Gleam (The Plated Prisoner, #3)

by Raven Kennedy

Truths are like spices. When you add some in, it means you have more layers to digest. You get a taste of things you were missing before. But if you add too many, life can become unpalatable.

But when those truths are repressed for too long, when you realize you’ve grown accustomed to the bland lies, there’s no hope of removing the overpowering taste from your tongue.

Slade.

What do you do when someone isn’t who you thought they were?

The black coal of his eyes looks like it wants to catch the flame of mine. He looks like he’s ready to burn in my anger.

“You should always keep these out,” he says quietly,

When he steps back, I’m both relieved and bereft. I try to feel nothing instead.

“Those golden eyes of yours, so expressive,” Ravinger murmurs. “There’s hate one second and heart the next.”

The vitriol that spews from my mouth flares hotter than any fire. May it burn him as badly as he has burned me.

Never again will I be the clay that he molds in his hold. I’m going to shape myself.

His power is ugly, sure, but the male himself? No. Far from it. Ravinger is achingly beautiful

Perhaps love is the price of my power.

“You’re my precious girl.”

I give myself this moment. Just this one. For the innocent girl who lost the love she thought she had, I let her have this. Because this...this is her quiet goodbye.

Beneath my anger and the numbness are the bruised pieces of a broken heart.

And that part of me, that girl who was doe-eyed and head over heels, she’s in mournin...

Then I press my ear against his chest one last time to hear a song that I thou...

because it’s not love I’m listening to. It’s just possessive control. It’s so loud, I can’t believe I didn’t hear it before.

I fall asleep listening to the constant thrum of our chests, to the two mismatched tunes that will never play in harmony.

I’ll make sure my heart is hardened. Come morning, I’ll make sure it only plays a song for me.

He might’ve kept secrets about who he was, but he sure had a talent for making me face who I am. For admitting the limits and lies I’ve accepted.

By mentally breaking away from Midas, something else has shifted too. It’s time to start embracing who I am and what I’m capable of.

sometimes, you have to do foolish things just for the sake of doing them.

The goddesses made me a female. War made me an orphan. Midas made me a saddle. Up until now, those things have roped me. I’ve let myself be bridled, jerked around this way and that. But I’m sick and tired of gnawing on that bit at the back of my jaw with every tug of the reins.

I felt so powerful. So unstoppable. And...I liked it.

he grounded me, like gravity to the earth. His voice cut through the sinister one in my own subconscious and drew me back down.

Shove down weakness, and strength will rise.

Can a person break in six weeks? It feels like I am. It feels like I might be tearing at the seams, like a rag doll handled one too many times.

“That’s your fear talking, and it’s a weakness that you have to shove down before it towers over you.”

that trying and failing is better than giving up.”

That look would’ve been like a kick to the gut before. It would’ve had me scrambling to fix it, to be good.

Men ruin all of women’s best laid plans.

I don’t hold the sap accountable for its dribble. It’s the tree that makes it, after all.”

I hold all the power. Me.

My keeper has a new lock, but that doesn’t mean I’m trapped.

He was my almost more.

An idea, a hope, a reach in the dark. It wasn’t until my fist closed around emptiness that I realized I was grasping for him.

And that’s what makes my eyes sting with regret. He pushed me to light, to burn, only to ...

you can’t reason with feelings. They do what they want, forcing you to endure. All you can do is grit your teeth and take it,...

Because every time my mind wanders, it saunters right back to him.

I was obviously very good at lying to myself, because there’s no other way I could’ve convinced myself that he loved me.

We tell ourselves twisted lies to tangle around our wicked truths, all so that we can get caught up in the bind and not have to face bare regrets.

that power doesn’t just come from magic. It comes from your own grit. And I have both.

But the eyes of liars are tricky things. They can show you what you want to see without ever reflecting the truth. It’s best not to look a liar in the eye.

“You caught me,” I say, though my voice comes out in more of a whisper,

“I’ll do that anytime you need catching, Goldfinch.”

Gold has quickly become my favorite.”

“You’re very floppy.”

I instantly find myself wishing that things were different, that we had met under other circumstances. That we didn’t have King Ravinger and Midas and omissions jutting up between us

in an impassable terrain...because I think I might’ve liked the trek.