Gleam (The Plated Prisoner 3)

“Okay, doggies, shh!”

They don’t shh.

I glance around nervously, but no one has come to check out the noise yet—though they will. I hurry to the door, thanking the Divines when the knob opens and I’m able to rush inside. I yank my ribbons in with me and shut the door, blocking out the howls and hoping that they’ll settle down now that I’m out of view.

My ribbons coil around my waist like loosely hung belts, and I inhale a steadying breath as I take in the room. It’s blessedly abandoned and freezing cold in here, clearly closed up from disuse. White sheets cover the bedroom furniture like cumbersome ghosts, and a fireplace lies empty and stained with soot.

“Alright. I made it this far,” I whisper to myself, equal parts determined and impressed. I check that my gloves are secure and pull up my hood before I cross over to the door. I cock my head to listen, making sure there aren’t any sounds before I open it just enough to peek out.

The hallway is empty.

I’m not about to waste my chance, so I quickly exit, closing the door softly behind me, and then I walk as fast as I dare in these boots without making my tread too loud.

“Opposite side, snowflake door. Opposite side, snowflake door...” My whisper carries me forward, down the hall of icy blue. The stony glass walls reflect my body as I go, and I pass white pillars cut like rough icicles dripping from ceiling to floor.

I’m approaching a corner when I hear noise coming from the staircase just behind me, and my heart kicks up a notch. I can’t be seen by the guards. It’s not an option.

Picking up my pace, I round the corner, and then I nearly gasp out in relief. Right there, at the end of this short corridor, is the snowflake door.

My hurried steps bring me right to it, and I stop, hesitating. A quick look over my shoulder shows that I’m alone, aside from a lone pillar standing sentry.

I bite my lip as I look at the door.

Do I just...knock?

Nervousness writhes in my stomach all of a sudden, but there’s no turning back now. I rushed over here without letting myself overthink it, but now that my mind has had a chance to catch up, I hesitate.

“Come on, Auren. Just do it,” I mumble to myself in a pep talk.

With a determined breath, I lift my fist to knock, but the door suddenly swings open. I blink in surprise, barely stopping my knuckles from rapping on the metal chest plate now in front of me.

“Rip?”

The black helmet tilts down. “Ah. The little golden girl.”

A wisp of breath leaves me as I realize the voice is all wrong. “You’re not Rip.” I should’ve known the moment he opened the door, but I’m too wound up.

He glances at the spikes along his forearms. “No? Who am I then, my lady?”

I narrow my eyes at his mocking tone. His voice is deep, but it’s not Slade’s, and there is no aura hovering around him. Yet his build and height is the same, and from this close, even the gleam of his spikes looks identical to the real thing.

“No idea. Why don’t you enlighten me?” I reply.

He watches me for a moment and then says, “No, I think not.”

Of course he’s not going to tell me.

I let a little disappointment roll in my eyes. “Right. Can you get Slade for me?”

“Oh, on a first name basis, are we? That’s very informal,” he replies, amusement dancing on the edge of his gravelly tone.

I drop into an exaggerated curtsy and plaster on a smile. “Apologies. May I speak to King Ravinger, Ruler of Fourth Kingdom and Rotter of...Things?”

A jagged chuckle comes from him, but he still doesn’t move out of the way. “You sure you wouldn’t rather pass along your message to me than to talk to the Rotter of Things?”

Irritation huffs out of me, but for a second, I’m worried that Slade doesn’t want to see me. Maybe after our talk in the library, he’s decided to wash his hands of me and told Fake Rip and the others to send me away. “Look, you spiky stand-in, may I speak to him or not?”

“Impatient, aren’t we?”