“I’m trying to protect you from yourself.”
I scoff and shake my head. I hate how much of an expert he is at this. He’s trying to get me to bend, to defer, because that’s how it’s always worked between us. He knows how to pluck on the strings of my guilt and make me play his tune, so I have to play mine instead.
Shove down weakness.
Midas gestures around the room. “Don’t be ungrateful for what I’ve already allowed.”
I pin him with a look. “Don’t be ungrateful for what I’ve allowed, Midas.”
There’s another stare-off between us. A clash of repellant wills. The tide and the shore, a forever battle between land and water, between give and take.
He may wear the crown, but I was the one who made it gold.
I can see the temper he’s trying to hold in, but he never was good at compromising, and he hates it when I talk back. After a moment, he lets some of it leak out when he sighs and throws the pillow at the bed harder than he needs to, making it bounce right off onto the floor.
He takes another deep breath, hands bracketing his hips. “I agreed about you not going back into the ca—about you not being confined behind the protection of your bars,” he amends. “But during the day, it’s far too dangerous for you to be out on your own. For others, as well as for yourself. You can’t control your power, Auren.”
“I know that,” I snap. He’s trying to gain the upper hand, and I don’t like it. “Just like everyone knows the rules. No one will touch me, and I’ll be careful, just like I was with Fourth’s army.”
He looks at me with pitying disappointment. That look would’ve been like a kick to the gut before. It would’ve had me scrambling to fix it, to be good. “You’re being irresponsible, Auren. Is it really worth it? Do you really want that on your conscience? I’m only thinking of you.”
Bastard. What an emotional-string-pulling, puppeteering bastard.
And yet…am I being selfish? What if I do make a mistake, and someone else is killed because of it?
I bite my bottom lip, teeth sinking in as I nibble on the worry. A fight begins inside of me, a battle of thoughts, of warring wants.
Midas comes closer, like a shark scenting blood in the water. “Think, Auren. Are you truly okay with the risk of murdering someone? Again? Because that is what will happen. I’m just trying to protect you. You always trusted me before. I need you to trust me again.”
My eyes begin to burn, and I want to spit in his face. I want to spit at my own damn face too.
I can feel him looping the strings around me, deft words trying to tie the knots. He’s so damn good at manipulating me. How did I ever think I could beat him at his own game when he’s such a master at it?
I feel utterly unequipped.
He needs me, I remind myself. I do have leverage here, because he wants me complacent, and I want him to think that all is well so that I can get the hell away. Of course, the last thing I want is to kill someone by accident, or gild the wrong thing at the wrong time and have everyone know my secret, but I can’t be cooped up in this room day in and day out.
“No locks, Midas, or this room is no better than a cage,” I tell him. “I’ll keep your guards with me at all times, I’ll keep my hands and arms covered, and keep a distance, but I can’t stay trapped in here,” I say, tipping my chin up.
He watches me, and my heart pounds as I try not to fidget. Even though we’re both standing still, I can feel the tug of war going on between us. Can feel splintering rope cutting into my palms as he pulls and pulls. If I let him, he’ll drag me under.
So I don’t back down. I don’t let go. And finally, after another tense moment, he lets out a sigh. “I don’t want to fight, Precious. I’ve had a long day. A long damn month.” He looks tired all of a sudden, like this interaction has exhausted him as much as it’s exhausted me.
Midas walks over and presses a kiss against my hair, safe now that night has fallen. “You should get some rest, okay? I’ll send up some dinner for you, and we’ll talk tomorrow.” His eyes flick down to the bodice of my dress. “I’ll have the seamstress fix your gown as well.”
Not waiting for a reply, he turns and walks out of the room, and I’m left staring at the closed door. I know without a doubt, he’s going to continue pecking against my resolve, trying to scratch me raw. If I don’t come up with a plan soon, he’ll sink his claws into me again, and I can’t let that happen.