Gleam (The Plated Prisoner 3)

The narrowing of his eyes precedes his brows pulling in, a line divided to separate the charm on his face from the true nature beneath. He opens his mouth like he’s going to spout back something combative to douse me with, but instead, he closes it again and seems to reconsider.

I keep waiting for him to tell me about the betrothal to Queen Kaila, for him to inform me of Malina’s death.

But he does neither.

I used to think he confided in me, that our murmured conversations late at night in the privacy of my cage were something special. Yet I see now that he only told me things when it served a purpose, a manipulation. A way to steer the reins he trussed around his gold-touched saddle.

“The ball is tomorrow night,” Midas reminds me as he strolls leisurely over to the fireplace and lets his hand rest on the mantle. “I would like you to come with me today and add some finishing touches around the castle.”

Of course that’s why he’s here. It’s not really to apologize. He just needs my power. I probably should be grateful for the reprieve I had from him for so many days, earned by the repercussions of his strike, but I wish it’d been even longer.

I tilt my head in thought, because...this could actually work in my favor. “On one condition. I want to see Digby.”

A hush cascades between us like silent falls, placid water to hold us in the plunge.

“Okay.”

I jerk back in surprise. Even my ribbons twitch around my waist. “You mean it?”

“I’ll take you to see him tonight. You’ll have earned it.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to demand that I see Digby first, but I know Midas. If I push him, he’s more likely to scrap the whole thing. Which is why I nod and say, “Alright.”

One more day of letting him use me for my power. One more, and then I’ll know where Digby is—finally confirm that Midas has him. Then I can save my guard and leave this place forever.

Midas smiles, pure charm dripping from his features. I wonder if he charms himself too. “Excellent. Let’s get to work, and when you finish, you can see your guard.”

Midas’s “finishing touches” turn out to be more like relentless gropes. With bare feet and slicked hands, I turn whatever he asks me to, blocking out everything else, my mind’s eye tunneled into one goal: get this done so that I can see Digby.

I become so focused that the hours of the day are no longer made up of minutes. They’re made up of drips of gold. Precious metal replaces the grains of sand in an hourglass, each drop I create another second to spend.

So I spend.

And I spend.

And I spend.

Clothing and plates, walls and coins. Tapestries and bannisters, ice sculptures and sconces.

It’s not the morning that passes, but me as I move through each room, touch every item. It’s not the afternoon that lengthens, it’s the stretch of my magic through Ranhold, creating more wealth in Midas’s name.

He keeps me busy through it all, one thing after another, my power pervading every item until it gleams. But I do it all gladly, tirelessly, not once complaining even as the day drags on and my gold-touch clogs up.

Because I’m not going to do a single thing to risk seeing Digby tonight. I will let Midas steer my reins one last time, and then I will take a page out of Slade’s book and rot them to proverbial dust.

One thing. He has one last thing dangling over my head, and I’m about to take it back from him.

I’m in the ballroom when the familiar tingle across my skin occurs. With heavy-lidded eyes, I glance over at the window, though I don’t need to see the sky to know that the sun has set.

Finally.

I set down the empty pitcher I’m holding, as the last of my power dries up. The weakened magic swirls around the pewter base, only making it halfway before it solidifies and stops mid-gild. I let go of it, turning my palms up to look at the damage. They’re coated in sticky gold, clumps like curdled milk drying on my skin.

“You’ve done so well, Precious,” Midas praises.

He stuck to my side the entire day, which is different from his usual “watch from afar” habit. Maybe he was being more careful in the ballroom in particular, since a random servant tried to come in once. Or perhaps he simply wanted to be more involved. For whatever reason, I was able to keep my head down and just go through the motions, so I didn’t let him get to me.

Despite the long day, Midas’s clothes still look impeccable. His neat hair is nearly as gilded as the floor, handsome face lacking any stubble, still looking as fresh as this morning.