Gleam (The Plated Prisoner 3)

“I’m not your favored,” I declare, not caring that we have a crowd, not caring that Queen Kaila is staring daggers at me or that her brother is looking at me with something like pity. “King Ravinger didn’t kill Prince Niven. You did.” My voice cracks like a whip, ripping out gasps from the onlookers.

Midas’s eye twitches, twin patches of red bursting across furious cheeks. “Clear the room!”

There’s a shocked pause, and then various soldiers start to push the crowd back to empty the ballroom. But the people are resistant and angry at being ordered away. They’re too caught up in the spectacle, wanting to watch this play out, wanting to know who’s really at fault.

“Who killed our prince?” someone demands.

“We deserve to know!”

More shouts lift up like a chorus, their voices growing belligerent as the guards start using more force to shove them out.

Midas begins to stalk forward but jerks to a stop again when the Wrath close in around me. Not in threat, but in protection. Slade has stepped closer too, the heat of his chest burning against my back.

That one simple move makes something ugly appear in Midas’s eyes. Realization seems to dawn as he looks between Slade and me, and maybe my previous words finally sink in. I won’t let you take him too.

And I won’t, because—

“He’s mine.” My voice is strong, unwavering. Just a vicious growl of protective fury.

A wicked satisfaction purrs in my chest at the hateful shock on Midas’s face.

“It was him?” he accuses, tone bitten out between his clenched teeth.

“Like I tried to tell your torturer, it sure wasn’t me.”

Everyone whips their heads around to see Fake Rip walking forward with a stumbling Digby slung at his side.

My eyes widen, heartbeat faltering. Not just at the sight of my guard up and out of that awful room, but for the first time ever, Fake Rip’s helmet is nowhere to be seen.

Though he still wears the rest of his spiked armor, his face is finally visible. My gaze runs over him with greedy curiosity, entranced by the pale skin, the scruff of his jaw, the angles of his face, and I’m instantly struck by the familiarity.

Great Divine, Fake Rip is Slade’s damned brother.

They look so much alike. If it weren’t for the slight differences I can pick out like the darker green eyes, the narrower face, the difference in expression, and the lack of an aura, I’d think that he was Slade.

“Stop right there,” Midas orders.

Fake Rip and Digby pause short of the dais, two of the soldiers breaking off to detain them, while more shouts rise from the crowd. The people are still fighting as they’re herded out, but the guards push and shove, lined up like a human wall to force them out.

“Auren, come here right now,” Midas demands, finger pointed to the ground beside him.

“We’re leaving,” I declare, my determination fortified by the weight of my tone. I let my gaze skip to Manu—the queen’s brother and advisor. “You’d be wise to do the same.” A flicker of doubt flashes over his face as he shares a brief look with his husband.

“Auren,” Midas says threateningly.

“Oh, let her go, Tyndall,” Queen Kaila says airily, coming up to stand beside him. “It’s clear that her loyalty lies with Fourth Kingdom. Let her lose her favor. It’s what she deserves.”

Though Kaila’s words are meant to bite, they don’t leave their mark on me. Yes, I want to say. Let me go.

Troubled calculations war on Midas’s face as he attempts to scheme his way out of this.

“I’m done, Midas,” I say quietly. “It’s over.”

The last fragile string that tied me to him was the fact that I thought he’d saved me all those years ago. It was his one redeeming quality. But that too has been snipped away as the lie came to light.

He thinks he can throw me in a cage again and keep me drugged, but Slade will never let that happen, and neither will I.

I’ve put him on the spot now. Forced his hand, as he’s forced mine so many times. He’s out-magicked with Slade, has to keep up appearances with his new bride-to-be, and hopefully, I’ve cast enough doubt in front of the people that Fourth Kingdom won’t suffer for the death of Prince Niven.