I use my ribbons to undress myself, letting the fabric pool at my feet. Naked, I stand in front of the mirror and look over my body. My gold skin is marred on my stomach, a bruise the size of a fist with edges like a puffy cloud from where the guard’s fist slammed into me. I press my fingers to it, wincing at the tender twinge. It reminds me of the gold tea set Midas has—the one that the servants always have to shine. It’s a tarnished spot in need of polishing.
With a sigh, I remove my hand from my stomach and pluck a floor-length dress robe from the hook near the mirror and pull it on, tying it at my waist.
I check my scalp next, my fingers running carefully over my head, but it throbs at the lightest touch, making me suck in a breath. I’ll have to be gentle when I brush my hair.
“How did you sleep?”
Midas’s voice startles me so much that I whirl around with my hand over my heart. “Divine be damned, you scared me,” I admonish. I didn’t hear him open my cage door or his footsteps leading from my bedroom to here.
He smiles from where he’s standing, leaning against the bars of my cage near the archway. “Tsk tsk, Auren. You shouldn’t curse the gods.”
My racing heart slows down 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.