Glint (Plated Prisoner Book 2)

I hold my breath, watching the commander without blinking, my body tense and alert. In this moment, I’m going to find out what it truly means to be his prisoner.

My mind whirls. Endless possibilities flit through my thoughts one after another as I attempt to brace myself.

Will he snatch me by my hair and drag me out? Will he threaten me, manhandle me? Will he force me to strip so he can see the gilt on every inch of my skin? Will he pass me around to his soldiers? Will I be forced to wear chains?

I don’t dare let my thoughts show on my face. I can’t give any indication of the what-ifs pounding against my skull.

All the grief, all the worry, I wrap it up like old yarn on a spool, tucking away every frayed strand. Because if I show him my fear, if I reveal my weaknesses to this male, he’ll latch onto those threads and yank them all, unraveling me completely.  

Shove down weakness, and strength will rise…

Those old, nearly forgotten words float up from out of nowhere, as if my mind saved them for me, ready to pluck them out when I needed them most.

I remember suddenly how that was hummed against my ear, spoken softly, but carrying an edge of steel.

They echo through me now, and it helps me to pull my shoulders back, helps me to tip my chin up to face the commander head-on.

He has a helmet tucked beneath his arm and his black hair is slightly rumpled from the long hours of wearing it. I take in his pale face, the short and blunted row of tiny spikes above each dark eyebrow. His pressing aura saturates the air, coating my tongue like icing sugar, clogging every taste bud.

It tastes like power.

I wonder how people would react if they knew what he truly was. Not a man with residual magic running in his veins from distant fae ancestors. Not someone whose body was corrupted and morphed by King Rot. Not just an army commander with a bloodthirsty rage who enjoys ripping the heads off his enemies.

No, he’s something deadlier. More fearful. A full-blooded fae, hiding in plain sight.

If they knew the truth, would they run in fear? Or would they rise up against him like Oreans did hundreds of years ago, killing him, like they killed all the rest?

Some fae fought back during that dark time, but they were outnumbered, and even with their superior magic, it wasn’t enough. For some fae, they simply didn’t want to fight. They didn’t want to kill the people who they considered friends, lovers, family.

But one look at him, and I know that Commander Rip would fight. He would fight, and Orea would lose.

It may have been hundreds of years since Orea and Annwyn—the realm of the fae—were cleaved apart, but even still, I’m shocked that no one knows, that no one sees what he truly is, when it’s so incredibly obvious to me.   

Based on the intensity of Rip’s gaze, I know that I’m not the only one whose mind is turning as we study each other in silence, judging, analyzing, considering.

Curiosity tumbles through me like a windswept plant with no roots. I wonder how Commander Rip got here, what his purpose is. Is he simply King Ravinger’s hired guard dog, put out on a leash to snap and snarl at enemies? Or does he have another agenda?

He assesses every inch of me while I sit, trapped in the confines of the carriage, and I can see him mentally taking notes. It takes everything in me not to fidget, not to cringe beneath his stare.

His eyes catch on my swollen cheek and split lip before dropping down to my crumpled ribbons sprawled throughout the space. I don’t like his interest in them. Every time he looks at them, I want to hide them away. I would’ve wrapped them around my torso to keep them out of sight if they weren’t so sore.

When he’s finally done with his appraisal, he lifts his black eyes to look into mine. I tense, waiting for him to haul me out, bark orders, or issue threats, but he just continues to look at me, as if he’s waiting for something.

If he wants me to break or cry or plead, I refuse. I won’t fold under the pressure of his scrutiny or shatter beneath his piercing silence. I’ll sit here all damned night if I have to.

Unfortunately, my stomach doesn’t seem to have the same stubborn will as I do, because right then, it lets out an obnoxiously loud growl.

The commander’s eyes narrow at the sound, as if it personally offends him. “You’re hungry.”

If I wasn’t so terrified, I’d roll my eyes. “Of course I’m hungry. I’ve been in this carriage all day, and it’s not as if the Red Raids gave us a lavish meal after they captured us.”

If the disrespect in my tone surprises him, he doesn’t show it.

“Goldfinch has some bite to her beak,” he murmurs, his eyes flicking over the feathers on my coat’s sleeve.

I bristle at the nickname, my jaw going tight.

There’s something about him. Or maybe it’s something about me after the hell I’ve faced. Whatever the reason, be it circumstances or a clash of natures, anger begins to dominate my emotions. I try to clamp down on the response like a spring in a mouse trap, but it doesn’t want to settle.

I should stay impassive, untouchable. I need to be a stone in the middle of his rushing current. I’m in the thick of it now, more vulnerable than ever, and I can’t afford to get swept away.

The commander tips his head. “You’ll stay in the tent right there,” he says, his hand motioning to his left. “Food and water will be brought to you. The latrine is at the outskirts of the camp to the west.”

I wait for more instructions, or threats, or violence, but none come. “That’s it?” I ask with distrust.

He cocks his head, the move so very fae-like, and I catch a glimpse of the highest spike between his shoulder blades. “What were you expecting?”

I narrow my eyes. “You’re the most feared army commander in all of Orea. I don’t expect you to behave any other way but to reflect your reputation.”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, he leans in, arms braced against the frame of the carriage, the wicked spikes along his forearms on display. The faint gray iridescent scales along his cheekbones glint like the flash of a silver blade, a warning all its own.

The breath I was inhaling stops in its tracks, sticking in my chest like syrup, clogging my throat.

“Since you seem to already know the character of the person whose custody you’re in, I won’t waste your time on explaining anything to you,” Rip says, his voice low, a chilling edge slicing the tip of each word. “You seem to be an intelligent female, so I shouldn’t need to tell you that you can’t leave. You’d freeze to death out here on your own, and I’d find you anyway.”

My heart gallops in my chest, his promise teetering on a threat.

I’d find you.

Not his soldiers would find me, but him personally. I have no doubt he’d search all over the Barrens and hunt me down if I tried to get away. He really would find me, too. That’s just the kind of luck I have.

“King Midas will kill you for taking me,” I say in response, even though my entire body wants to cringe back from his nearness, from his overwhelming presence that fills up the interior of the carriage.

The corner of his mouth curves as much as his bowing spikes. “I look forward to the attempt.”

His arrogance turns my stomach, but the problem is, I know his cockiness is warranted. Even without the powerful, ancient fae magic I can sense in him, he’s a warrior through and through. With muscles boasting of strength and a demeanor that confesses his deadliness, he’s not someone I want anywhere near Midas.
Some of my thoughts must slip through the cracks of my stoicism, because he straightens up, expression melting into condescension. “Ah, I see now.”

“See what?”

“You care for your King Captor.” He practically spits the words, accusation as sharp as his fangs.

I blink at him, at the hatred dripping off his lips like a slow, cold rain. If I confirm it, what will he do to use it against me? If I deny it, would he believe me?  Text © owned by NôvelDrama.Org.

He makes a derisive noise at the look on my face. “The goldfinch likes her cage. What a shame.”

My hands curl in anger. I don’t need his judgment, his scorn, his complete assumption that he knows me and my circumstances or has any right to criticize my relationship with Midas. “You don’t know me.”

“Don’t I?” he fires back, his voice grating against my ears. “Everyone in Orea knows about Midas’s favored as much as they know about his golden touch.”

My eyes flash. “Just as everyone knows about King Rot sending out his leashed monster to do his dirty work,” I say, giving the spikes on his forearm a pointed look.

A dark reverberation in the air around him coils, making the hairs on the back of my neck rise. “Oh, Goldfinch. You think I’m a monster now, but you haven’t seen anything yet.”

The implied threat sweeps in like an arid wind, making my mouth go dry.

I need to be very careful with this male. I need to avoid him at all costs, skirt around his viciousness, and try to come out unscathed. But I can’t plan ahead if I don’t know what to expect.

“What are you going to do with me?” I ask, risking the vulnerable question in hopes it will give me a hint of what’s to come.

A dark, threatening smile forms on his lips. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m bringing you back to the captor you miss so much. What a reunion that will be.”

Without another word, the commander turns on his heel and leaves me there to stare after him, my pulse pounding in tune with his footsteps.

I’m not sure what he has planned for my king, but I know it’s nothing good. Midas is expecting his saddles and his favored to arrive, not an enemy army marching up to his doorstep.

Forcing myself to get out of the carriage, my ribbons dragging behind me in the snow, a knowing resignation fills me. I know what I have to do. I need to figure out a way to warn my king.

I just hope it doesn’t cost me my life.