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

I wake with a determination steeped into my bones.

Midas, Digby, Mist, Rissa, Kaila. These obstacles piled up on top of me last night, but sleep and restless thought did one good thing for me. It stoked my anger and my resolution enough to drive away the anxiousness.

I’m too close to getting what I want to mess it up now.

Getting up from bed, I tromp over to the curtains and pull them open. I’m greeted by a milky morning, six inches of snow already piled up on the floor.

I dress hurriedly, with the backdrop of the baying dogs coming from outside. Wearing a simple silk gown, corset snapped impatiently, boots and gloves and cloak secured, I rush outside to the balcony, determined to sneak out so I can try to talk to Rissa again. It can’t wait until nightfall.

Yet when my hands come down to grip the railing, my body jolts to a stop. There’s a guard standing just below, gold plated armor subdued beneath flakes of snow. He’s walking along the front of the dogs’ pen, stance relaxed as he strolls along, but my stomach drops.

Backing away slowly, my steps take me to the balcony door, and I rush inside, heart suddenly racing with apprehension.

Midas knows I’ve snuck out. There’s no other explanation. I’m not sure what the implications of this are, but the grounds below my balcony have never been guarded before, so I know it’s to ensure I stay inside. Honestly, I’ve been careless. Last night, I was so concerned with getting to Rissa and Mist that I didn’t think about myself.

Not good. This is not good at all.

With my lips pressed into a thin line, my eyes flick to my nightstand, and an idea sparks to life. If I can’t go to Rissa, I’ll just have to get Rissa to come to me.

The fire hasn’t yet been lit, but I ignore the chill as I walk over and yank open the nightstand drawer. There are a few sheets of parchment inside, and I grab them along with a quill and ink, and hastily scrawl a note for her.

I don’t dare say too much. Everything I write will undoubtedly be relayed to Midas, so I simply invite her to come up to my rooms for tea. A seemingly innocent request, but Rissa will know something is amiss.

I’ll tell her about the offer to leave with me in Fourth’s army, and I’ll get her to convince Mist to come with us. I have a feeling I’m going to need to give her a hell of a lot of gold.

Meanwhile, Lu will find Digby, and then we’ll get out of here.

I’ll finally be free.

Heading over to my bedroom door, I open it, startling Scofield and Lowe, who are sitting just outside. I just can’t shake these two.

“My lady, did you need something?” Scofield asks.

With the message folded between my fingers, I pass him the paper. “Can you have this delivered to the royal saddle wing? It’s for Rissa.”

His light brown eyes flick down to my outstretched hand for a second before I hear, “I’ll take that.”

My head turns at Midas’s voice, and the guards practically jump out of the way. He grabs the letter before I can react, reading it with a skim of his gaze.

“No need,” he says, folding it back up and slipping it into the pocket of his golden trousers. “You won’t be here for tea today, Precious.”

My stomach bottoms out, but he comes inside before I can reply, and I instinctually move out of the way, not wanting to be anywhere near him. The golden buttons on his tunic are shaped like bells, filigree thread reaching up toward his collar and down each cuff. He’s immaculate as always, smooth jaw and pressed pants, shoes so shiny that they reflect the room.

The base of my ribbons lift like hackles, and when he motions to someone behind him, I watch as a maid comes inside and heads right for the fireplace, setting it alight with fresh wood and kindling.

I stay right where I am, back facing the wall next to the door, my eyes not leaving him as he saunters around, probably noting whatever else I’ve gilded in this room since he was last here.

The corporeal anger borne beneath my ribs makes her presence known once again, the creature bloomed from soured soil tilled in the resentment of my soul. I’d had a reprieve for a while—distracted from my fury by Slade’s presence, but now she’s back in full force.

I haven’t seen Midas since he struck me.

My cheek may be healed, but the mark he left on me doesn’t show on my skin. It’s soaked in, saturated far below, twined to the crevices of my contained fury.

I look at him and think, do you know? Do you know that Queen Kaila intends to kill the woman carrying your child? Do you even care? Did you give Kaila your blessing?

The sad truth of it is, he probably did. Why settle for a bastard child from a saddle when you can have a legitimate heir from a young queen?

When the maid leaves and I’m alone with him, Midas finally looks at me, smoothing a hand over his honeyed locks. His brown gaze flicks to my cheek, relief there for one second before it’s gone again.

I was right about him avoiding me. He didn’t want to see the guilt of his actions tarnished on my face.

“How are you, Precious?”

I’d be really fucking good if he never called me that again.

“Fine.” Everything about my posture is stiff, unable to fake any sort of pleasantness.

There’s a hesitancy in his demeanor, but it’s not him trying to tread carefully. It’s something else. Something I can’t quite pinpoint.

He gives a sharp nod. “I apologize for not being more attentive. I’ve been very busy, gone most every day to meet with Queen Kaila or make appearances in the city or deal with my advisors and the prince. Fifth and Sixth Kingdoms have needed my attention as well as a firm hand.”

I swipe a finger along my cheekbone. “Well, I think it’s safe to say you definitely have the firm hand perfected.”

He sucks in a breath, jaw tightening, but just as quickly, he exhales out the anger, shaking his head before he shoves his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry. You know I am. I’ve been riddled with guilt since that night.”

“Guilt doesn’t assuage the guilty.”

The narrowing of his eyes precedes his brows pulling in, a line divided to separate the charm on his face from the true nature beneath. He opens his mouth like he’s going to spout back something combative to douse me with, but instead, he closes it again and seems to reconsider.

I keep waiting for him to tell me about the betrothal to Queen Kaila, for him to inform me of Malina’s death.

But he does neither.

I used to think he confided in me, that our murmured conversations late at night in the privacy of my cage were something special. Yet I see now that he only told me things when it served a purpose, a manipulation. A way to steer the reins he trussed around his gold-touched saddle.

“The ball is tomorrow night,” Midas reminds me as he strolls leisurely over to the fireplace and lets his hand rest on the mantle. “I would like you to come with me today and add some finishing touches around the castle.”

Of course that’s why he’s here. It’s not really to apologize. He just needs my power. I probably should be grateful for the reprieve I had from him for so many days, earned by the repercussions of his strike, but I wish it’d been even longer.

I tilt my head in thought, because…this could actually work in my favor. “On one condition. I want to see Digby.”noveldrama

A hush cascades between us like silent falls, placid water to hold us in the plunge.

“Okay.”

I jerk back in surprise. Even my ribbons twitch around my waist. “You mean it?”

“I’ll take you to see him tonight. You’ll have earned it.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to demand that I see Digby first, but I know Midas. If I push him, he’s more likely to scrap the whole thing. Which is why I nod and say, “Alright.”

One more day of letting him use me for my power. One more, and then I’ll know where Digby is—finally confirm that Midas has him. Then I can save my guard and leave this place forever.

Midas smiles, pure charm dripping from his features. I wonder if he charms himself too. “Excellent. Let’s get to work, and when you finish, you can see your guard.”

Midas’s “finishing touches” turn out to be more like relentless gropes. With bare feet and slicked hands, I turn whatever he asks me to, blocking out everything else, my mind’s eye tunneled into one goal: get this done so that I can see Digby.

I become so focused that the hours of the day are no longer made up of minutes. They’re made up of drips of gold. Precious metal replaces the grains of sand in an hourglass, each drop I create another second to spend.

So I spend.

And I spend.

And I spend.

Clothing and plates, walls and coins. Tapestries and bannisters, ice sculptures and sconces.

It’s not the morning that passes, but me as I move through each room, touch every item. It’s not the afternoon that lengthens, it’s the stretch of my magic through Ranhold, creating more wealth in Midas’s name.

He keeps me busy through it all, one thing after another, my power pervading every item until it gleams. But I do it all gladly, tirelessly, not once complaining even as the day drags on and my gold-touch clogs up.

Because I’m not going to do a single thing to risk seeing Digby tonight. I will let Midas steer my reins one last time, and then I will take a page out of Slade’s book and rot them to proverbial dust.

One thing. He has one last thing dangling over my head, and I’m about to take it back from him.

I’m in the ballroom when the familiar tingle across my skin occurs. With heavy-lidded eyes, I glance over at the window, though I don’t need to see the sky to know that the sun has set.

Finally.

I set down the empty pitcher I’m holding, as the last of my power dries up. The weakened magic swirls around the pewter base, only making it halfway before it solidifies and stops mid-gild. I let go of it, turning my palms up to look at the damage. They’re coated in sticky gold, clumps like curdled milk drying on my skin.

“You’ve done so well, Precious,” Midas praises.

He stuck to my side the entire day, which is different from his usual “watch from afar” habit. Maybe he was being more careful in the ballroom in particular, since a random servant tried to come in once. Or perhaps he simply wanted to be more involved. For whatever reason, I was able to keep my head down and just go through the motions, so I didn’t let him get to me.

Despite the long day, Midas’s clothes still look impeccable. His neat hair is nearly as gilded as the floor, handsome face lacking any stubble, still looking as fresh as this morning.

On the other hand, I probably look a wreck, because I feel like one. My weakened corset has broken in two more places, and my braided hair has loosened, frayed ends poking out every which way. My brow has a sheen of sweat gathered, my feet and hands are throbbing from how much magic poured through them, and my dress has splatters of viscid gold all over it.

“Look at everything you’ve accomplished,” Midas says as he glances around the room. Rather than critical, his expression is almost…awed.

I let my own eyes wander, noting every bit I’ve adorned, including the pillars and beams and floor, since I have to be careful to keep the integrity of the castle. I don’t want it to come crashing down from all the weight like the pillow did to Slade’s bed.

But to me, it’s just a color. I don’t look at it and see wealth, because what freedoms has it ever bought me? Every time I gold-touch something, I just keep paying a price that grows steeper and steeper. Gold is just a four-letter word for greed.

“A single touch, and you can do all this,” Midas goes on, glancing down at the buffet in front of us, now laden with golden tableware. He picks up one of the plates, so shiny that it reflects his image. His thumb brushes over it like one would caress a lover. “Gold is the epitome of wealth and power. It’s the one constant in this world that will always ensure I can get whatever I want. That people will bow down at my feet. With such unattainable riches as this, I can always have the upper hand.” He speaks with reverence, the pious worshipping at his altar, and I’m the tithe.

Midas turns to look at me after he sets the plate back down. “Your magic truly is remarkable, Auren. You are exceptional.”

Feeling uncomfortable with his praise, I look away and wipe my hands on the front of my dress. “I’d like to see Digby now.”

“Of course,” he says without missing a beat. “I gave you my word.”

Thank the Divine.

The squeak of a hinge echoes through the huge room, and I turn to see the servant’s door at the back of the ballroom open and a maid bustle in.

“Ah, right on time.”

The woman comes over and sets down a tray on the table beside us before she curtsies and departs.

“I wanted to ensure you had some refreshments at dusk,” he tells me. “I knew you’d be exhausted again, and I wanted to provide for you.” With a flourish, he removes the lid on the tray, revealing the food and wine beneath. “Sit down, Precious. Eat and drink, and then I’ll take you to your guard.”

As annoyed as I am with having to wait even longer, I am starved. And he’s right, I do feel exhausted again, nearly as drained as I was the night that Slade found me on the staircase and carried me to my room. I can’t be collapsing on the floor with the present company, especially not right now when I need to be alert for Digby.

I sit down on the low bench in front of the table and start to eat while Midas pours me a goblet of wine. I quickly devour the cold cuts and cheese, my empty stomach growling in satisfaction while Midas putters with the items on the table like he’s cataloguing their combined worth.

Between bites of food, I gulp down the wine too, though it’s nearly as thick and sweet as syrup. In the back of my head, on the back of my tongue, I’m wishing for a different drink. Because this room-temperature, perfectly aged and sweetened wine is okay, but it doesn’t hold a candle to a certain ice-cold, corked, bottom-of-the-barrel wine from Fourth’s army. Now that was good.

Then again, maybe it was just the company.

Still, I down it all and then finish off a sugared tart too, knowing that my body needs whatever energy I can give it. My body is aching from my power depletion, and the call for sleep comes in the form of a sting against my eyes, but I shove it away and shore myself up.

Feeling anxious, I get to my feet, wiping some crumb remnants off my dress. “I’m finished.”

“You sure you had enough?” Midas asks, gaze running over the tray and all the pieces of food I’ve left behind. Except for the wine. I polished that sucker right off.

“I’m sure,” I say with a definitive nod, edginess taking over. “I just want to see Digby.”

Shoulders stiff, ribbons coiled, I wait to see if he tries to put me off again, if he’s going to try to go back on his word, but Midas nods and says, “Then I’ll take you to him now.”

My defensive posture loosens with a breath.

I’m coming, Digby.