Glint (The Plated Prisoner 2)

Something flashes in her eyes—like the glint a fish sees right before they swallow the hook.

“Fine. But I want gold.”

My heart drops, because I both knew this was coming—and hoped that it wouldn’t. “Rissa...”

She looks back at me without remorse. “Secrets have a price in this world, and we all have to pay. Even the girl made of gold.”

I want to laugh humorlessly, not because she’s wrong, but because I know exactly how right she is.

I have spent everything on secrets. Coin. Time. Heartache. Precious moments. I’ve had to give up my childhood, my freedom, any scrap of happiness I’ve ever had.

Secrets, I’ve learned, cost far too much.

“I have to survive, same as you,” Rissa says steadily, voice holding no remorse. “You need my silence? I need gold. That’s my price.”

Seconds pass between us like breaths, one after another, no break between. She holds her chin up and her back straight, but I know the mark on her back where Captain Fane struck her with his belt will still be there, just like his kick to my ribs is still healing.

Yet it’s the hurts without marks that worry me the most.

I sag a little where I stand, a dejected breath passing my lips. “I’m sorry Captain Fane touched you,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry I let it get that far.”

She scoffs. “I’m not doing this because he touched me, and I don’t need your pity. I’ve been touched by far worse for far longer. Besides, it’s my job as a saddle to be ridden.”

I shake my head. “Don’t do that. You don’t have to make the offense seem like nothing. Not with me,” I tell her. “You may be a saddle, but you’re a royal saddle, only meant to be with the king. But more than that, you’re a woman who deserves to be treated with love and respect.”

She outright laughs at me this time—head tilted back, creased eyes pointed at flakes that fall from the sky. She lets the sharp coldness land on her face, snow dropping into her open mouth and salting her blonde hair.

I cross my arms in front of me, gloved fingers holding on like I can contain my roiling emotions. “What’s so funny?”

Rissa shakes her head and starts walking again, forcing me to match her steps. “After all this time, you still think those things are real?” she asks.

We pass by the guards and Lu just then, which is good, because it gives me an excuse to hesitate before answering.

Do I? Do I think those things are real?

If Rissa had asked me this question a couple of months ago, I would have answered straight away that Midas loves me. He always has, since the moment he rescued me.

And yet…

My king loves me.

Indeed. Loves you so much he keeps you in a cage.

That crack in the glass is back—the one that formed when I thought Midas was giving me to King Fulke.

The splintering crack is creeping out, like the web of a spider, silk-thin strands spreading, imperfections in the clear love I’ve always had for him. It’s getting hard to see through it. But is that my fault? Am I letting Commander Rip get to me?

“Love and respect exist,” I say quietly, just as we round the side of the tent again.

I might be a confused mess right now when it comes to Midas, but my parents loved each other. I don’t remember much, but I know that.

“Maybe it does for some,” she concedes, her voice also softer now, sadder. “But it doesn’t exist for women like us.”

Her confession is spoken to the horizon, words for the clouds to soak in and

rain down.

“We’re beautiful and pleasing to the eye, meant to fuel a person’s lust, meant to play a part. But we don’t get true love, Auren. And the only women in Orea who have respect are the ones who sit on a throne. Even then, they’ll always be secondary to their male counterparts. You should know that by now.”