Gleam (The Plated Prisoner 3)

Loudly.

I freeze in horror, heart taking off like a wild horse, not daring to even breathe as I listen for the scribes to come running my way.

“Bless you.”

A shriek clutches my tongue and crumples beneath my throat. Hand on heart, I spin around and find none other than Slade leaning against the stone bookshelf. With dark clothes, piercing green eyes, and power curling over his sharp jaw, he practically basks in the shadows.

“Don’t do that!” I snap, though my voice is barely louder than an exhale. I’ve made enough noise as it is.

With his arms crossed in front of him and a smirk on his pale face, the bastard looks perfectly at ease

and amused as hell.

“Do what?” he asks with a cock of his head. “Say bless you?”

I look over my shoulder as if I’m ready for the scribes to storm the row and grab me with their frail, age-spotted hands.

“Be quiet!” I hiss.

This time, he does nothing to hide his amusement, because his teeth gleam in the dark as a smile spreads over his face. “Only you would dare tell King Rot to be quiet.”

“Maybe more people should...” I mumble.

A low rumbling chuckle rolls around in his chest like loosening stones before the rockslide.

He doesn’t get a chance to reply to my rudeness, because just then, a scribe suddenly appears at the end of the aisle, making my stomach drop like a boulder.

Face aglow with the lantern in his bony hands, the orangish cast-off makes the man look scary, long white hair like a drape of fire. Dressed in heavy purple robes that sweep against the floor, his eyes immediately land on me with an indignant glare. “What are you doing in here?”

My mouth goes dry, mind fumbling with an excuse. “Umm...”

He comes closer, and I back up a step, my hopes and plans crashing down around me. All of this because of a stupid sneeze.

“You don’t have permission to be in here.”

I don’t know if the lantern light is throwing off his vision or if the shadows surrounding Slade are too heavy, but the scribe doesn’t seem to notice the king behind me until Slade moves.

Like the wind, he picks up and brushes past until he’s standing at my side like a cool caress. “I gave her permission to be in here.”

The scribe’s eyes widen, mouth gaping for a moment. “King Ravinger. I didn’t see you there,” he says, bending his hunched spine into a bow.

Slade says nothing, but all previous signs of his amusement are gone. There isn’t a single lingering touch of his easygoing energy left, but I’m honestly grateful. It makes it easier to keep an emotional distance from him when his kingly mask is on.

“Apologies, Your Majesty, but this is the royal library. Those outside of royal lineage are not allowed inside,” the nervous scribe says.

A pulse of power seeps into the air. Not Slade’s magic in full force by any means, but just a push. An undertone that ripples from him and spreads out, making a chill trickle over my skin, my ribbons quivering.

Despite the lighting, I can see the blood drain from the scribe’s face as he’s suddenly reminded exactly who he’s talking to.

“I...of course. If she’s with you, then that rule is negated.”

Slade looks at him with an expression cut from stone. “Good. You can go.”

The scribe nods, not daring to glance my way before he turns and leaves without another word. As soon as he’s gone, an exhale of relief expels out of me. “Thanks,” I say, and then I start to walk away too, because being alone with Slade is bad for my plans.

Much to my irritation, he follows me, sticking like a thorn in my side. I shoot him a look. “Do you mind?”

Hands tucked into pockets, the bastard strolls. Leisurely. Like he has nothing better to do. “Not at all. I enjoy long walks in a dreary library.”