Gleam (The Plated Prisoner 3)

My eyes burn, but I don’t blink. I let my irises become consumed with the reflection of the flames.

I know the true threat for what it is. There’s no doubt that he knows what I’m doing here, but he plans to strap me with his bastard baby.

You will do this, or you will no longer be useful to me as a wife.

Useful. That’s all that’s ever mattered to him: whether or not I was useful.

I don’t even notice that my hand drops down to my stomach, that my nails dig into the flesh there. The flatness that belies a barren womb.

If he truly believes I would ever take his whore’s baby and pretend it was my own, then he doesn’t know me at all. No, if I can’t have children, then he can’t either.

I’ll rip Highbell from his grasp and crush his hopes of claiming an heir.

After all, he did it to me first.

Chapter 9

AUREN

Yips and howls wake me up.

Peeling one eye open, I glance at the glass balcony doors. I forgot to close the curtains before I fell asleep last night, so the gentle dawn light is filtering in, the color like a dollop of cream over a tin cup horizon.

At the sound of more barking, I sit up and climb out of bed, shoving my feet into some slippers and pulling on the robe I left lying on the armchair. I make my way over to the balcony, my palms coating the knob in gold as I open it.

When I step outside, the cold morning breeze greets me, moving the loose strands of my hair. There’s a light dusting of snow on the ground, my steps leaving a trail of footprints as I walk to the railing and look down.

The commotion is coming from a pack of excited dogs racing around, nipping at each other in a wooden pen built against a small stone structure. A smile lifts my lips as I watch them roll in the snow, tongues lolling as they yip and spring.

Two men are down there with them, dressed in such thick furs that I’m surprised they aren’t waddling. One of the men disappears into the building that I assume is the kennels, coming out a few seconds later dragging a dogsled behind him.

With a whistle, the shaggy haired dogs rush over to him, tails wagging while he hooks them up to the sled. I realize they’re a hunting pack when I see the other man loading arrows and blades into the back.

Once the dogs are all strapped in, another shrill whistle pierces the air, and both handlers stand upright on the footrests as the dogs race off. The dogsled heads for the mountains standing sentry behind the castle, and I watch them until they disappear.

A pang of jealousy hits me while I watch them rush away. It must be so freeing, to ride off like that. With the wind blowing in your hair, the glittery snow at your feet. I bet it’s even better than standing on the wall to feel the breeze.

Going back inside, I quickly go through my morning routine, getting dressed in yet another gown with a horrible boning bodice, snapping them all one by one. If females were meant to have their waists strangled and breasts shoved up all damn day, we would’ve been born with corset ribs.

With a coat on to ward off the chill, I make it halfway to my bedroom door before my footsteps slow and my conscience falters.

Are you truly okay with the risk of murdering someone? Again?

My fingers tingle beneath my gloves as my teeth worry my bottom lip. But this doubt, this is what he wants. He’s getting in my head, and I can’t let him.

Heading for the door with renewed vigor, I think of all the places I’m going to go today. Except when I grab the handle to leave, it doesn’t turn.

I stare at the golden metal, noting the lack of a bolt on my side. The bastard locked me in. After I agreed to always keep guards with me, he still locked me up.

My back tingles. Sweat gathers on my neck.

I’m suddenly not here, in Fifth Kingdom’s bedroom. I’m back in Highbell, inside my cage, palms wrapped around the bars like a prisoner in a cell.

Barred away. Locked in. Kept.

I’m frozen, an inhale stuck in my throat as that feeling of being trapped presses against my chest like a force of gravity.

But then my ribbons move, their lengths wrapping around my torso, squeezing until I remember to take a breath.