Gild: The dark fantasy TikTok sensation that’s sold over a million copies (Plated Prisoner Book 1)
Gild: Chapter 8

I dread waking up.

Usually, that’s just because I’m not a morning person. I often have a wicked hangover from all the wine, so waking up bright and early is not my favorite. Plus, it’s not like I have any bright sunshine to greet me. I haven’t seen the sun’s rays in years.

But when the last of sleep slips away from me, I dread it even more than my usual passive disdain for mornings, because today, I know my time has run out.

I don’t know how I know this—maybe it’s a charge in the air. Maybe it’s the wicked wind outside my window—the Gale Widow shrieking her shrill lament. She’s warning me that the last of the sand in the hourglass has settled at the bottom like a stone in the sea, and I have no more grains to count.

My eyes peel open, and I stare at the window, shivering at the blurry ice distorted over the glass. I push the ribbons from my body, but groan from how sore I am. My scalp and stomach feel like one giant bruise from the vicious attention I received last night.

I sit up carefully, looking past my bars into the rest of the room to replace that Digby is already standing watch for his morning rounds. Too bad he wasn’t here last night, but that’s my own fault.

When I was eighteen, I argued with Midas for months to stop sending night guards. It creeped me out to have someone standing there watching me sleep. He finally relented, agreeing to let me have my privacy at night, but I can’t help but regret that a little bit right now.

Even if she is the queen, I don’t think Digby is the type of man to let me get assaulted on his watch. At the very least, I think he would have informed Midas. Unlike me. I have zero intention of telling Midas anything. All that would do is infuriate Malina even more, and that’s the last thing I need.

Getting up is more difficult than it should be, and I wince a little at the pull on my stomach. Digby shoots me a frown, his eyes narrowing. He’s way too attentive for his own good.

“Stomach’s upset. Too much wine,” I lie as I lightly pat my stomach to drive my point home. I don’t want him to be suspicious or ask questions. Questions are dangerous.

I turn and rub the tiredness from my eyes, but out of my peripheral, I notice a gown hanging up on one of the bars of my cage. Gold and gauzy, so sheer that it’s barely a gown at all.

My teeth press together as I look at it, my spine gone rigid. Midas had this dress pulled out for me. A message, plain and simple.

Tonight, I’m to be dressed as a saddle. Tonight, he’s going to let me out of my cage.

I stare at the wispy fabric, at the plunging neckline, at the slits up the thin skirt. My ribbons curl at the same time that my fingers do, fists clamping onto emotions, tension contracting. The appearance of this gown goes perfectly with Queen Malina’s words.

You’re just a pet.

A souvenir to show off.

Turning away, I leave the dress hanging there and walk through out of my bedroom and into my dressing room, feeling Digby’s eyes on my back as I go.

Once I’m in the other room alone, I pause in the darkness, letting out a calming breath. I force myself to release my fists, and my ribbons grudgingly uncurl. In the other room, I hear the outer bedroom door open and shut, signaling that Digby is walking his rounds of the rest of the rooms, but no doubt doing it to give me privacy.

Turning, I walk over to the table, my ribbons trailing on the floor behind me as I go. At the vanity table, I reach over and turn the lantern up, casting more light in the room since the window is snowed in again.

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.

Midas gives me another smile. “Of course you should, Precious.”

He turns and walks out of my dressing room, his steps echoing back at me as he walks out of my bedroom, where I hear the door to my cage clinking shut. I stay still until I hear his footsteps walk away, the bedroom door closing behind him, silencing the rest of his retreat.

A giant breath whooshes out of me, and my body nearly collapses into the chair in front of my vanity. I stare into the mirror, unseeing, my fingers trembling from the rush of emotions that leaks into me.

I’m so conflicted that my stomach churns, threatening to make me sick. “Get it together, Auren,” I chastise myself, pressing the heels of my palms against my eyes to force them to stop stinging.

He wants me to behave. He wants me to trust him. And hasn’t he earned my trust, after all these years?

Hasn’t he?

The answer should be a resounding yes. The answer should be easy. The problem is, it isn’t.

Gritting my teeth, I shoot to my feet in a rush, and before I know what I’m doing, my hand has grabbed the glass lantern and I’ve hurled it with all my might against the mirror in a wave of anger.

A crash resonates through the room, and I relish in the shatter. Chest heaving, I stare at the cracked glass of the mirror, my body distorted, broken off into three reflections.

“My lady?”

I turn my head numbly and see Digby on the other side of my cage, peering at me through the bars with a troubled look on his face. With the lantern now extinguished and lying broken on the floor, the room is cast in shadows, save for the candle in his hand. He says something, but my ears are ringing, my breaths coming in too fast to hear.

I shake my head to clear it. “What?”

His head tips, his brown eyes flicking down. In a daze, I follow his line of sight and look at my hand, turning my palm up. As soon as I look at it, it’s as if my brain connects with my nerves, and I realize I’ve burned my palm when I grabbed the lantern.

I touch it lightly, frowning at the slight twinge. It’s not too bad, just slightly discolored and sore. “I’m okay,” I tell him.

Digby grunts but says nothing.

I drop my hand to my side and look over at him. “I know how this must look to you,” I say with a shake of my head. “Poor favored girl throwing a fit in her room, surrounded by all her golden things,” I say with a self-deprecating scoff.

“Didn’t say that.”

His gruff words surprise me. They’re oddly…nice. Like the gruff old guy is trying to make me feel better. He turns and walks out of the room before I can reply, leaving me to stare at the place he left with a small smile on my face.

He comes back less than a minute later, holding a new lantern. It’s bigger, one that he must’ve taken from the library, but he feeds it through the bars and places it on the floor.

“Thanks,” I say quietly before I go pick it up and put it on the table. Now that there’s adequate light, I cringe a bit at the mess I’ve made. The servants who come in here to clean probably won’t be happy.

I kneel down to start to pick up the broken glass from the lantern, but Digby raps his knuckle against the cage to get my attention. “Leave it.”

My hand pauses over the glass. “But—”

“Leave. It.”

I arch a brow and sigh. “You know, for someone who barely talks, you sure are bossy.”

He just looks steadily back at me.

I sigh and stand up, relenting. “Okay, okay. No need to glare at me.”

Digby nods and scratches his scruffy gray beard, satisfied that he’s won. My trusty guard is very serious about my protection. Even when he’s protecting me from myself, apparently.

“I knew you were my friend, Dig,” I tease him, even though the smile doesn’t quite reach my eyes, it’s nice to pretend. I latch onto these emotions with him, and forcibly shove away everything else with Midas so that I can breathe right again. “Hey, how about a drinking game?” I ask hopefully.

Digby rolls his eyes. “No.” He turns on his heel, walking away, clearly satisfied that I’m not going to throw another hissy fit and break something else.

“Oh come on, just one?” I call after him, but he keeps going, just like I knew he would. It makes me smile a little bit wider.

When I’m alone again, I sit down and sigh into the broken mirror, the distracting playfulness with Digby leaking out of me all too soon. I study the three images of myself for a moment, and then I get to work, letting my ribbons carefully comb through my tender scalp so I can plait my hair. I imagine it’s a lot like a soldier putting on armor.

At least for now, while daylight burns, I know I’m safe. For now, I still have time.

But tonight, as soon as dusk descends and the stars burn, I’ll be expected to play the part of King Midas’s favored pet. I’ll be expected to behave.

But one question burns in my mind for the entire day: What would happen if I didn’t?