Gild (The Plated Prisoner, #1)

by Raven Kennedy

Does it really matter if your cage is solid gold when you aren’t allowed to leave it? A cage is a cage, no matter how gilded.

A callous, cruel chuckle comes from the commander. It’s the kind of sound you hear before being tortured by a madman.

Because I just turned the motherfucker solid gold.

I look up toward the bed. “If you can cry on command, now would be the time,” I murmur. Rissa scoffs. “Of course I can cry on command.”

Before Quarter can finish his sentence or go through with his threat, a cold, smooth voice cuts through the air like a boom, a volcano erupting in the middle of a silent twilight. “What do you think you’re doing?”

But Commander Rip isn’t a demon, and he hasn’t been twisted by Ravinger’s magic. He’s a presence all his own, and I can’t help but stare at him, taking in every detail.

I wonder if King Ravinger knows exactly what kind of beast he has on his leash. I wonder if he can feel the commander’s power brimming beneath the surface, sense his suffocating atmosphere.

When his gaze finally lifts to my face, my wary gold eyes get caught by his intense black ones.

I wouldn’t call him handsome, he’s far too wicked looking for that, but the savage grace of him is as magnificent as it is utterly alarming.

A slow smirk spreads over his mouth, a menacing curl of his lips that makes my heart stumble. He takes a single step forward, a simple move that somehow sucks all the air out of the world.