Gleam (The Plated Prisoner 3)

Dressed in scantily clad gowns that hug every curve, the women all curtsy to Midas, some of them clumsily, their movements too languid, as they follow an old man who’s chattering away at them with obvious orders.

“My royal saddles,” Midas says with a smile. “Beautiful, aren’t they?” When I say not

hing in return, his eyes move over to me. “If you’d like to make use of them, you need only ask. I’d be more than happy to gift some of them to you for the night.”

I have to work to keep the disgust off my face. How easily he uses people, like they’re nothing but possessions, toys to be traded. “No, thanks.”

Midas shrugs. “They’ll be tending to the room during the ball,” he says, once again watching them. “Odo is explaining their duties so they can prepare accordingly. Some of them will be performing, while others will be serving drinks, or whatever else I require of them.”

He’ll flaunt them as much as he flaunts his supposed wealth.

“Did you really bring me in here to talk about your ball preparations?” I ask in an impatient tone. The sooner I’m out of his presence, the better.

A peeved look crosses his face, but he quickly staunches it behind his fake facade. “Always ready to cut to the chase, Ravinger.”

“It makes for a more honest conversation, don’t you think?”

Midas gives a sly grin that makes me want to punch it right off his mouth. “Indeed, but one does not stay a king with honest conversations, as you well know.”

He’s right. When you’re a king, you have to play the game of conversation, and you have to do it better than everybody else. Normally, I’d be able to word twist with the best of them, but I have no patience for that right now. Not with the vision of Auren’s bruised cheek so fresh in my mind. Not with my power itching beneath my skin, begging to be let out. Not with him.

“What do you want, Midas?”

He loses his grin and turns to face me, but I don’t like the look in his eye. “I simply wanted to thank you for your continued alliance with Fifth and Sixth Kingdoms. Now that there is no worry of a boundary war, our people can rest a little easier. And after all, that’s what this ball is all about—celebrating alliances and a strong Orea.”

My mind tries to read between the lines so I can hook onto the words he’s not saying. Midas always has an angle. For years, I let him do what he wanted, so long as he didn’t try any shit with my kingdom.

“Like the stronger alliance you’re forming with Third,” I put in.

“Precisely.” Midas pretends to appraise the room again before he goes on to say, “I was so pleased we could come to an agreement to avoid battle. That plot of land you bargained for seemed to be such a small sacrifice in the name of peace.”

My shoulders go tense.

His brown eyes flit over to me, and I can see the bastard trying to read my expression, though he won’t be able to. I learned a long time ago how to shutter every feeling and thought away from my face.

“Deadwell,” he says, running a hand along his shaved chin. “A fitting name for the place you encroached on with your deadly rotting power. Such a curious piece of land, is it not? I’d thought it was nothing but a frozen wasteland at the border of Fifth, but that’s not entirely true, is it?”

My teeth grind. Out of all the times he could’ve approached me, it had to be right now, when I’m pissed beyond belief and my power is scraping beneath my skin.

When I don’t reply, Midas turns toward me fully, smug arrogance bleeding through his expression. “Drollard Village, ever heard of it?”

My insides turn to ice. The chunk of sharp freeze appears right there in the center of my chest, ready to stab straight through.

Because of my encounter with Auren, because frustration is clawing relentlessly at my back, I let my expressionless mask crack. Just for a split second.

But Midas sees.

“Yes, I thought you had,” he goes on, and I don’t fucking like the gleam in his eye. Not one bit. “Drollard Village, an unsanctioned town, right there at the edge of Deadwell.”

Beside me, Osrik has gone as still as I have.

“Not very pleasant names are they?” Midas muses, toying with me. “But then, it’s not a very pleasant place.”

Fuck.

“Strange how it’s technically been a part of Fifth Kingdom all this time, yet there’s no record of it. Not part of any historical data or population information. The people there have never paid any taxes. In fact, Drollard Village isn’t even on any Fifth Kingdom maps. And now, it’s part of your territory,” he says, and the shrewd edge of his gaze tries to scrape over my expression, attempting to glean anything from my reaction.

I force a bored look over my face. “Yes, it is mine now. As you said, my power encroached on it, so I’ve simply made it officially part of my domain. As such, it’s not Fifth Kingdom’s interest anymore, seeing as how you gave up the rights to it. Unless you’re going back on your trade?” My question is a threat and we both know it.