Gleam (The Plated Prisoner Series Book 3)

by Raven Kennedy

  He stops abruptly at the top of the stairs and then swings me around, suddenly settling my bottom down on the flat railing on the landing, facing my body toward his. I grip the railing beneath me, centering myself before I go pitching backwards, but I don’t need to, because his arms are already steadying me.

  He boldly wraps his hand around the base of my head, fingers pressing against my nape with enough pressure to send tingles down my spine. Breath is locked in my chest as he angles my head toward his, lowering his face right in front of mine. He’s all I see, blocking out everything else until he’s all that exists.

  “My own good?” The question is like a snarl, caught in the web of scales on his cheek. His voice is right there, felt against my lips like the sweep of a tongue, sinking past my ears and settling into my chest and making my entire body go on alert.

  My ribbons are as frozen as the rest of me, snakes caught in the eyes of a charmer. “Y-yes.”

  The intensity of his gaze lights a fire in my belly. “My own good was stuck on a pirate ship, with an aura like a beacon that flared across the Barrens,” he grits out, a thick spun voice meant to tie knots around me. “My own good was cowering before men who were nothing—fucking nothing—in comparison to her.”

  All of my ability to breathe is gone as I stare at him in shock.

  “My own good hated me, fought me, argued with me, but I didn’t care, because I watched her slowly come out of her shell, peeling back one layer at a time, and it was stunning.” He raises a finger in front of my face. “I got one touch. One taste, and if it was an act of selfishness, then you should know, it certainly wasn’t one-sided, Auren.”

  I can’t blink.

  I can’t think.

  “What...what are you saying?” My chest heaves with the breathless question, like undulating waves in an uncertain sea.

  I might drown in the depths of his bottomless eyes.

  His teeth snap together, as if my uncertainty sets him on edge. “I’m saying that you are my own good. And for you, I gave you a choice, but you chose him.”

  A storm rattles in my skull. A coiled collection of impregnated clouds billowing through my head, thundering through my pulse and threatening rain to fall at my cheeks.

  But you chose him.

  “Rip—”

  “You will always choose him. That’s what you told me.”

  I flinch at my own words that he tosses back in my face, a tumultuous deluge sluicing past the dam of my cracking walls.

  “Is it still true?” he asks, like a desperate demand.

  Water beads against my lids, a golden gaze hinged to pitch-black. The first drop trickles down my cheek, squeezing past my splintering resolve. But when I open my mouth to answer him, no words come.

  Instead, Rip moves, and I move with him, wind and rain in harmonious tandem. My body turns, and he steps between my legs where I’m perched on the railing, one hand braced to my right, arm curled against my side to keep me from falling. That thumb against the nape of my neck holds firm, fingers dug into my loose hair.

  When his mouth comes down, when it’s against my cheek to soak up the tear, I forget how to breathe. His firm lips take in my riot, like he wants to sip from my soul.

  And I want to let him.

  Pressing closer and closer, we act like we aren’t in Ranhold Castle where any number of people could be watching, but in a private void of our own making, a place where nothing else exists.

  His mouth skims past my cheekbone, just below my ear, hot breath breezed against the sensitive skin. My hands tighten against the railing on either side of me, and I don’t dare move, not with my thighs already squeezing his hips, not when all I want to do is turn my head and fuse my lips against his.

  “Tell a truth for a truth,” he murmurs, voice pebbling my skin.

  “Or keep a secret for a secret,” I finish.

  A hot tongue darts out, brined with the salt of my tear, and I have to suppress a moan. The dangerous pinch of his teeth land against my neck, making my head tilt in precarious invitation.

  His hand moves until he’s cupping my jaw like he’s ready to drink right from my lips.

  “Tell me, Auren.”

  Fear widens my eyes, clearing some of the lusty haze. It hammers my heart, makes my mouth go dry. His words seem simple, but he’s asking for everything. If I give in, if I speak out, there will be no going back.

  He’s a male. A king. Someone with secrets and plans. I don’t want to repeat my mistakes, and I’m terrified of getting hurt again.

  A tortured whisper drizzles out with the shake of my head. “I can’t.”

  Disappointment drenches us both.

  For a long moment, we just look at each other, soaking in dreary regret.

  And then Rip pulls away, leaving me to sway, to roll without roots.

  “Let’s get you to your room,” he says.

  I can only nod, unable to look him in the eye for fear of what I’ll see there.

  In the span of a breath, his warmth, his intimate touch, it’s gone. The openness, the softness, they’re replaced by cold detachment, so remote that it’s like we’re suddenly a world apart.

  The distance is agonizing.

  Chapter 16

  AUREN

  Rip plucks me off the railing. His hold is different now, like he’s mentally already let go. His touch withdrawn.

  I hate it.

  I hate that I hate it.

  I hate that this is so hard. So confusing. So terrifying.

  My bottom lip quivers, but I bite down on it. Regret blooms in the pit of my stomach, festering and weighty. Yet I’m too terrified of this constant pull between us, too scared of making the wrong call. His words and touches have left me with a clamor, the ruckus too deafening to think through.

  Rip isn’t Midas, I know that. So far, he’s never used me, even when it would’ve benefited him. So maybe deep down I’m fighting that notion, that fear I have that he’ll hurt me like Midas did. Which is why I hear myself admitting, “I don’t choose him. Not anymore. I’m choosing me.”

  Rip’s stride falters for a single footstep. Just a breadth of boot over the carpeted runner beneath his feet, but I feel it when my words stick to his soles. But then his steps resume, sure and steady, no reply forthcoming, and I wonder if maybe I imagined it.

  All too soon, or maybe after way too long, we’re outside my door. Scofield is there with another guard I don’t recognize.

  “My lady?” he asks, eyes going wide. “What—”

  “Lady Auren fell on the stairs,” Rip explains. “I’m taking her inside.”

  Scofield tries to address me again, but Rip fits the key into the lock and carries me inside without missing a beat or giving the guards a chance to do anything. With a kick to the door, he closes it behind us, eyes sweeping the darkening room, the fire nearly gone out.

  “Where do you want me to set you?”

  My throat squeezes at the indifference in his tone. “The balcony. Please.” I need to feel the fresh air. I need to breathe in the night and let my lungs fill with something other than the warmth of Rip’s chest. Maybe that will help to dissipate this swarm of emotions hopping beneath my skin.

  With a terse nod, he crosses the room, grabbing a pillow and blanket from the bed on his way. He opens the glass balcony door and drops the pillow onto the chair before setting me on it. The blanket is draped around me, but even that doesn’t staunch the cold loss I feel as soon as he’s no longer touching me.

  My lips part to say something, anything, to try and lessen these miles between us. But he’s already turned away, past the balcony and back into my room without so much as a goodbye. I suppose I don’t deserve one, anyway.

  With a shaky exhale, I turn from the doors and settle into the chair, wrapping the downy blanket tight around me as I try to tell myself this is for the best.

  I feel my overheated body cool, feel the overtaxed sweat go dry against my bu
rnished skin. But even in the quiet, stark air, my thoughts don’t even out, my emotions don’t stop swirling.

  I keep replaying every wickedly exquisite second we shared as he held me braced on the railing. I keep feeling the scrape of his lips against my skin and the way his solid arms held me against his chest. How is it that I could feel so safe in his arms, and yet in such danger at the same time?

  My body may be tired, but the interaction with Rip has left my mind buzzing.

  Those things he said...

  My own good. How in the world can I be anyone’s good when I feel so bad?

  Another tear makes the trek down my face, and I don’t even bother swiping it away. I just lean back, head pillowed by the blanket against the high back chair, my eyes closed to the cold.

  I’ve no idea how long I sit there while the night grows darker, but a blanket of black has covered the sky when the sound of footsteps jolts me from my agonized contemplation.

  Looking over, I find Rip’s silhouette lit up by the fire he must’ve coaxed back to life in my room. I hadn’t even heard him moving around in there. I thought he’d left. There’s a tray of food in his hand that he sets down on the small iron table next to me, the smell of sugared rolls immediately filling my nose.

  “You brought me food?”

  “A servant came to the door to deliver it,” he tells me, tone carefully guarded. “You should eat. It might help with the power drain.”

  My mouth waters at the sight of it as I sit up, tucking the blanket around me so I can free my arms. “I’m starved.” I cast him a quick look through my lashes. “Thank you.”

  He gives me a single nod and then turns to leave, but I find my hand shooting out to catch his arm before I even realize what I’m doing. We both stare down at my gloved fingers curled around his wrist, and I’m not sure which of us is more shocked that I grabbed him.

  I quickly let go, a flush rising over my cooled face. “Sorry, I didn’t...” I clear my throat. “I mean… Do you want to stay and eat with me?”

  Vulnerable. That quiet question is so very vulnerable.

  Maybe all my good sense drained out through my palms right along with the gold, but I don’t want him to go. There’s this cavern split inside of me, a bleak loneliness that widened the moment I denied him the truth.

  Rip stares down at me but says nothing, and shame crawls over me like creeping ants, making me want to itch. What I’m doing isn’t fair to either of us.

  I should’ve hardened myself against him just like I did with Midas. I want to. I’ve tried to. So why can’t I hate him, like I hate Midas? It would make everything so much easier.

  I can see in his conflicted face that he’s going to deny me, shut me down just like I did to him on the railing. So I beat him to it.

  “Never mind. Thank you for carrying me upstairs.”

  He just stares down at me, expression unreadable in the dark.

  “Really,” I say nervously. “Don’t feel obligated to stay with me just because I asked. It’s probably a bad idea, anyway. I have a power hangover, and after that moment on the railing...” I trail off, like my blush has stolen my voice. “Anyway. I’m still furious with you for lying to me, you know, and it’s obvious you’re angry with me now too, so it’s probably better that you don’t stay anyway.”

  He shakes his head, looking up at the sky for a moment as if he’s trying to see if he can find some patience tucked away with the budding stars. Maybe he finds some after all, because he lets out a breath and says, “Well, with an invitation like that, how could I resist?”

  To my surprise, he sits down in the chair next to me, and I’m not sure if I’m more freaked out or relieved.

  I watch him from the corner of my eye as we begin to eat the food on the tray together, always careful that our hands don’t touch, not even letting them get within an inch of each other. My nerves are extra aware of him, and I swear I see his gaze keep landing on the side of my neck, following the path where his mouth traveled.

  This was definitely a bad idea.

  For a few minutes, the silence between us is a burden. It’s carried on our tense shoulders, groped by stiff hands. But slowly, the weight of it comes off, slipping into something easier, something familiar. For a moment, I can almost pretend we’re back with his army, sharing the quiet of the tent.

  I devour two sugared rolls, some honeyed ham, and fruit dipped in cherry-red syrup. I’ve found that the food here is always sweet and sticky, though I don’t really mind right now, since every time I lick my fingers, I feel Rip’s eyes cut over to me.

  When we’ve cleared the entire tray, I feel better, no longer like I might topple over any second. With a mug of steamed mead cradled in my palms, I lean back with a sigh just as it begins to snow. The flakes tear off from the clouds, falling like confetti paper ripped off onto a parchment ground.

  Soft, slow, comforting.

  I look up, letting snow fall onto my lashes, and when I turn to glance at Rip, I find he’s already looking at me.

  “So, still angry at me?” he asks with a wry tinge to his tone. I leap at it, relieved to end the silence, to move past the rebuttal on the stairwell.

  “Furious.”

  Rip tips his head down, as if he expected nothing less.

  “You?” I ask him.

  “Livid.”

  Our mouths twitch in synchronicity, shared smirks tipping up at the corners.

  He leans back in his chair, the spikes along his back disappearing beneath his leathers. “We’re quite the pair, you and I.”

  At his words, chills scatter over my arms, even though I’m wrapped beneath the blanket. “What do you mean?”

  There’s an enigmatic look on his face that I can’t decipher, and he opens his mouth to answer, but appears to reconsider, going silent once more. Flakes of snow land on his black hair, soaking into the inky locks while he considers me with that intensity I’ve grown so accustomed to.

  “It’s remarkable, you know.”

  “What is?” I ask.

  “We might be the last two fae in the entire world, and somehow, our paths crossed that night.”

  His words from before, about how my aura was a beacon that he followed, make a lump appear in my throat. “Fate does funny things.”

  “It does,” he murmurs, thumb brushing against his bottom lip as he regards me.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  He arches a brow. “You know the rules.”

  “You know enough of my secrets,” I reply with exasperation. “I want to know how you’re tricking everyone. I saw you outside the stables, with Fake Rip.”

  His eyes dance. “You mean when you were checking me out.”

  My face immediately grows hot, and my mouth pops open. “I was not checking you out!”

  His white teeth gleam in the night. “Little liar.”

  I cross my arms. “Well?” I demand, trying my best not to look flustered.

  “Well what?” he deflects with a grin.

  “Figures,” I grumble. “Alright, then tell me this, why do they really call you Rip?” The question has been plucking at me, an itch I can’t find to scratch.

  He crosses his ankles in front of him as he stretches out, and my eyes fall to his strong thighs before lifting back up again. “Now that is an interesting answer.”

  I can’t stop myself from leaning forward more, like a dog being teased with a bone. “And?”

  “And...I’ll tell you one day.”

  The prick.

  I roll my eyes and sit back. “When?”

  His lips tilt up, making him look entirely too sexy for his own good. “When you’re no longer furious with me.”

  Taking a sip of my drink, I enjoy the warmth that blooms in my chest as it travels down. “Fine, keep your secrets.”

  “I do. As I keep yours.”

  His reply makes my stomach tie in knots. I know I’m sitting here in the night, pretendin
g. Pretending that he’s not King Ravinger, pretending that he doesn’t have his own plots and ploys.

  “And why are you keeping my secrets?” I ask carefully.

  We’re already so far down this gully, I figure why not go a little further? This might be the only chance we have at such open honesty, while our walls are splintered beneath a paper torn night.

  “Because it suits me to do so.” I’m pinned with the pierce of his eyes just like a needle to a moth’s wings, and the sting is the same.

  Like pebbles on an ocean floor, disappointment settles in the bottom of my gut. A warning, then. That just because it suits him for now, it doesn’t mean it will suit him always. If it were Midas, he’d wait to use the information until exactly the right moment. It’s what most kings would do.

  I suppose the flutters of stomachs and squeezes of hearts just can’t be trusted. Everything that happened tonight—him carrying me, his words, the heat of his hips caught between my thighs as his lips grazed my cheek—they were stolen moments. Moments that we can’t afford to have. Not with our goals so misaligned. Maybe as Rip and Goldfinch, but as Ravinger and Auren? Never.

  As much as I wish that things were simpler, different...they’re not, and I can’t pretend otherwise.

  Rip straightens up. “And there it is.”

  “There what is?”

  He gestures at my face, as if he’s read some secret from it. “You just remembered I’m King Slade Ravinger and not just...this.”

  I don’t deny it. I can’t. Part of me feels guilty about that, but it’s the truth. If he were just Rip, this wouldn’t be so hard.

  “I can’t trust kings.” It’s impossible to keep the sound of regret from my voice. To keep the silent wish from weighing down the words.

  He leans forward, bent elbows braced against his knees. “You can trust me.”

  The desperation shows. I know it does, because I can’t help the way my eyes flare, the way my body bends toward him. “Prove it.” Not dismissive. Not filled with doubt. My words are pleading with him, demanding for him to do just that.