.

My ribbons loosen a bit so they can trail after me like the long train on a gown. The strands drag over the gray rock like trickles of gold water, as if they’re enjoying the freedom too. It brings a smile to my face. Earlier in my life, I never would’ve thought they’d bring me happiness.

When they first sprouted from my back, I hated them for making me stand out even more, for causing me more pain. It was just another thing I needed to hide.

You’re ashamed of them. You think of them as a weakness, but they are a strength, Auren. Use them.

Rip’s previous words cling to me. He might’ve kept secrets about who he was, but he sure had a talent for making me face who I am. For admitting the limits and lies I’ve accepted.

Tags: Raven Kennedy The Plated Prisoner Fantasy
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