Gleam (The Plated Prisoner 3)

“Prince Niven,” Midas replies smoothly with a bow of his head. Only because I know him so well, I catch the hint of distaste in his polished voice. “I was told you were still unwell.”

The boy is dressed in mourning black with silver icicles embroidered into his cuffs. Mourning for his father, the man who almost killed me.

My hand comes up, fingers sliding over the scar at my throat. It’s not very noticeable anymore, just a small, jagged line, but when I touch it, it’s almost like I can feel the edge of Fulke’s blade digging in.

“I am having a better day today,” the prince says, quick steps taking him down the rest of the stairway.

Niven is young. If I had to guess, I’d say he can’t be older than twelve. And yet, he carries all the airs of a royal-born boy. A haughty chin, perfectly combed brown hair, and finely tailored clothes. When his eyes cut over to me, I’m glad to find that they’re blue, not brown like Fulke’s were.

He blinks at me in surprise, as if for a second, he thought I was a statue instead of a person. “So it’s true,” he says as he strides right up to me. “She’s completely gilded.”

I tense, but Midas is at my side in an instant to head him off. “Prince Niven, this is Auren. My gold-touched favored.”

The boy’s eyes rove over me. “Strange,” he murmurs before glancing at Midas. “Why don’t you turn all your saddles gold?”

“Because she’s special.”

I inwardly snort.

Based on the slight lift of his lip, Prince Niven doesn’t seem very impressed with that answer either. “My father could duplicate everything one time, but his power didn’t work on people or animals. But when my magic comes out, it’s going to be even more powerful than his. Maybe even more powerful than yours,” he says, tone as pompous as only a child prince’s can be.

“I’m sure you’ll be very impressive once your magic manifests,” Midas replies placidly.

“Yes.” Niven nods, casting his attention over me one last time before he seems to dismiss me completely. “I’m glad I caught you, King Midas. I would like to discuss some matters with you. Shall we go to the meeting room?”

I cut my glance over just in time to catch the irritated tap of Midas’s finger at his hip, six consistent thrums against the golden fabric of his trousers.

Oh, he just hates this, doesn’t he?

I have to keep myself from grinning like a loon. I might be a little slap happy right now from how drained I am, but this conversation has perked me right up. Midas must loathe dealing with the pompous little prince while he’s busy playing ruler of Fifth Kingdom.

It almost makes my exhaustion worth it, just to see the look on Midas’s face. I’m immensely pleased that I get to see how he has to fo

rce himself to swallow down every scathing thought he has and nod at the prince instead.

“Of course, Your Highness. I am here at your disposal to help in all matters.”

“Excellent,” Niven says, voice a little high-pitched and nasally. “Let’s go.”

“I’ll meet you shortly, right after I walk my favored to her rooms,” Midas tells him as he begins to motion for me to follow him up the stairs.

Prince Niven frowns. “Surely a king doesn’t need to do something so trivial?” The boy looks around, spotting two of Midas’s gold-clad guards on the landing above us. “You there! Come down here and escort King Midas’s favored back to her rooms. Your King has very important business to attend and can’t be bothered with such things.”

Midas’s face flushes red, and the sight makes a laugh bubble up in my throat. I staunch it before it can come out, but I make a choking sound that I have to cover up with a cough.

Both royals frown over at me.

“Sorry,” I rasp. “Dust in my throat.”

The guards from above quickly make their way down to us, while Midas steps up to my side. “Go straight up to your room.”

I dip my chin, playing the part of his subservient saddle. “Yes, King Midas.”

He pauses, eyes narrowing slightly, and it takes me a second to realize it’s because I called him King Midas instead of my king. That should be telling enough for both of us. I don’t consider him mine anymore.

The guards’ arrival rips Midas’s attention away from me so he can glare at them. “Escort her straight to her rooms,” he commands before digging in his pocket and pulling out a key. He shoves it in one of the guards’ hands.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”