Gleam (The Plated Prisoner 3)

Frustration makes his shoulders go tense. “I don’t like it. He and that commander of his are either infatuated with you or purposely taunting me.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to point out that he’s always made sure that people were, in fact, infatuated with me. He loves dangling me in front of others like I’m a gold carrot. King Fulke was a prime example. Midas just wants to control it.

“Aside from people being dangerous, you should remember that you’re also a danger to them,” he goes on, letting his words sink in. He watches to see how they tug at the expression on my face, even though I try hard to keep it blank. “One wrong move, one accident, and you could kill someone. Need I remind you that you just murdered your stand-in?”

This time, I can’t stop from flinching. I can’t stop the memory flash of how I shoved the woman back, my touch immediately lethal. She’ll forever be entombed in a cage meant for me, dead by my hand. Guilt and regret cluster together like clouds, a humid pressure gathering in my chest.

“Think of Carnith, Auren. Think of what happens when you’re reckless.”

A drop falls, like a hiss of water against the smolder of my anger. I can see the manipulation for what it is. And still, it makes me waver for a moment. A drizzle of the old Auren sprinkling overhead, threatening to douse my fire.

The problem is, he’s not wrong. One slip-up is all it would take. If someone touches my skin, they will turn solid gold, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

I don’t know why, but people, animals, I can’t just change their color. If I touch them, the gold takes over. A simple brush of my arm against theirs, and they’re dead. Like the woman in my cage. Like Captain Fane of the Red Raids, whose statue lies somewhere in the frozen Barrens. Like the people in Carnith, when gold first dripped from my fingertips, and left me with blood on my hands.

“You need to stay inside during the day,” Midas tells me, his eyes as rough as the bark of a tree. One touch, and I’d be sliced through with his splinters.

There’s a lump the size of a peach pit in my throat that I struggle to swallow down while I work to control my overcast emotions. The idea of being locked in anywhere ever again makes bile twist in my gut. “You promised,” I say vehemently.

“I’m trying to protect you from yourself.”

I scoff and shake my head. I hate how much of an expert he is at this. He’s trying to get me to bend, to defer, because that’s how it’s always worked between us. He knows how to pluck on the strings of my guilt and make me play his tune, so I have to play mine instead.

Shove down weakness.

Midas gestures around the room. “Don’t be ungrateful for what I’ve already allowed.”

I pin him with a look. “Don’t be ungrateful for what I’ve allowed, Midas.”

There’s another stare-off between us. A clash of repellant wills. The tide and the shore, a forever battle between land and water, between give and take.

He may wear the crown, but I was the one who made it gold.

I can see the temper he’s trying to hold in, but he never was good at compromising, and he hates it when I talk back. After a moment, he lets some of it leak out when he sighs and throws the pillow at the bed harder than he needs to, making it bounce right off onto the floor.

He takes another deep breath, hands bracketing his hips. “I agreed about you not going back into the ca—about you not being confined behind the protection of your bars,” he amends. “But during the day, it’s far too dangerous for you to be out on your own. For others, as well as for yourself. You can’t control your power, Auren.”

“I know that,” I snap. He’s trying to gain the upper hand, and I don’t like it. “Just like everyone knows the rules. No one will touch me, and I’ll be careful, just like I was with Fourth’s army.”

He looks at me with pitying disappointment. That look would’ve been like a kick to the gut before. It would’ve had me scrambling to fix it, to be good. “You’re being irresponsible, Auren. Is it really worth it? Do you really want that on your conscience? I’m only thinking of you.”

Bastard. What an emotional-string-pulling, puppeteering bastard.

And yet...am I being selfish? What if I do make a mistake, and someone else is killed because of it?

I bite my bottom lip, teeth sinking in as I nibble on the worry. A fight begins inside of me, a battle of thoughts, of warring wants.

Midas comes closer, like a shark scenting blood in the water. “Think, Auren. Are you truly okay with the risk of murdering someone? Again? Because that is what will happen. I’m just trying to protect you. You always trusted me before. I need you to trust me again.”

My eyes begin to burn, and I want to spit in his face. I want to spit at my own damn face too.

I can feel him looping the strings around me, deft words trying to tie the knots. He’s so damn good at manipulating me. How did I ever think I could beat him at his own game when he’s such a master at it?

I feel utterly unequipped.

He needs me, I remind myself. I do have leverage here, because he wants me complacent, and I want him to think that all is well so that I can get the hell away. Of course, the last thing I want is to kill someone by accident, or gild the wrong thing at the wrong time and have everyone know my secret, but I can’t be cooped up in this room day in and day out.

“No locks, Midas, or this room is no better than a cage,” I tell him. “I’ll keep your guards with me at all times, I’ll keep my hands and arms covered, and keep a distance, but I can’t stay trapped in here,” I say, tipping my chin up.