He’s trained me very well.
Rather than give in, I call up on that anger, stoke the coals of its justified smolder, and I manage to get my shit together.
“Midas, how are you?” I ask with practiced pleasantness as I get to my feet and head over to the bed so I can keep space between us.
“How am I?” he repeats, throwing a hand in the direction of the door. “I was just informed that you’ve been traipsing around the castle grounds all day.”
I gauge his anger and decide to play stupid. Acting oblivious, I begin to fluff the pillows on the bed. “I did,” I say brightly. “It was great. I didn’t get into the library, but I saw loads of other rooms, and Ranhold seems nice. Although, it seems to have a bit of a draft problem inside, don’t you think? My guess would be porous wood used for the window frames. Bad planning.”
Midas gets the most incredulous expression on his face while I continue to mess with the pillows. I shake one of the larger ones quite vigorously, and then—“Fluff this one for me, will you?” I chuck it at him as hard as I can before all the words even leave my mouth.
The golden satin slams into Midas’s face, feathers bending around his head with a satisfying thump. Juvenile, sure. But it does wonders for my morale.
By the time he yanks it down and holds it at his side, I’m already busy straightening the blankets. I can see him in my peripheral as his grip tightens around the pillow.
“Auren.”
I glance over at him. “Yes?”
“The cage—”
I immediately straighten up, all pretenses of my false brightness gone as furious fire flares in me. “No.” I won’t stand to hear that word come out of his mouth. I’ll play a part here because I need time and a plan, but if he tries anything with a Divine-damned cage again, I will rage.
Midas hesitates, brown eyes calculating as he assesses the snap-change of my demeanor. After a moment, he seems to decide on a different direction. “It’s too dangerous for you to be out wandering the castle without me.”
“I had two guards with me.”
He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. Everyone is a danger to you. You know this. You can’t trust people. Especially when I hear that Ravinger went near you again,” he grits out.
My spine stiffens. “He just happened to be on the wall when I was there,” I defend.
Frustration makes his shoulders go tense. “I don’t like it. He and that commander of his are either infatuated with you or purposely taunting me.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to point out that he’s always made sure that people were, in fact, infatuated with me. He loves dangling me in front of others like I’m a gold carrot. King Fulke was a prime example. Midas just wants to control it.
“Aside from people being dangerous, you should remember that you’re also a danger to them,” he goes on, letting his words sink in. He watches to see how they tug at the expression on my face, even though I try hard to keep it blank. “One wrong move, one accident, and you could kill someone. Need I remind you that you just murdered your standin?”
This time, I can’t stop from flinching. I can’t stop the memory flash of how I shoved the woman back, my touch immediately lethal. She’ll forever be entombed in a cage meant for me, dead by my hand. Guilt and regret cluster together like clouds, a humid pressure gathering in my chest.
“Think of Carnith, Auren. Think of what happens when you’re reckless.”
A drop falls, like a hiss of water against the smolder of my anger. I can see the manipulation for what it is. And still, it makes me waver for a moment. A drizzle of the old Auren sprinkling overhead, threatening to douse my fire.
The problem is, he’s not wrong. One slip-up is all it would take. If someone touches my skin, they will turn solid gold, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
I don’t know why, but people, animals, I can’t just change their color. If I touch them, the gold takes over. A simple brush of my arm against theirs, and they’re dead. Like the woman in my cage. Like Captain Fane of the Red Raids, whose statue lies somewhere in the frozen Barrens. Like the people in Carnith, when gold first dripped from my fingertips, and left me with blood on my hands.
“You need to stay inside during the day,” Midas tells me, his eyes as rough as the bark of a tree. One touch, and I’d be sliced through with his splinters.
There’s a lump the size of a peach pit in my throat that I struggle to swallow down while I work to control my overcast emotions. The idea of being locked in anywhere ever again makes bile twist in my gut. “You promised,” I say vehemently.