Gleam (The Plated Prisoner 3)

I look around the corridor like I’m hoping a trap door will appear, but the gossip bit is her telling me that she has news. I also need to get rid of this gold leaf that’s currently burning a hole in my pocket.

A sigh ripples from my chest. “Are you sure you don’t hate me anymore? Because it seems like you do.”

Rissa’s grin widens, like my reaction is thoroughly amusing her. “You’re going to want to hear my gossip, Auren.”

Dammit, she has me. She has me, and she knows it. “You know, I have the sudden urge to throw a book.”

Melodic laughter lifts from her, and she finally

seems to lose her weighed-down shoulders, her eyes sparkling for a second. “Don’t be so dramatic. I’ve just come for a quick visit. One of us saddles comes each day, and today is my turn.”

I debate for another second but then give in. “Fine. But I feel like I need a safe word.”

With a sly grin, she knocks on the door, and at the call to enter, we both go inside while the guards stay in the hall, the door closing securely behind us. I look around at the periwinkle room, noting the feminine bedding, the matching sitting area near the fire complete with a dainty table already set up for tea time.

That’s where Mist is now, the profile of her round face visible beneath a neat coif of black hair. Rissa rounds the chaise and plops down on the single chair, her body sinking into the plush purple cushions.

“Oh. It’s you,” Mist says, glancing up at her.

Well, shit, if that’s the sort of welcome Rissa gets, mine is going to be positively peachy.

“Nice to see you too, Mist,” Rissa replies with a smile as she plucks up a teacup from the table and helps herself.

I assumed the two of them were friends, so this exchange surprises me. Then again, I usually only saw the saddles when they were...visiting Midas. They always seemed very friendly then, but that was an act—their job.

I hang back awkwardly. “Nice room.”

Mist’s head whips around so fast I’m surprised she doesn’t crack her neck. “What are you doing here?”

“No idea, to be honest,” I mutter as I lean against the door. I don’t want to come any closer. Mist has claws, and I don’t trust that feathery creature that’s taken up residence beneath my ribcage.

Her dark eyes flash over to Rissa. “You brought her here?”

Rissa takes a dainty sip of her tea, as if she’s not at all affected by the tension. “You’re the one who requested to have company every day. Now you have two people at once.”

Mist jabs her finger in my direction. “She doesn’t count as a person.”

I blink at the insult, and my ire flares, but Rissa cuts in before I can reply. “Your pregnancy hormones certainly haven’t improved your manners, Mist.”

“Why should I have manners in front of her? She gets doted on enough.”

Rissa levels cold blue eyes on her. “Yes, and now here you are, getting doted on too. Your own suite, servants at your beck and call, a nine-month break from working on your back. Should the rest of the saddles act like bitches toward you?”

Mist’s cheeks darken, and for a second, I think she’s about to tell us both to get out, but instead, she pins me with a glare and says, “Well? Don’t just lean there like a stick,” she snaps. “Sit down.”

So pleasant.

I give her a wide berth, taking a seat on the chair beside Rissa’s. I don’t help myself to the tea or tray of cookies, though. I can tell Mist’s tolerance only reaches as far as the cushion beneath me.

We regard each other across the table, while a cheery fire flickers beside us, like it’s trying to burn through the incivility. The three of us sit there in stiff silence, years of watching each other from opposite sides of my cage somehow compiling into this moment.

Mist lays a hand on her slightly protruding belly, and my eyes fall to the touch. When I first found out about her pregnancy, it gutted me. But now...

What do I feel now?

I was expecting some echoes of jealousy to knock against the hollow spaces inside of me. But it doesn’t.

She’s showing now. Just a small bump, but it’s enough behind her form-fitting dress. Funny how the proof of Midas is in her burgeoning belly, while for me, it’s on my darkened cheek.