Gild (The Plated Prisoner #1) - Raven Kennedy Page 0,106

that, but the savage grace of him is as magnificent as it is utterly alarming.

Even though I’m freezing, my palms begin to sweat inside my gloves, my pulse pounding so hard I expect it to knock pinprick holes through my veins. The wind picks up, ruffling the brown feathers along my stolen coat, making it look as if my whole body is trembling.

Strong. His presence is so damn strong and full of death, like even his aura knows how destructive he is.

Finally, he speaks again. “So, this is King Midas’s pet.” He glances down at the feathers on my sleeves, the gold ribbons bereft in the snow, and his black eyes flash with interest as they lift again to my face. “I have to admit, I didn’t expect to find a goldfinch.”

I’m not sure why hearing him call me a pet bothers me, but I find my hands fisting the fabric of my skirts.

“I know what you are,” I say with a sharp tone, my accusation escaping with a puff of hazy air between us.

A slow smirk spreads over his mouth, a menacing curl of his lips that makes my heart stumble. He takes a single step forward, a simple move that somehow sucks all the air out of the world.

He leans in, his aura pushing at me, testing, feeling, overwhelming. And despite the frigid air of the Barrens, despite the deafening noises of the scraping ships and the marching army, his voice presses hot and resonant against my ear as he speaks. “Funny, I was about to say the same thing to you.”

Chapter Forty

King Midas

I’ve been to every single kingdom in Orea.

First Kingdom is a tepid jungle, flooded with pretentious fools who fancy themselves masters of the arts. Second is an arid expanse of sand and not much more, the monarchs a dull, puritanical lot.

Third Kingdom holds more interest, their coasts speckled with private islands only to be visited upon invitation of the monarchs. Their only blight is that they share a murky border of swampland with Fourth, but King Rot’s kingdom holds no interest to me at all.

Fifth Kingdom, however, I’ve grown increasingly fond of.

I look out below me, my hands braced on the balcony railing. The ground glitters silver and white, but my focus is on the ice sculptures in the courtyard, maintained as religiously as any royal garden, every curve chiseled, every inch shaped to perfection.

What a wonder it will look like once all the ice has been touched with gold.

I don’t have ice sculptures in Highbell. The blizzards and storms are far too vicious for that. But here in Fifth Kingdom, the everlasting cold is much more mild, only light dustings of snow gracing its sparkling ground.

I watch the sculptors continue to carve for a moment longer before I turn and head back inside, letting the balcony doors snick shut behind me. I’ve been given the south suites of Ranhold Castle to stay in, the interior all decorated in whites and purples, with gray rock and black iron fortifying its structure. It’s lavish and entirely respectable enough for a visiting monarch.

Except, I don’t intend to simply visit.

I sit down at the desk set into the corner of the room, fresh blue winter blossoms set cheerfully on top, its stem resting in frosted water.

I’m deep in a stack of papers when the knock sounds on my door, and my advisor, Odo, shuffles in.

“Your Majesty, a letter has arrived for you.”

I hold out my hand, my attention split on the roster in front of me as he places the rolled parchment in my palm. Breaking the wax seal, I unroll the message, my eyes distractedly skimming over the words. But then I stop. Go back. Start over.

I read it once, and my body goes rigid. I read it a second time, and my jaw clenches tight. By the third time, I’m seeing red.

“Sire?”

My eyes snap to Odo where he waits in front of the desk, no doubt wondering if I need to send a reply.

There will be no reply.

My hand crumples the paper. “They have her.”

My voice is dark and low, words formed between barely separated teeth. The realization pounding in tandem with my enraged pulse.

Odo hesitates. “Who has who, Your Majesty?”

In a blink, I’m on my feet. My arms sweep everything off the desk in a terrific crash. Books slam against the floor, papers go flying, the frosted vase of the flowers shatters against the wall.

My advisor flinches back, wide eyes on me as I pace