Glint (Plated Prisoner Book 2)

“Come, Auren.”

I look back at Midas, at his outstretched hand. Such a simple gesture to many, but for me, it’s a big deal.

It took me a while to willingly place my palm in his. Every time he did it before, I’d flinch.

But he’s been so patient with me, so kind. I’ve never known kindness before, not since I was a little girl still safe at home with my parents.

I slip my hand into his before I glance longingly back at the fire several yards away, at the group of nomads gathered around it on the grass, the pond glittering behind them.

Midas and I are normally alone on the road, but we’re going to cross out of Second Kingdom soon, and there are always more travelers near the borders. The nomads have been keeping pace with us for a few days now, and I’m curious about them.

“Can’t we share their fire?” I ask as Midas starts to tug me away. The night is balmy with a hint of a breeze, an inky sky dipped with a dusting of stars.

“No, Precious.”

Every time he calls me that, I still get butterflies in my stomach. The fact that anyone would consider me precious, let alone someone as handsome as him, makes me surge with newfound happiness.

I keep thinking that this happiness is going to be torn away—that he’s going to leave, but Midas tells me I don’t ever have to worry about that.

He pulls me to our own small campfire, and I settle myself close to his side. I keep my thigh pressed against his because I crave the contact. Now that I’m getting touches that aren’t meant to hurt, I can’t get enough.

“Why not?” I ask curiously. Midas is so friendly and charismatic. I’m surprised that he doesn’t seem to care for the company of others.

He releases my hand so he can grab the meat he’s been roasting, and he splits off the bigger piece for me. I smile as I take it, biting into the tender meal with relish.

“Because it’s best that we keep to ourselves,” Midas patiently explains while he eats, stripping the meat of the bone. “You can’t trust people, Auren.”

I look across at him, wondering if he’s learned that the hard way, as I have. Neither of us likes to talk about our past, though, and I’m glad he doesn’t needle me. We’re both happier in the here and now.

“I thought it would be nice to have other company,” I admit quietly, slurping the juices from my fingers as I finish up the last of the meat. “We’ve been traveling, just the two of us, for a couple months now. Thought you might be getting bored of me,” I tease, but there’s always a hint of question there, always an edge of self-doubt.

I still don’t understand why someone like him bothers with someone like me.Content from NôvelDr(a)ma.Org.

Midas turns to look at my face, the orange glow of the flames blending with his eyes, making them crackle with warmth. He reaches over and strokes a thumb over my cheek. “I will never get bored of you, Auren. You’re perfect.”

My breath catches in my throat. “You think I’m perfect?”

He leans in and kisses me, and I don’t even mind that our lips are greased with food or that the smoke of the fire clings to my hair. He thinks I’m perfect. He saved me, and he’ll never tire of me, and he thinks I’m perfect enough to kiss.

I didn’t know happiness could ever feel like this.

When he pulls back, his flame-filled eyes caress my face, an adoring look in his expression. “Don’t ever think that I’ll get bored of you or that you aren’t precious to me. You’re my gold-touched girl, right?”

I nod shyly, my tongue darting out to lick my lips, tasting the sweetness of his kiss. This still feels so new, so fragile. My heart is full enough to burst, and I’m always afraid that it will.

“Why me, Midas?” I ask quietly, my question slipping out to float in the air.

It’s one that’s been tumbling silently in my head for weeks, months, ever since he lifted me up from my lonely squalor, stuck in an alleyway with nowhere to go, no one to care.

Maybe I’m finally letting the words out because he breathed some of his unending confidence into me. Or maybe I feel bolder when I’m shadowed by night.

I think some questions can’t bear to face the light. It’s easier for hesitant words and feared answers to be given in the dark. At least then, we can hide them in the shadows—hide ourselves from them.

I wait for him to answer, my fingers curling in the grass, plucking at the blades just so I have something to do with my hands.

Midas taps my chin so I’ll look up at him. “What do you mean?”

I shrug self-consciously. “You could’ve taken anyone else at that village after you got rid of the raiders. There were plenty of others scared and crying,” I say, my eyes dropping down to the top of his gold tunic where the laces have come undone, showing his tanned skin beneath. “Why me? Why did you come into that alleyway and decide to take me with you?”

Midas reaches over and pulls me onto his lap. My stomach leaps at the contact, an automatic reaction caught between having fear of a person’s touch and surprise at liking it. As soon as the initial tension is gone, I settle against him, my head resting on his chest.

“It was always going to be you,” he says quietly. “As soon as I saw your face, I was already lost to you, Auren.” He picks up my hand and places it over his chest. I feel the beat of his life thrum against my fingers, like it’s singing a song just for me. “Hear that? You have my heart, Precious. Always.”

A smile stretches my lips, and I bury my face into his neck, nuzzle against the staccato of his pulse. I feel so light and happy that I’m surprised I don’t float into the air and sparkle with the stars.

He places a kiss on my hair. “Let’s get to bed,” he murmurs before tapping me on the nose. “We can’t oversleep.”

I nod against him, but instead of putting me down, he carries me to the tent, ducking inside. He lays me down on our blanket roll gently, and I fall asleep in his arms, snuggled up against him.

I’m not sure what exactly wakes me up.

Maybe it was a sound. Maybe it was intuition.

I sit up in the dark, noting that there’s no more orange glow floating through our tent, which means the fire has gone out, probably hours ago.

Beside me, Midas is sleeping, soft snores coming from his parted mouth. I smile because those cooed rumbles make him so endearing for some reason, like a secret only I know about him, an innocent vulnerability.

I look around with my head tilted, listening to the quiet night, wondering what could have pulled me out of such a deep sleep.

But I hear nothing. Dawn is probably not too far away though, so I decide to slip quietly out of the tent and go wash up a bit before it’s time to leave.

Outside, I pass the charred and ashen pit of our old fire, and I stretch my arms over my head, looking around at the moonlit surroundings. All is still, nothing out of place, the soft chirping of crickets sounding off near the pond.

I head that way, wanting to take advantage of the empty water while I can. My bare feet sink into the plush grass with every step as I pick my way toward the water. The open plain is dusted with a few trees here and there, and I can see the shadows of the nomads’ tents in the distance, their camp quiet enough that I can tell everyone is still sleeping.

When I get to the pond, I start to undress, toe dipping into the water to get a feel. It’s cold, but not too bad. I’ll just take a quick dip to wash before the sun dawns.

I start to loosen the gold ties at my collar when a hand suddenly slams over my mouth.

Startled, a yelp flies out of me, uselessly caught in the palm of someone’s hand. The person’s other arm comes around me, bending around my throat, making me choke.

“Get her clothes,” the man’s voice barks out against my ear.

My eyes are as wide as saucers as my tunic is tugged, the material pinching my skin painfully.

In my panic, my frenzied senses tell me that there are three of them—two women and the man holding me from behind.

No, not two women, I realize. One of them is just a girl, about my age. I recognize her. This family belongs to the traveling nomads.

I struggle, trying to kick, but the man holds me tighter, making it hard to breathe. “Hold still and this will go better for you,” he says low in my ear.

The woman trying to tear off my shirt looks over her shoulder. “Pass me the knife,” she hisses at her daughter.

The girl is apparently the lookout, but she rushes forward, a glint of metal shining as she passes a pocketknife to her mother. I try to look at her, pleading with my eyes, but she doesn’t even look at me.

I try to buck the man away and tear his arm away from my neck. I attempt to scream past the man’s fingers, teeth gnashing, trying to bite, but he just shoves his fingers in my mouth and presses on my tongue, making me gag.

In the next moment, I hear a slicing sound, and then a bite of pain slashes across my stomach. I scream as the shirt is cut from my body, my long skirt and leggings following directly after.

“Quick! Give me the knife!” the man hisses.

I’m going to die. He’s about to slit my throat, and all I can think is—Midas was right.

You can’t trust people.

The man fists my hair in his hand, blessedly letting go of my neck and my mouth, but I’m too busy gulping in the much-needed air that I don’t have the breath to scream. My throat is so battered, I’m not even sure if I can.

My neck is wrenched to the side as he pulls my hair with an agonizing tug, and then there’s a horrible sawing as he begins to cut through my thick golden tresses.

I’m shoved down onto the ground, naked, scalp screaming, throat bruised.

When the last of my hair is cut, there’s no more grip on my body, so I drop uselessly to the ground like soiled laundry dumped on the floor. I can’t get up, I’m too stuck in shock, too focused on taking in one ragged inhale after another.

If they say anything to me, I don’t hear it. All I know is their footsteps run away, taking their menacing shadows with them, and then I’m alone, crumpled in a heap at the edge of the pond. One foot is lying ankle-deep in the cold water while the rest of me is sunken into the grass, but I don’t feel it.

I’m not sure how long I lie there, but I’m too afraid to move. Too afraid to get up and find Midas. Too afraid of everything.

But Midas finds me. Just like before, in that alleyway, he finds me broken on the ground, beneath a watching moon.

I hear him call my name, hear him curse. Then he’s gathering me into his arms, and my tears fall down as he lifts me up.

I cry into his golden tunic, my tears soaking through to his chest—that chest that’s still beating, still singing to me.

I feel the scratchy, crooked ends of my shorn hair scrape against my cheeks. I feel the slice on my stomach where the sloppy blade cut into my skin. But mostly, I just feel fear.

Midas takes care of me, and even though I know I must look ugly now, and that he must be angry that I left the tent without him, he doesn’t say anything. He simply washes the green stains off my skin, cleans the cut on my belly, and kisses my wet cheeks.

All the while, his earlier declaration becomes my mantra, one that makes my heart harden, makes my fear solidify, makes me want to hide away from the world forever.

You can’t trust people.

The only person I can trust is him.

I promise myself right then and there, that from now on, that’s what I’ll do. I will always trust him, in all things, because he knows what’s best. He’s always right.

I’m done with the ugliness of this world, and I want him to keep me safe from it.

All of it.