Gild (The Plated Prisoner, #1)

by Raven Kennedy

Die. I’m going to die. As soon as my eyes are closed, the blade presses in, like it’s cornering me, trapping me, fulfilling Fulke’s savage threat to take my life. I suck in one last breath of air and hold it in my lungs, bracing myself, willing the breath not to leave me. But before the sharpened edge can cut any deeper, Fulke’s body lurches, and I’m suddenly being wrenched to the side by a grip on my arm as the king’s form slams to the ground on his side, jerking violently at my feet. I look down in shock at the sword stuck all the way through him from back to front. Whipping my head to the right, I see Digby. Digby, who I’d forgotten was even in the room. Holding me up with his steady grip on my arm, blood splattered on his face, his sword missing from his scabbard. At the sound of a horrible gurgle, I look back down at Fulke where he writhes. His hands come up, touching the sword where it’s coming out of his chest. His mouth opens and shuts without words, blood lining his lips. He grips the blade, slicing his palms into ribbons as he holds it tight, as if he wants to strangle it into submission. He dies like that, with both hands clenching the golden weapon, mouth sneering like a curse was left on it, one that would damn us all to hell. Midas stands across the room with his other two guards, all eyes on King Fulke as his chest gets stuck on his last gurgling exhale. My vision tunnels on it, on the deep red blood bubbling out of the wound, slow as syrup. The shakes hit m...