Glint (The Plated Prisoner Series Book 2)

This miser did prize her,

this golden gold vine.

His smile would gleam

at all of her shine.

He gave her his all,

so she’d answer his call.

Rejoiced every inch

that her length grew up tall

And I do feel betrayed. He tricked me. Confused me with a kiss and lied about who he really is. Maybe that’s unfair, considering I’ve lied too, but I can’t help feeling like he played me.

“You’re King Ravinger,” I breathe in hurt accusation, because it’s the only thought clanging through my bones and shrieking in my skull.

Rip’s mouth slowly pulls into a grin, and he speaks with the dark, sensual stroke of a villainous purr that matches the glint in his eye. “Yes, Goldfinch, I am. But you can call me Slade.”

Ravinger chuckles, and the rasp abrades my ears, like the splintered wood of a rotten log. “Oh Goldfinch, I asked you before if you knew who I was.”

My foot hesitates from its move to back up, my brows pulling together in a frown of confusion even as my heart pounds, warning me to flee. “What?”

Without warning, his power suddenly pulses out again and tightens like a fist, yanking a noose around my stomach. This time, it’s different, a surge instead of a reach.

I gulp out strangled air and double over, a cold sweat immediately drenching my skin as I breathe through my nose, trying not to be sick, trying not to fall.

My shaky hands grip the doorframe hard as I try to stay upright. My tired ribbons wince, curling up behind me and diving beneath my dress like they can hide from his magic.

Dizziness overtakes me with a hot flush as I lean against the wall, but right before I’m about to be sick, the power suddenly dissolves, like salt in a sea.

Panting, I look up, and right before my eyes, the reaching roots over Ravinger’s face recede.

He walks toward me, no longer half-hidden in the shadows.

As the veins fade away, his green eyes shutter, like his irises are soaking up all that black, putrid power.

His entire body shudders, and my eyes go wide with shock as his face changes, sharpens.

I’m stuck in place, unable to breathe, unable to even blink as the bones of his face taper like the edge of a blade. His ears pinch to a point at the top just as scales appear on chiseled cheeks.

“Great Divine...” Shock is infused with my tone, holding it under, suffocating me with the weight of realization.

Spikes stab through his arms and shoot from his spine. He unfurls, the wild, wicked fae, transitioning until all that’s left of his horrible power is the viscid press of a very familiar dark aura.

“You’re...you’re...” My tongue goes thick, catching up with the sheen in my eyes while the betrayal, heavy and solid, sinks into the depths of my soul.

Rip rolls his shoulders, as if his metamorphosis from rotted king to monstrous fae was painful. Though I can guarantee it wasn’t nearly as painful to him as it was to me.

The blacks of his irises that seem to have swallowed the power are the only indication of the foul magic lurking within.

That voice. Deeper, crueler than usual, but with a timbre of familiarity. I should’ve known. I should have damn well figured it out.

He takes one more step, and then he’s so close that I can feel the fiery temperature of his blackened soul, taste the press of spiced air as it passes from his lips.

He’s Rip and he’s Rot. He’s the fae and the king.

I swear, I feel a knife to my back all over again. But this time, it’s from a different betrayal, from a different man.

“What do you want?” I ask as I edge for the door. I don’t care if his power can kill me in seconds, I’ll try to make a run for it anyway.

He grins at me from the shadows as I step sideways, but he can mock me all he wants, I know better than to turn my back on him.

“Now that’s the question, isn’t it?” he asks, and his voice...

His attention flicks down to my wayward ribbons and skims over their crumpled, tired lengths. Just his look makes them shiver, a timid tremble that I feel against the skin of my back.

“It all makes so much more sense now. Why he keeps you. Why your skin is truly gold. Why you’re trapped with him.” Ravinger glances down at the broken cage door lying on the floor. “But perhaps...not as trapped as one might believe.”

His power becomes cloying again all of a sudden, like it’s reaching out in invisible tendrils and trying to latch onto my own, trying to get a feel of what lurks inside of me. Sweat breaks out against my brow, my stomach flipping, and I take another two steps toward the door.

If I can just get there. If I can just get through—

Another wave of sickness makes me nearly stumble. “Stop,” I pant. I feel like I’m a second from vomiting all over the floor.

Immediately, his power recedes, and with it, those dark lines on his face grow, like a flash flood of rivers unleashing, nearly reaching the sharp planes of his cheeks.

“You should probably get used to that,” he says, amusement evident in the deep timbre of his voice as he watches me sweat and shake. “Can’t have you getting sick every time I come into the room.”

“Why?” I ask nervously, squinting toward his dark shrouded body. I don’t know what would be scarier, for him to stay hidden in the shadows as he is, or if he were to step into the light so I could see him more clearly.

“We’re going to be around each other for a while.”

Chills rush down both arms, and I stop my retreat. Is he stealing me? Is he going to use me worse than Midas did?

“What are you talking about?” I ask, fear breaking my voice. I take the last few steps to the threshold, feeling a surge of victory when my fingers close around the doorframe. I turn, keeping my back to Midas’s room and my eyes on him, the predator who can pounce at any moment.

“Oh, Midas hasn’t told you yet?” he says smoothly, not moving from his place. “We’ve negotiated peace, and he’s also hosting a celebration. Fourth has been invited to stay and attend.”

All at once, a dozen thoughts hit me.

I swallow down a lump of hope in my throat as I shove damp hair off my face. “Your commander? Is he staying?” I blurt, though I immediately want to kick myself for letting my interest slip.

If there’s no war, if Rip is staying here...

I need an ally if I have any hope of getting away.

He hums, and my mind races with why he’s here, why he’s come. I thought I’d escaped him, but I should’ve known that trade-off was too simple, too easy.

He doesn’t seem at all nervous that King Midas might find him here. In fact, I suspect he’d welcome an excuse for the confrontation.

The firelight bathes his crown in vibrant orange, like autumn to a leaf. His black hair is somewhat creased, while a shadow clings to the jaw of his slightly gray-toned face. He’s younger than I thought he would be, but no less terrifying.

“So, this is where King Midas keeps his famous gold-touched favored.” Even with the dark distance between us, I see him studying me from bottom to top. “You really do look like a caged Goldfinch. Shame. You don’t belong in there at all.”

Eyes widening, my heart pounds in my chest, thrumming with a sharp hurt. Rip told him. Rip told his king his nickname for me. And the way Ravinger repeated it makes it sound crude, almost mocking.

Is that what Rip did? Mock me when he spoke to his king?

Too much emotion rises up inside of me, making me want to scream again.

I find myself straightening up and tearing off my feather coat in a blink. I step out of the cage and throw it at him through the broken doorway. “There. You can give that to Rip,” I say with a sneer as soon as his hand shoots out to catch it. “Tell him I’m not his little Goldfinch that he can mock behind my back.”

His eyes look down at the feathers, and just then, I realize my mistake.

Shit.

I freeze, hoping maybe he won’t notice.

After a moment, his hands still, and then Ravinger lifts the coat up with the pinch of his fingers. The light of the lantern makes it shimmer, and my hope plummets right through my toes.

“Now, this is interesting, isn’t it?” he purrs.

I feel the blood drain from my face as he turns the coat inside out, revealing the truth within.

Lined throughout the inside, a gold glint shines.

A nefarious smile spreads over his face as he looks back at me, but then he laughs, and that’s so much worse. His haunting, gravelly chuckle boasts from his lips and seems to rope around me, holding me captive.

“I must admit, I’m not often surprised,” he muses, rubbing the hidden gold fabric. “But this surprises me.”

His fingertips brush over the wayward feathers along the wrists and hood where I’d accidentally gilded them with my skin. It was incredibly difficult to stop the spread, but at least I managed that much. Though, what good is that now when I’ve just tossed my secret at his face?

Ravinger’s attention flickers over the room again, as if he’s seeing it in a new light. He lingers on the woman’s statue behind me. “Midas is far more devious than I suspected. And so are you.”

It sounds like that actually excites him.

Then, there’s a sudden shout outside my door.

I hear more exclamations of surprise, cursing, yelling, the guards sounding confused and authoritative at first—but it changes into something more like desperate begging. There’s the unmistakable noise of swords being yanked from their hilts and running footsteps, but it’s all followed by a series of ominous thumps.

And then...nothing.

No sounds at all.

My heart races and my stomach roils, while fear squeezes me in its nefarious grasp.

Then, the doorknob jiggles. Just once. Like someone tested to see if it was locked. A second later, I see the handle fall away completely, disintegrated into grains of golden sand.

I tense as the door swings open, and a silhouette appears in the threshold like a demon stepping out of hell.

The dim light of the room shouldn’t be enough for me to recognize who it is, but I know. I think even in the pitch black, I’d know.

Because I can feel it.

Just like when I was on that hill, his power seems to travel from the ground and soak into my feet. Another wave of nausea roils through me, making my fingers curl tighter around the bars as King Ravinger himself steps into the room.

All the air in my lungs dissolves like that doorknob did, and my body freezes in fear. He steps in almost boredly, without even squinting in the dim light, as if his eyes don’t need to adjust to the dark.

Maybe that’s because darkness lurks within him already.

Walking forward, he scans the room methodically. He’s wearing neat black leathers with a high collar shirt, and a barbed crown of branches sits proudly on his head. They look withered, petrified, like they died long ago and then hardened in a molded polish.

He stops in the shadows, a few feet away from my cage, but I don’t need him closer to see how his gaze hooks onto me.

His are deep green eyes, like rich moss right before it’s about to turn brown. Life, right before death. Richness, right before rot.

But it’s the markings on his face that I can’t stop staring at. They rise out of his collar, trailing up his neck, curling over his jaw, like roots searching for soil. Like veins come loose from a poisoned heart.

As I watch, they move, curling and writhing, like something sinister is contained in those insidious markings.

He stands there, and my eyes warily look at the doorway, but no guards are gathered there. It’s as silent and heavy as death.

“Did you kill them?” I ask through labored breaths.

He gives me a shrug of his proud, unbothered shoulder. “They were in my way.”

My heart falls in fear. He killed all of them within seconds.

“Do you know who I am?” he asks, his voice a low rumble that makes me shake.

I swallow hard. “King Ravinger.”

Ravinger inclines his head again. “Sign Deadwell over to me, King Midas, and my army leaves.”

I narrow my eyes. “Just like that?”

He gives me a benign look. “My army has been traveling for weeks. Surely, you’ll extend an invitation to me and my soldiers in your newly acquired city so that they may rest and celebrate the avoidance of a war.”

My mouth presses into a firm line. Like hell do I want them in Ranhold. “I do not think—”

He cuts me off. “Of course, you’ll already be hosting another kingdom in a few weeks’ time, won’t you? I’m sure you can see the advantages of having not just one kingdom, but two, to join in your celebrations.”

I go still.

Behind me, I feel my advisors tense, no further scratch of quill against paper.

How the hell did he find out about Third Kingdom’s traveling party?

I grin through gritted teeth. “Of course. You and your army are more than welcome to rest and replenish yourselves.”

Ravinger grins, the polished teeth of an animal used to chewing on those he defeats.

The chill down my spine is all the confirmation I need. I may have prevented his army from attacking Ranhold, but while I bent to his whim to get them to stay out, I think I may have invited the true threat in.

And they went the long way. Came right up to the palace and bypassed the mountain pass where I’d had a contingent to head them off. Not to mention the fact that the soldiers I sent to infiltrate their camp and grab Auren never returned. I have a feeling they won’t.

Ravinger didn’t stop there. He then flaunted his magic in front of the city, letting rot spread through the ground as a warning, a threat to intimidate.

And again, since the moment he walked in the throne room and stepped up on the dais, and then chose the seat at the head of this table.

Flaunting. Because he can. Because he’s an arrogant bastard.

My impatience plucks at my tongue. “Well? How much, Ravinger?”

“None.”

I lean back against the chair in shock. “What do you mean, none?”

Surely, I misheard him. Gold is what everyone wants. It’s the only thing that everyone wants.

“I mean what I said,” he replies evenly. “I don’t want your gold.”

I’m at a loss, and I have a creeping suspicion that he’s steered this whole conversation from the very start.

“What do you want then.” It’s my turn to demand now, my tone unable to pretend otherwise. He’s frayed my countenance like splitting hairs.

“I want Deadwell.”

My brows pull together a second later as my mind creates a map in my head. “Deadwell? The strip of land at the edge of Fifth?”

He tips his chin. “The very one.”

I look at him suspiciously. “Why?”

“As you said, there have been rumors that I have...encroached on territories outside of my own,” he says, shoulders back and proud, tone unwavering. “To appease such rumors and to pay restitution for Fifth’s unprovoked attack on my border, I will now take that border, which, as acting ruler, you will give me as your sign of good faith.”

A pause.

Ravinger leans in, and an ominous feeling leans with him, like a brittle tree being blown by the wind. “Otherwise, my army attacks by nightfall.”

I regard him. He regards me.

Thoughts and questions come up one after another.

He wants Deadwell.

But why does he want Deadwell? I rack my mind, trying to recollect what’s there, but I’m not as familiar with Fifth Kingdom as I am Sixth. Still...I’m fairly certain that it’s just a strip of land between his kingdom and this one, with nothing there except ice.

“Surely we can think of something else, in order to spare innocent lives,” I offer with a placating smile. “Reparation for the attack on your border, for instance.”

Ravinger steeples his fingers together, watching me over the top. “I’m listening.”

Finally.

I pretend to contemplate for a moment and then say, “Move your army back to your kingdom without attack, and I’ll pay your reparation in gold.”

Nothing.

I get nothing in return. No reaction, no excited glint in his eye. It doesn’t even seem as if he’s heard me.

Desperation crawls down my back. “Name the weight, Ravinger, and then we can be done with this business of war and you can return to your kingdom.”

“King Fulke was dealt with,” I say, not letting him ruffle me. “Unless you want to murder an innocent boy for his father’s sins, Fifth Kingdom is no longer your enemy. It was a last-minute attack from an eccentric king who’s now dead. I had nothing to do with it.”

“I have reports that say otherwise.”

All previous amusement is gone from his face in a blink. In its place, there’s something dark. Deadly. I’m reminded in an instant of how powerful he really is, which is exactly what he wants.

Despite myself, I feel a chill raise the hairs at the back of my neck.

“Your reports are inaccurate,” I reply steadily. I don’t dare look away from his eyes, no matter how much I want to.

One mustn’t look away from a predator.

“Are they.”