Gleam (The Plated Prisoner 3)

The capricious lines of his power are coiling around his neck like aggravated snakes writhing on the ground. They move and shift, disappearing beneath the black scruff on his jaw, leading down to sink beneath his collar.

My heart clamps at the sight of Slade as people shout and curse at him. His magic hisses, hitting me with a wave of queasiness, and the ground beneath his feet seems to pucker and rumble.

But I don’t fear him. Not even with his threatening power that branches around his skin. Not even with the vicious glint in his eye, or with the twisted wood crown on his head that makes him look every bit the rotten king.

I know what they see, but it isn’t what I see, and this isn’t his fault. He’s simply been set up to take the fall so that Midas can continue to rise.

How much more of me are you going to take?

Everything.

It’s not just me that Midas is going to take from. Being the king of Sixth isn’t enough, and taking Fifth was just the beginning. He’s marrying Third, making Fourth the enemy...and what next? Will he move on to Second and First too? Will he stop then?

But I know the answer to that already.

Midas won’t ever stop.

He may not have magic, but his strength lies in his scheming manipulations, and it’s terrifying to realize just how powerful he’s truly become.

Slade locks eyes with me, finding me in the middle of the crowd, and maybe he can see the fear in my face, because whatever power was brewing inside of him stutters to an instant stop. The nauseous effect of his magic cuts off at the stem, the furrowing floor ceasing its rooting rumble.

The soldiers take advantage of the pause and close in on him, and dread spikes down my spine. He’s going to push and push until Slade snaps. Midas wants him to break the treaty, dissolve the alliance, back Slade into a corner.

“Take him!” Midas shouts, just as Osrik lets out a vicious bellow, a sword held in each hand.

“Stop!” I shove my way past the rest of the people, plowing straight through the line of gilt guards. They balk at my intrusion and then immediately back away, ensuring they don’t touch me, though they don’t lower their swords.

Within seconds, I’m standing in front of Slade like a shield, chest heaving. “Don’t touch him.”

My shout is for the crowd, but my words are for Midas.

We’ve locked eyes, both of us on opposite ends of the dais. There might be hundreds of spectators, but all I see is him.

“What are you doing, Auren?” Midas nearly hisses. “Get away from him right now

and come to me.”

I give him a slow shake of my head. “Never.”

Never again.

A tic appears in Midas’s jaw.

“I won’t let you take him too.”

He’s taken everything else from me, just like he promised. He even took our past. But I won’t let Midas take Slade.

So caught up in my stare-off with Midas, I almost forgot about the male at my back. A dark, forbidding voice slips out from between his lips and tangles down my spine. “Auren...”

“Don’t use your magic,” I beg, glancing at Slade over my shoulder. “It’s what he wants, to make you even more hated and feared. Don’t give that to him.”

“He deserves no less.”

“No, but you deserve more,” I murmur.

A rigid tension fits between my shoulder blades, but it isn’t fear as I take a public stand against Midas. We are inherently protective of our lives, to do whatever we have to do to make it through. It’s an inner instinct, and one I’ve always followed. Biologically, we are meant to preserve, to survive. But surviving isn’t my intent at this moment. Right now, I want to fight.

“Lower your swords away from my favored!” Midas shouts, making the guards flinch, blades drooping.