Gild (The Plated Prisoner #1) - Raven Kennedy Page 0,23

draw blood, the person hisses in pain and then slams my head into the bars so hard that I see stars.

I buckle at the knees, my body unsteady and my head pulsing, but the hand with the vicious hold on my hair doesn’t let go. My scalp screams with pain, and I cry out, but no sooner does the whimper of pain fly out of my lips than another hand slaps over my mouth to cut off the noise.

Unfortunately, the hand is also covering my nose, blocking my ability to breathe.

Dazed from the hit to the head and unable to see much with the darkening night, I panic, lashing out to try to fight, my throat constricting and my nostrils flaring with the need to breathe.

And through it all, I can’t help but be shocked that someone besides Midas is touching me.

I haven’t been touched by anyone for as long as I can remember. No one would dare. Aside from fleeting caresses I get from my king, I’ve been so starved of touch that part of me is in too much sensory overload to react.

“Hold her up.”

The order is quiet but firm, completely uncaring about my plight, and my stomach plummets when I recognize the voice.

The queen.

Whoever is holding me wrenches my head forward until my face is squished against the bars, but the palm over my mouth and nose lets go at least. I take in ragged breaths, my neck strained at an awkward angle and the edge of the table digging into my hips as I’m forced to lean over.

I blink as Queen Malina comes forward into my line of vision. With a candle in hand, her face is gripped with fiery shadows, making her pale face glow.

“You think I didn’t see you hiding and listening?” she asks, bringing the candle close enough that the heat licks my cheeks in a burning threat.

I open my mouth to reply, but she snaps at me before I can even find my voice. “Quiet.”

I immediately close my mouth, the hand at my hair pulling my strands again, pain blooming across my head and making my eyes water.

Malina eyes me dispassionately. “The king’s favored,” she spits, like it’s the most hated word in her entire vocabulary. It probably is. “It always bothered me all these years why he chose to Gold-Touch a useless orphan girl and keep here like a trophy on a shelf,” she says, looking around my cage with disdain. “But Midas always did have his obsessions.”

I’m not an obsession. He loves me. She just doesn’t want to admit it.

As if she can see the defiance in my face, she laughs. “You think you have his heart?” she asks, her tone a mix of mock pity as she leans down so that we’re eye-to-eye. She’s so close that I can feel her breath coming from between her colorless lips. “Oh dear, you’re nothing but a dog he keeps kenneled. A prize that he likes to show off to make himself seem more interesting.”

It’s a lie. I know this, but I’m not thick-skinned enough to face her spewing words of hate and jealousy and not be affected. So her declaration, along with the pounding sharp pain at my scalp makes even more tears build in my eyes until one dives onto my cheek.

She sighs and shakes her head, her eyes darting to the snow-covered window. “I was a foolish girl then. A powerless royal with no way to rule on my own when Tyndall showed up.”

I watch her steadily, keeping very still so that my screaming scalp doesn’t get more abused than it already is.

“My father said Midas was a gift from the gods. A handsome vigilante with a romantic marriage proposal on his tongue and gold in his hands? It’s no wonder I happily went along with the proposal. He did seem serendipitous. Exactly the savior we needed. I didn’t even care that he kept you.”

My mind whirls as I try to think past the pain to focus on her words. I inwardly kick myself for getting caught. For not even being mindful enough of my surroundings to know that she was in here, waiting to pounce.

“All men have their vices, after all,” Malina tells me, her tone making it clear what she thinks of me. “Tyndall’s was making you into an heirloom. A caged orphan girl with gold-stained skin that he could show off and keep to himself. It’s garish and gaudy. But you were of no consequence to