Gleam (The Plated Prisoner 3)

I should be grossed out, but the fact that he wants me to keep his scent on me makes my stomach do a little flip. “You’r

e crass.”

“We’ve already established that.”

With a little snort, I turn and head for the door. “Okay, I’m going to go bathe like a normal person. You should do the same.”

He lets out a put-upon sigh and follows me to the door. “Fine, but come and see me tonight at the camp. I’ll get Lu to sneak you out.”

I give him a hesitant look. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“No one will see. Trust me. I’ll have her wait for you outside your balcony.” A glint of amusement shines in his eyes. “I heard she knows where it is.”

I wince. “She told you about that?”

A grin spreads over his lips. “Yep. She said it was one of the funniest things she’s ever seen, the way you dangled off the balcony like that.” I smack his arm, but that only makes him chuckle.

Slade opens the door for me, popping his head out for a moment before he faces me again. “It’s clear,” he confirms.

“Thank you.”

I slip past him, though I can feel his eyes on my body as I start to walk down the dark corridor.

“Tonight, Auren,” he says quietly, and the ends of my ribbons twist at the decadent promise edging his voice.

Stopping at the end of the hall, I look back at him over my shoulder, a secret smile lifting my lips as forbidden excitement fills me. “Tonight.”

Chapter 33

QUEEN MALINA

Jeo’s fingers are red like his windblown hair, as if the cold slipped its unforgiving grip between his palms and squeezed tight.

I watch him from my spot in front of the window while he jerks on the crude fishing pole, its line buried within the depths of the hole in the frozen lake. Every few minutes, he has to hack away at the ice that tries to reform, as if nature itself is working against him.

With another tug, a gray fish the size of his hand comes flailing out, and he tosses it behind him onto the small pile he’s already caught, their sides having long since ceased their rise and fall.

He then sets the pole aside and bends down, gathering all the fish in a tin bucket that was used to remove ash from the chimney before he redesigned it for the task of holding our food.

A few seconds later, his boots tap against the doorframe, and an icy chill blasts in the moment he walks inside. He quickly shuts the door behind him to keep out the wintry air, but I don’t turn away from the window. Not even as I hear him set down the bucket in the tiny kitchen or when he pulls off his heavy boots to dry in front of the fire.

I just keep staring out this dirty window layered with grime and dust that’s frozen to the pane. Keep staring past the snowy mountain blocking my view of Highbell Castle right on the other side of it.

Four days we’ve been in this safe house. Four days since I fled my castle to descend a stone stairwell that seemed to never end. I walked until it felt like my legs would give out, swallowed by that tunnel of darkness while my eyes strained on the candlelight that Sir Loth Pruinn carried as he led the way.

The five of us made it here that night without anyone coming after us or discovering the secret passage. The safe house’s location wasn’t discovered by the rebels. Yet the cost of that confidentiality was paid by my other two guards, who stayed behind to ensure we weren’t followed. They never met up with us and are probably even now lying slain somewhere in that gilded room.

“Did you get some sleep?” Jeo asks from behind me.

I look over at him as he pulls out some fish from the bucket and slaps them on the small counter surface. The scent of it immediately clogs my nose, and I wrinkle it in distaste.

“Must you do that?”

“Unless you want to starve, yes.” My back stiffens at his tone, at his lack of respect, but if he notices my irritation, he does nothing to appease it. He grabs a knife from the drawer and begins to cut the fish in uneven strokes, half the meat getting ripped off in the process of him skinning it. “Sleep?” he asks again.

“I can’t rest in that awful bedroom.” My eyes shift to the wooden stairwell tucked in the corner of the house as if I can see all the way to the space in question. I detest it. The lumpy mattress, the fireplace that throws off more smoke than heat, the linens that smell of mold and dust. “It’s horribly drafty.”

A frown appears between his brows, and his mouth pinches tight. “This house is old, but we’re lucky we have it.”