Gleam: The dark fantasy romance TikTok sensation that’s sold over a million copies (Plated Prisoner Book 3)

The library door doesn’t slam shut behind me. It would’ve been more satisfying if it had. Not for the scribes, who’d surely curse me in their heads, but it would’ve pleased me immensely given my current mood.

Instead, all I get is the quiet snick of wood. Yet somehow, Osrik hears it and appears around the corner, his black leathers peeling him from the shadows as he waits for me.

For a big bastard, he’s quiet when he wants to be. All my Wrath are. They’ve had to learn skills like that over the years. Some of those skills are as harmless as learning to move silently, while other skills are…not so harmless.

Osrik takes one look at my expression and cocks a bushy brow. Stroking a hand down his brown beard, he studies me as I stalk down the hall toward him. He steps up to my side and matches my pace, and even though I’m not a short male by any means, Osrik’s height dwarfs mine, his bulky body swaying with every booted step.

“So, nice visit with Auren then?” he asks wryly, a smirk playing on his mouth.

I pin him with a glare. “Why don’t you take that piercing in your bottom lip and stick it through your top one too?”

Osrik lets out a chuckle, tongue flicking over the tiny piercing of Fourth’s twisted tree branch sigil. It’s one of his only tells. He flicks at it when he’s thinking, or pissed, or amused. So actually, I guess it’s a pretty shit tell.

“She’s done a number on you, huh?”

My irritation twitches with the vein in my temple. Beneath my skin, I can feel my power writhing like infected veins, rooting around for a source to latch onto. My fury feels the same, but I know exactly who I want to take it out on.

“He fucking hit her.”

Osrik stops in his tracks. I turn to face him, and his brown eyes blink at me, his round face going ruddy beneath his scruff. “What the fuck did you say?”

Only because we’re in a deserted hallway does he know he can talk to me like this. When we’re around others, we have to keep up the act of formality. But I don’t consider my Wrath my subjects or servants. They’re the only people in this whole damn world I trust. So when we’re not forced to play court, we can speak freely.

I’m glad for the anger I see on his face. Misery may love company, but anger thrives on it.

“Midas struck her. After the welcome dinner. She has a fucking bruise on her cheek.”

Osrik curses under his breath, but just saying it aloud makes me fist my hands at my sides. I hadn’t noticed the mark at first—I’d thought the dim lighting and the shadows were the reason behind the slight darkening along her cheek. Just the thought that the slimy shithead put his hands on her makes my blood boil.

“What do you wanna do?” Osrik asks evenly. “Kill the fucker?”

I have to smirk at the way he so effortlessly proposes we kill a king.

The thing is, if I asked them to, any of my Wrath would do it in a heartbeat. No hesitation, no questions asked. They’d slit Midas’s throat and be happy for the bloodstain on their blade.

Yet like I told Auren, there’s a reason why I’ve held back. Not just because of the political problems that would arise—and they would arise. Especially if it became known that I killed him or had any hand in it. I don’t even want to think about the repercussions my kingdom would face, and my people don’t deserve that.

The other kingdoms would form an alliance to get rid of me, no doubt. Then my people would be forced to live through more war, and if the others succeeded, my kingdom would have to live beneath a new king or queen.

Fuck that.

However, aside from those reasons, I’d still kill him if Auren asked me to. But she won’t. Just like she didn’t ask me not to leave Ranhold.

I let out a frustrated sigh. “As much as I want to…no.”

Auren’s eyes are opened now, she sees the bars for what they are, but killing the captor she loved is another matter entirely. So for now, I can do nothing, and that alone makes me rage, makes my irascible power grow moody and demanding. Or perhaps it’s the thought of her leaving, disappearing. As if she needs to run away from not just Midas, but me as well.

At my reply, Osrik lifts his lip in a disappointed sneer. “What if I just maim him a bit?”

A chuckle comes out of me, helping to dispose of the black cloud that’s looming over my thoughts. The two of us start walking the halls again while I think. Ranhold is a maze of corridors and staircases, and it can be easy to get lost within its stone and glass walls, though I’ve made a point to familiarize myself with most of it.

“I’ll let you know on the maiming,” I reply. “I wouldn’t mind castrating him.”

Osrik gives me a grunt in return.

“No moves on the prince?” I ask, switching subjects.

He shakes his head, the fasten around his long hair pulled at his nape. “No. Lu’s just left her watch for the night. If Midas is planning on killing the little twat, he’s not doing anything yet.”

I hum thoughtfully. “Where are the others?”

“Already back at camp. We received the hawks for updates back at Fourth.”

“All is well?” I ask.

“Yep.”

I roll my eyes in amusement. “Always so loquacious, Os.”

“Low what?”

My lips twitch. “Nothing.”

By the time we make it down to the ground floor, I’m feeling more in control, though my moody power is still brimming and volatile. I thought I was going to have to expel some magic right there in the library. I let my anger surge so much that my forms shifted back and forth, which hasn’t happened in years. It took everything to hold it back, but even then, I thought I was going to lose it. Until Auren touched me.

One touch, and she brought my magic to heel. I could practically taste her sunlit aura as it swept against mine. It’s a good thing no one else can see it but me, because people would’ve figured her out a long time ago. But distance and my own damn anger has my power stretching and slinking, like it wants to crawl out from beneath my skin and rot this whole damn castle.

I let out a controlled breath to get a handle on it, just as Osrik says, “You need to get rid of some of that.”

He and the others know better than anybody what can happen when I don’t use my power and I let it build up too much. “Later.”

The two of us stride across the great hall, ignoring the guards propped up like posts along the walls. I’ll feel better once I’m outside, away from this damn castle and Midas’s guards who watch us entirely too closely. Yet just as we round a corner, we come across the last person in the world who I want to see right now.

Midas.

Beside me, Osrik makes the barest of grunts, loud enough only for me to hear. I’ve had a long time to decipher his wordless noises, and this one is basically the equivalent of calling Midas a fuckhead.

I more than agree with his assessment.

Upon spotting us, the Golden King stops on his way into the ballroom, and I barely hold in a glower. The prick looks as pompous as always, with pure golden threads on his tunic, little extra embellishments along the hem and cuffs of his sleeves that he probably stared at in the mirror while he had his hair combed.

But what really bothers me about him are his shoes.

You can tell a lot about a man based on the shoes he wears. Midas always wears a new pair. Something shiny and gaudy, with soles that make a metallic click against the tiles like he enjoys boasting that he literally walks on gold.

“Ah, Ravinger. I’m glad at this chance meeting,” he says as Osrik and I approach. His king’s guard is six men strong, but every single one of them seems unnerved by Osrik as they cast him quick glances.

Midas is strict about my Wrath’s presence. If they’re in Ranhold, they have to be accompanying me, which is why Lu’s had to sneak around to keep her eye on the prince.

“Are you?” I reply smoothly, coming to a stop in front of him. My magic tightens like a fist, wanting to punch through my skin and rot him where he stands.

Midas nods. “I’d actually like to speak with you.”

I’d actually rather chew iron nails and shit them back out, but the life of a king isn’t easy.

“Fine.”

Together, Osrik and I follow Midas inside the ballroom, and my eyes immediately narrow at the sight of the space that’s been partially gilded. Golden tapestries bracket windows nearly forty feet high. Huge pillars along the far wall with darkened veins that were once marble now gleam in metallic luster. The banquet tables are covered in gold tablecloths, and the candelabras set atop them probably weigh more than I do. A corner dais has been erected for musicians, each and every instrument and stool gilt by magic.

The rest of the room still looks like it did before, with polished white floors and stone walls encased in glass, and a plain mezzanine balcony above. But the amount of power Auren would’ve had to use in order to gold-touch everything else must’ve been exhausting. The pillars alone are an incredible feat, and it pisses me off. That Midas has her use her power like this, nearly draining herself, all to boast his own image. Because this gold does nothing. It’s not for the people to use, it’s not counted in the royal coffers. It’s just a useless, wordless brag.

There are servants all over the place, cleaning windows, polishing floors, making repairs, or bringing in countless flower arrangements. Ladders have been erected in here too, and palace workers are installing candlesticks and dusting off grand chandeliers that look like sharp icicles ready to plummet.

Midas runs a critical gaze all around, and the workers seem to stiffen under his presence, each and every one of them making a point to stay busy. He stops walking to better assess the room or maybe just to make himself feel important. “They’re readying the space for the celebratory ball,” he explains.

Osrik stands to my right as I lean against the wall. “I can see that.”

From where we just entered, a line of women file inside, and I immediately recognize some of them as Midas’s royal saddles we took from the Red Raids and brought here.

Dressed in scantily clad gowns that hug every curve, the women all curtsy to Midas, some of them clumsily, their movements too languid, as they follow an old man who’s chattering away at them with obvious orders.

“My royal saddles,” Midas says with a smile. “Beautiful, aren’t they?” When I say nothing in return, his eyes move over to me. “If you’d like to make use of them, you need only ask. I’d be more than happy to gift some of them to you for the night.”

I have to work to keep the disgust off my face. How easily he uses people, like they’re nothing but possessions, toys to be traded. “No, thanks.”

Midas shrugs. “They’ll be tending to the room during the ball,” he says, once again watching them. “Odo is explaining their duties so they can prepare accordingly. Some of them will be performing, while others will be serving drinks, or whatever else I require of them.”

He’ll flaunt them as much as he flaunts his supposed wealth.

“Did you really bring me in here to talk about your ball preparations?” I ask in an impatient tone. The sooner I’m out of his presence, the better.

A peeved look crosses his face, but he quickly staunches it behind his fake facade. “Always ready to cut to the chase, Ravinger.”

“It makes for a more honest conversation, don’t you think?”

Midas gives a sly grin that makes me want to punch it right off his mouth. “Indeed, but one does not stay a king with honest conversations, as you well know.”

He’s right. When you’re a king, you have to play the game of conversation, and you have to do it better than everybody else. Normally, I’d be able to word twist with the best of them, but I have no patience for that right now. Not with the vision of Auren’s bruised cheek so fresh in my mind. Not with my power itching beneath my skin, begging to be let out. Not with him.

“What do you want, Midas?”

He loses his grin and turns to face me, but I don’t like the look in his eye. “I simply wanted to thank you for your continued alliance with Fifth and Sixth Kingdoms. Now that there is no worry of a boundary war, our people can rest a little easier. And after all, that’s what this ball is all about—celebrating alliances and a strong Orea.”

My mind tries to read between the lines so I can hook onto the words he’s not saying. Midas always has an angle. For years, I let him do what he wanted, so long as he didn’t try any shit with my kingdom.

“Like the stronger alliance you’re forming with Third,” I put in.

“Precisely.” Midas pretends to appraise the room again before he goes on to say, “I was so pleased we could come to an agreement to avoid battle. That plot of land you bargained for seemed to be such a small sacrifice in the name of peace.”

My shoulders go tense.

His brown eyes flit over to me, and I can see the bastard trying to read my expression, though he won’t be able to. I learned a long time ago how to shutter every feeling and thought away from my face.

“Deadwell,” he says, running a hand along his shaved chin. “A fitting name for the place you encroached on with your deadly rotting power. Such a curious piece of land, is it not? I’d thought it was nothing but a frozen wasteland at the border of Fifth, but that’s not entirely true, is it?”

My teeth grind. Out of all the times he could’ve approached me, it had to be right now, when I’m pissed beyond belief and my power is scraping beneath my skin.

When I don’t reply, Midas turns toward me fully, smug arrogance bleeding through his expression. “Drollard Village, ever heard of it?”noveldrama

My insides turn to ice. The chunk of sharp freeze appears right there in the center of my chest, ready to stab straight through.

Because of my encounter with Auren, because frustration is clawing relentlessly at my back, I let my expressionless mask crack. Just for a split second.

But Midas sees.

“Yes, I thought you had,” he goes on, and I don’t fucking like the gleam in his eye. Not one bit. “Drollard Village, an unsanctioned town, right there at the edge of Deadwell.”

Beside me, Osrik has gone as still as I have.

“Not very pleasant names are they?” Midas muses, toying with me. “But then, it’s not a very pleasant place.”

Fuck.

“Strange how it’s technically been a part of Fifth Kingdom all this time, yet there’s no record of it. Not part of any historical data or population information. The people there have never paid any taxes. In fact, Drollard Village isn’t even on any Fifth Kingdom maps. And now, it’s part of your territory,” he says, and the shrewd edge of his gaze tries to scrape over my expression, attempting to glean anything from my reaction.

I force a bored look over my face. “Yes, it is mine now. As you said, my power encroached on it, so I’ve simply made it officially part of my domain. As such, it’s not Fifth Kingdom’s interest anymore, seeing as how you gave up the rights to it. Unless you’re going back on your trade?” My question is a threat and we both know it.

“Not at all,” the slimy bastard replies. “I am a man of my word.”

I nearly roll my eyes at that.

“Of course, I had a few of my advisors escorted there in an official capacity to mark the new boundary lines. A king must keep up on his precise record-keeping, but I’m sure you agree, don’t you, Ravinger?”

My eyes drop down to where I know for a fact he has his little journal of scribbles hidden away in an inside pocket. “Yes, the notes a king keeps are very interesting.”

Midas finally loses the smarmy look on his face at what I’m implying. Good. Let him worry about whether or not I would’ve ever had a chance to get my eyes on his notebook.

It takes him a few seconds, but he springs back. “You know what’s also interesting about that tiny village? The people there were very forthcoming. It seems you visit quite often.”

There’s a roaring in my ears, and my power coils and snaps at my skin. Yet I hold it all back. I learned control a long time ago—I had to.

“What can I say? They make good jerky out there. I’m a repeat customer,” I drawl.

Midas’s lips tighten ever so slightly that I’m not rising to the bait. It’s obvious now that he has assumptions and inklings, but he’s fishing for more information.

“Since Deadwell is no longer Fifth’s concern, I’m confused as to why you seem so interested in it. As you said, it’s not a very pleasant place,” I add.

“No, certainly not,” he agrees with a tip of his head. “And my people will be out of Drollard Village the moment they finish drawing the new boundary lines, of course. It belongs to you now, and I think it’s important that we respect what belongs to others.”

And there it is—the knot he’s trying to weave. Always so many steps to get the perfect loops he likes to tie.

If I didn’t already have a tight leash on my reactions, I might have wavered again and given away too much. I need to get my shit together. I know better than to let my guard down while in his presence.

Temptation ferments on my tongue. The forbidden knowledge of his greatest secret is baiting me like a worm on a hook. The king in me wants to do it, to meet Midas on his playing board and tell him that I know his secret too, and his is a hell of a lot more damaging than mine. I’d enjoy kicking his arrogant feet right out from under him and putting panic in his eyes. But I hold back, because as gratifying as that would be, it would negatively affect Auren, and that isn’t something I’ll allow.

“What do you want, Midas?” I say with a sigh. “I have affairs to see to.”

“Then I’ll speak plainly.” Midas has lost the fake pleasant look on his face. “Deadwell is yours? Well, Auren is mine. I want your army commander to stay away from her.”

I knew something was going to come of his little power play at the dinner.

My gaze goes impassive. “You were the one who had him carry her to the harp. He has no interest in her.”

But I fucking do.

Midas’s lips press together in a hard line. “My people will leave Drollard Village when your commander leaves Ranhold.”

Last loop, pulled tight.

“Deadwell isn’t yours anymore, so you can pretend that you sent your advisors there in an official capacity, but I want them out of my village,” I remind him.

“It’s within my rights to re-mark boundary lines after a land exchange.”

Leaning in close, I let the fucker see the magic lines crawling up my neck. He can never look at it without flinching.

I need him out of Drollard. Every second he has eyes there is time for him to find out more shit I don’t want him knowing. No one has ever uncovered the secret I’ve kept buried there, and I sure as hell am not going to let him of all people gain entry to one of my only vulnerabilities.

Since he’s shorter than me, I lean my head down, albeit exaggeratedly, so that he can feel smaller than me as I look him in the eye. “I don’t like when people try to coerce me, Midas. It would serve you well to remember that I still have my army on your doorstep. Do you really want to get on my bad side?”

“Not at all,” he says easily, that annoying amiable tone back in his voice. “It’s about respect, is it not? As allies, we respect what belongs to others.”

The fact that he thinks he owns Auren makes me see red.

Just then, the old man leading around the gaggle of saddles interrupts with a bow. “Your Majesty, I have a few questions we need to address for the ball.”

“Of course, Odo,” Midas replies to the robed man before turning back to me. “I must see to some affairs,” he says, regurgitating my own damn excuse. “I’ll let my people know they can leave Deadwell at your earliest convenience. Although, I think they’re rather enjoying getting to know everyone there.” He sends me a smirk that makes me want to knock his teeth out. “Enjoy your night.”

Midas turns and walks off with his man, the saddles trailing after him in a sweep of perfume and swaying hips.

I can feel Osrik shoot me a look, but I shake my head imperceptibly, and then we stride out of the room, both of us knowing better than to speak until we get outside. Even when we pass through the main castle doors and are greeted by the stark night air with nothing but fog and frost, we wait.

Seething silently, the two of us pass through the front gates of the wall, where Ranhold’s soldiers spring to attention and open it for us in haste as soon as they see us coming. I don’t know who scares them more, Osrik or myself.

When we’re well enough away from the castle’s walls and heading for my army’s camp just over the crest of the snow-clad hill, Osrik finally lets out a curse. “That fucker,” he growls. “How the hell did he find Drollard?”

“Scouts, obviously. I should’ve anticipated that he’d send people when I traded for Deadwell,” I say, pissed at myself for not preparing for that. I was preoccupied, distracted. I’ve had tunnel vision with Auren and let some of my responsibilities slip through the cracks.

“We didn’t expect for him to put in the effort. Not for a land known for being empty.”

“I still should’ve planned for it just in case,” I reply, the frustration in my voice coming out in a cloud of cold.

The two of us walk in silence for a moment, the only sound coming from the trek of our boots as we cut through the snow. The glow of campfires hangs at the top of the hill where most of my soldiers are gathered. The rest are probably still in Ranhold City finding whatever entertainments they have enough coin for.

“What are you going to do?” Osrik asks.

“I need Midas out of there,” I reply with frustration. “Maybe I should send all of you. Make sure the situation is handled.”

Osrik cuts me a look as we get to the top of the hill, just as countless leather tents fill my view.

“Fuck that. We’re not leaving you here with that golden prick.”

I cast him a look. “Worried about me, Os?”

He stops walking, turning his huge bulk to block my path. “If you really want us to go, you know we will. We’re your Wrath, and we will carry out whatever action you want, you just say the word. But Lu is gonna be pissed if you have no one to watch your back.”

“You’re a bunch of mother hens,” I mutter with a shake of my head.

Osrik just smirks. “Yep.”

With a sigh, I scrub a hand down my face. This was the last thing I needed right now. My responsibilities are piling up, and now I have to deal with Midas sticking his nose where I can’t have him or anyone else sniffing around. I didn’t go through all of this trouble to finally lay claim to Deadwell, just for Midas to figure out why I want it.

“Make Midas back off by doing what he wants and send your army commander to Deadwell,” Osrik suggests with a wry twist of his lips. “I’m sick of the fucker anyway.”

I chuckle low, watching some of my soldiers walking around in the distance, dark shadows moving from tent to tent. “We need to get back to Fourth. Maybe we should all move out.”

Osrik’s bushy brows rise up. “Leave? Without…?”

My teeth grind at the thought.

It goes against every instinct, but if I don’t respect her wishes, I’m no better than Midas.

I sweep my gaze along the castle as if I can see straight through the walls within. “We’ll leave in two days. Fuck the ball and the priggish prince. I should let them all plot and scheme to their graves. Stay in Fourth and forget all about these fucking monarchs.”

Osrik hesitates, probably at the frustration sharpening my tone. “You sure about that?”

My nod feels heavy, the roots of my power pinching at my skin. I’m surging with restless energy. “I’ll get Midas’s spies out of Deadwell myself. They’ll have nothing to report if they’re rotting corpses.”

“If that’s what you want to do, then we’ll make it happen.”

Simple as that. And yet, leaving is anything but simple.

“But are you sure you want to leave so soon?” he presses.

My magic snaps at the thought, and I’m forced to fist my hands at my sides. Instead of answering him, I turn on my heel, heading away from camp, my boots clomping through the deep snow as I cut toward the copse of trees in the distance.

“Where are you going?” Osrik calls behind me.

“Need to go rot something,” I reply over my shoulder. I hear him grumble something under his breath, but he leaves me to it.

It’s time to face facts. Like I told Auren, I’ve been away from my kingdom for too long. She’s made her choice, and I have to accept that, no matter how strongly my instincts try to convince me otherwise. No matter how much my magic rebels.

I abhor the politics that Midas plays, so perhaps it’s time to cut ties and just let it all play out. I’ll return to Fourth, shore up my borders, and go back to not caring about the other kingdoms, so long as they don’t try to fuck with mine. Since Midas is big on appearances, it’ll piss him off immensely if I leave early and skip his celebration, so that’s one bit of silver lining I have.

I’d really only been staying here for one reason anyway, and it certainly wasn’t for a fucking ball.