Glint (The Plated Prisoner, #2)

by Raven Kennedy

I’m surrounded by wealth that holds no value to me.

Gold may gleam, but it doesn’t stand the test of time. It wears down, loses its luster, becomes nothing but a needy, malleable surface with no durability.

I might not have magic, but resentment is a powerful thing.

I’ve worn a crown my entire life, but I’m finally going to wield it.

Time changes with torment. It stretches on, lengthening seconds, extending minutes. I’ve learned that pain and fear have a way of prolonging.

What a bastard, time is.

But no matter how long I stood there on the pedestal for them to look, no one really saw me.

There’s something about having to lift your skirts and squat in the snow that really drags a girl down.

Are people so content in ignorance that they’ll believe every lie fed to them, despite what they see right in front of their eyes? Then again, perhaps it isn’t ignorance. Maybe it’s just...fear. They don’t want to even consider the alternative. It would make people uneasy, make it hard to sleep at night.

Maybe ignorance isn’t a vice, but a reprieve.

My attitude is a brick façade over crumbling plaster vulnerabilities.

But I guess there’s something to be said for solitude. There’s safety in loneliness, but there’s a lurking danger too. One that doesn’t come from anything other than yourself.

“We’re all captives of something, even things we don’t want to admit to.”

“I hope you burn so bright that you scorch your Golden King down to ash.”

You’re so much more than what you let yourself be.”

“Sometimes,” he murmurs, “things need first to be ruined in order to then be remade.”

I’ve come to learn that’s what men do. They use.

Plotting is what I’m best at. A good thing too, since I lack both of the traits that this world respects: power and a penis. A shame that I lack the first, but the second? I’ve found that most of the people who have those are altogether disappointing.

“You’re what you choose to be,”

“Kindness shouldn’t have to be earned. It should be freely given.” Keg laughs softly. “My ma used to say something like that,” he replies, looking over at me. “And you know what?” “What?” “She was a damn smart woman.”

all I can think of is how his lips grazed against mine. How the feather-light touch was so contradictory to his rough reputation and sharp edges.

Because even though that kiss was the softest, lightest touch, I felt its weight all the way down to my bones.

“No, Auren. You’re the one that needs to burn. You need to spark to life and fight. Stop letting him dull you, stop letting the whole fucking world trample you,”

“If you tried, you could shine brighter than the fucking sun. Instead, you’ve chosen to sit back and wither.”

“Commander, I must insist that you don’t touch King Midas’s favored.” “I must insist that you shut the fuck up,” Osrik drawls. Rip doesn’t look away from me, doesn’t pay them any attention at all. He simply lifts me off the horse as if I weigh nothing and helps me down.

If you don’t worry, you’re either a fool or you’ve been fooled.

I’ve been bending over backwards for so long that I forgot I even had a spine.

How did I look into his eyes every day and not see that when he looked back, he was devoted to the gleam of my skin rather than the love of my heart? How did I miss the blinding truth that’s been there all along? How did I mistake an owner for a lover?

promises are the debts of demands, and demands can quickly become the clamor of unmet discontent.