Gleam (The Plated Prisoner, #3)

by Raven Kennedy

“Interesting how one keeps a king’s favored,” he muses with a twist of his lips. “What does it say, do you think, about a male who keeps a woman in a cage?”

The burden of love I held for him for so long has scraped off. Peeled away like dried, dead skin flaking in a scorching sun. Colorless, depleted strips that no longer feel a thing. Never again will I be the clay that he molds in his hold. I’m going to shape myself.

It’s why I recall every time he pulled my strings, exploited me, used my feelings for his own machinations. He made me suffer for years. He took away my control. Now, it’s time I take it back.

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.

My anger makes me feel better, makes me feel more in control. It reminds me that I’m not the powerless favored he wants me to think I am.

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.

“Then you’d be a statue stuck right here on the stairwell, and I don’t think gold’s your color, Commander.” “I disagree. Gold has quickly become my favorite.”

“You’re very floppy.” I rest my head against his firm, muscled chest. “You’re very hard,” I counter. A rich, dark laugh slips from his mouth. “You’ve no idea.”

“My own good was stuck on a pirate ship, with an aura like a beacon that flared across the Barrens,” he grits out, a thick spun voice meant to tie knots around me. “My own good was cowering before men who were nothing—fucking nothing—in comparison to her.”

“I’m saying that you are my own good. And for you, I gave you a choice, but you chose him.”

“I’m glad you’re choosing you,” he says quietly, and my lips part, like I want to swallow the rumble of his cadence. “You are?” I go completely still as he moves his hand and grips my chin, like he wants to make sure I’m paying attention. I am. “Yes, Goldfinch. Because I’m choosing you, too.”

The giant always expects the ones at his feet to scramble for his bidding, if only not to get trampled on.

It’s the only thing keeping me from plunging into the flames that burn pure gold.

I’d actually rather chew iron nails and shit them back out, but the life of a king isn’t easy.

“If I knew you had interest in tangling yourself up in my bed, I would’ve at least had the forethought to be in it already.”

You’re not the villain in my story.” “I am,” he says without remorse, his sharp jaw tight with tension. “But I’ll be the villain for you. Not to you.”

“You, Slade. I want you.”

Why did he have to be so consuming? My life would be easier if he weren’t. But I’ve stepped too close to him and gotten caught in his quicksand. No matter which direction I go, I just end up sinking deeper.

“I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you, Goldfinch. I was just waiting for you to catch up.”

“I want all of you,” he tells me, a newfound hunger in the depths of his green eyes that stirs heat beneath my skin. “Every piece, every memory, every minute, every inch. This isn’t going to be some casual dalliance. This isn’t going to be temporary. I want you soul, mind, and body. I want your trust and your thoughts. I want your past, your present, your future. So make very certain that you want me for the right reasons. Be certain that you’re choosing this, because once you do, there’s no turning back.”

“Love happens in all kinds of ways. Fast. Slow. In bits and pieces, or immediate. Filled with lust, one-sided longing, a snap realization never noticed before. Deeply. Thoroughly. Love is a whisper we didn’t hear or a sound that drums in our ears and drowns out everything else.”

“And you’re a gorgeous little liar, but that’s okay,” he says with a shrug. “I’ve made you face your other truths, and I have no doubt I can make you face this one too.”

“Now, are you going to strip, or are you going to lie to yourself and pretend that this wasn’t what you wanted when you came here to see me?”

“It’s fucking torture to have you stand there and tell me you want me, and not be able to do anything about it. But I’m a patient male, and as soon as I’m able, I’m going to touch and taste every inch of you. I’m going to have you writhing and begging, and I’ll give you every bit of pleasure I can wring from your delectable body,” he murmurs in a wicked promise. “The moment that sun dips, Goldfinch, you’re mine.”

There comes a point in your life when you have to choose between having regrets and the possibility of making mistakes.

“All of you, every part, and I’m not giving you up, remember? I would definitely tie you to the bed if you tried to back out on this. Your ribbons would probably even help me do it.”

“If I have a question on how to spread my legs and fuck for a living, I’ll consult you, Jeo,” I say coldly. “But when it comes to being a monarch, you’re vastly underqualified to be giving me any advice.”

What a bitch

“I want to breathe you in,” he counters. “Your every exhale, your aura, your very essence. I don’t want to miss a single part of you.”

“You’ve bewitched my senses, taken over my thoughts. Every time I blink, all I see is you, like you’ve seared yourself into my eyes and I’ll never close them again without envisioning you. And you know what?”

“Then I’m the luckiest bastard in the realm, because I get to be the first one to taste you.”

He used a silver tongue against a golden heart, and the glint of his lies dimmed every truth I knew.

The night may have stolen the sun, and Midas may have stolen my ribbons, but I’m not helpless. And all at once, I’m calling to the magic not under the control of others, not ruled by the sun, but by me. Because every gilded inch, every piece of metallic glint I’ve wrought is mine.

“You can’t cut off the strings of your puppet and still expect it to move for you.”