Glint (The Plated Prisoner 2)

I should shove him off, use my ribbons to push him away, remind him that I don’t like to be touched...but I do none of those things, and I’m not entirely sure why.

“You didn’t

have to take me with you,” I say, throat bobbing against his touch, defensiveness crawling through my tone.

He strokes a fingertip across my racing pulse. “Yes, I did, Goldfinch.”

And then, Rip leans forward and brushes his lips against mine.

A gasp pulls between my lips, but that just makes me taste him. His air, breathing into me, like inhaling awe.

He doesn’t press harder against my mouth, doesn’t demand. Just that barest of strokes, lip against lip, and then he’s pulling away.

I didn’t realize I’d closed my eyes until my heavy lids are snapping open again. His hand moves from my throat to my jaw, a skimming touch just at the edge.

“You’ll be pleased to know...” he begins quietly, eyes roaming over my face.

I look at him dazedly, trying to keep up with what he just did, trying not to touch my lips that are still tingling. “Know what?” I ask, a cracked voice through the dark.

He drops his hand, and my body sways toward him before I can catch myself, like I wanted to follow his touch, to get it back.

“We’ll arrive in Fifth Kingdom soon.”

His words are jarring. Ill-fitting inside this confusing, intimate moment.

Something in me droops. “Oh.”

He reaches up and moves a strand of hair off my shoulder, leaving air to brush against the skin like another feather-light kiss. His eyes flick up, but they’re as hard as granite now. “I’m sure you’ll be pleased to see your king,” he says, face unreadable. “Especially so soon after sending your message to him.”

I rear back, like his words are an open palm slapped across my face. I’m left gaping as Rip turns and walks out of the tent, leaving me in the dark, leaving me reeling.

He knows.

He kissed me.

He knows.

He kissed me.

He knows what I did, and yet...he still kissed me.

Chapter 29

AUREN

Winter winds howl outside my dark window.

I can hear it whipping the castle’s flags, wailing through the cracks in the glass, hail pelting the stone walls.

It’s strange to see such a brutal ice storm raging in the night, while I soak in the heat of my bath. Steam still rises in steady tendrils, filling my bathroom, making it hard to see. Sweat beads like drops of glitter on my skin, my every muscle warm and languid as I laze in the water.

But a shout pulls me from my dozing rest.

Jerking my head up from the rim of the tub, my brows pull together tight. I look through the steam, but it’s thicker than before, and the noise of the storm outside is growing louder.

I hear something, someone, maybe a voice.

Looking left and right, I call out, “Midas?”