Gild (The Plated Prisoner #1) - Raven Kennedy Page 0,26

now that I know it’s just Midas who’s crept up on me. He looks so good in the soft lighting. His golden tunic more like butterscotch, his hair like warm brandy.

“How can I serve you, my king?” I ask, and although my words are proper, my tone is unsure. Tenuous.

Midas reaches up and taps his chin in thought as he studies me. I try not to fidget under his stare, the thin cover of my robe leaving me feeling like I’m naked in front of him.

“I know you’re angry with me,” he finally says, catching me off guard.

I study his expression, trying to discern what thoughts are spinning through his head. I don’t know what to say.

He gives me a sad look at my lack of response, and just for a moment, he doesn’t look like the mighty King Midas. He just looks like Tyndall. “Speak, Auren. I miss hearing your voice, spending time with you,” he says quietly, and my gaze softens a little.

I’m furious at him. I’m crushed. I don’t know where I stand with him or what’s going on, and yet I can’t say any of that because I don’t know how. So instead, I clear my throat and say, “You’ve been busy.”

He nods, but he makes no move to come closer to me, and I don’t either. There’s more than just the ten feet of space separating the two of us. There’s a hole dug between us too. A hole of his own making. And I’m terrified that one wrong step will have me tipping right over the edge, headfirst into a fall that I can’t recover from.

I stare at him, hope and fear burgeoning beneath my skin. He’s been harsh with me, harsher than he’s ever been before. I know he’s under a lot of stress, and I know that I should never have behaved that way publicly, but I’ve lost my footing with him. And then there’s the deal with Fulke.

My gold eyes sear into him.

You’re giving me to Fulke.

But even as I silently scream at him, that nagging voice in the back of my head chirps at me. This is Midas. This is the man who was once a vigilante. No crown, no title. Just a strong, confident man with a purpose. The one who rescued me and took me in. Elevated me until I became renowned throughout all of Sixth Kingdom—hell, all of Orea. He made me his gold-touched prize and held me up on a pedestal. But even before that, he was my friend.

And as I look at him now, I see what others don’t. What he doesn’t let them. I see the troubled cloud that’s hanging over his brows. The tightness of his shoulders. The stress that’s drawn lines on either side of his eyes.

“Are you alright?” I ask quietly, my words unsure.

My question seems to startle him and he straightens up, whatever quiet thoughtfulness there was between us suddenly snapping in half like a weakened rope.

“I need you to behave tonight, Auren.”

I blink at his words as they climb through the cogs and wheels of my mind, like I’m trying to interpret it in a different way, that he could mean something else, speaking in riddles or between the lines. But...there’s no other way to decipher this.

My throat feels dry. “Behave?”

“Wear the gown tonight. Mind your guards. Don’t speak unless addressed, and all will be well. You trust me, don’t you?” he asks, his face penetrating, unyielding.

My eyes prickle. I used to, I want to say. Now, I’m not so sure.

“Shouldn’t I always trust you?” I reply carefully.

Midas gives me another smile. “Of course you should, Precious.”

He turns and walks out of my dressing room, his steps echoing back at me as he walks out of my bedroom, where I hear the door to my cage clinking shut. I stay still until I hear his footsteps walk away, the bedroom door closing behind him, silencing the rest of his retreat.

A giant breath whooshes out of me, and my body nearly collapses into the chair in front of my vanity. I stare into the mirror, unseeing, my fingers trembling from the rush of emotions that leaks into me.

I’m so conflicted that my stomach churns, threatening to make me sick. “Get it together, Auren,” I chastise myself, pressing the heels of my palms against my eyes to force them to stop stinging.

He wants me to behave. He wants me to trust him. And hasn’t he earned my trust, after all these