Gild (The Plated Prisoner #1)(34)

“May I?”

I don’t answer or nod, but I tip my chin up slightly, and that’s invitation enough. He reaches forward and gently begins to dab at the wound, the sting making me flinch.

“I’m sorry.”

His words are gentle but steady—same as the swipes against my throat.

“For what part?” I ask, my voice croaky from disuse or emotion. Maybe both.

The cloth is dipped again and again, new warm water to wash away the dried blood, to clean the cut.

“You weren’t supposed to get hurt.”

My brows rise at his admission, even as indignant anger rises up, shouldering past the numbness I’ve felt for the last few hours.

“The slice against my throat is the least of them,” I reply, and I mean it.

I pull away from his ministrations and lie all the way back, dipping my head and hair beneath the water. With eyes closed, I let it envelop me, let it press into my skin, let the warmth soothe my body like I wish it could soothe my aching heart.

When I sit back up, I take a gulping breath and rest my head against the back of the tub, my eyes landing on Midas. I don’t cover up the hurt and anger there, don’t mask it from him.

Midas nods, like he accepts what I’m silently telling him.

“I know,” he says again, just like he did in the bedroom. “I know what you’re thinking.”

What I’m thinking isn’t nearly as bad as what I’m feeling, but I don’t say that.

“I didn’t think you’d actually go through with it,” I tell him, my tone accusatory. “And as nervous as I was, as gutted, some part of me thought that you’d have a plan. That you wouldn’t go through with it.”

My breaths come quicker, the water line rising and lowering over my chest. My ribbons swim in the water, pulling tighter around me once more, like they’re trying to keep me from cracking to pieces.

“I trusted you, Midas. I trust us. After all these years, after all I’ve done—”

Midas grabs one of my hands, squeezing it between his, his face earnest. “I was never going to let him touch you.”

I frown, my thoughts cut short. “What?”

“Just listen,” he tells me. “I knew Fulke coveted you. Hell, everyone knew. He was a fool. He dared to ask for what was mine.”

I blink, remembering the morning when Fulke asked for me, when they struck their deal.

“You set him up for it.”

Midas tilts his head. “Did I? Is that what you think?”

My lips turn down, confusion swimming through me, making my thoughts murky. “I don’t understand.”

Midas hooks his foot around the leg of the stool to move it closer, his hands still holding onto mine, the water droplets collecting on his palms.

“Fulke is a flesh trader.”

Shock courses through me. “What?”

Midas nods solemnly. “I heard rumors, but I found out for sure months ago. When I was able to confirm it, I knew something needed to be done.”

I try to keep up with his words, try to make the connections. “So you planned how to take him out? How to kill him?”

Midas’s lips press together at my damning tone. “Would you rather I let him continue to sell his own people for profit?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Auren, I’m a king, and kings have to make hard decisions. When it became clear to me that Fulke was no longer a viable ally, not even a good person, I decided to act.”

“By setting him up. Tricking him. By sending his men into a meaningless slaughter,” I accuse. “How many of his soldiers died, Midas?”

“As few as possible, just enough to make it work.”

I scoff. “As if that makes it any better!”

“Better a man die with honor on a battlefield than a child be sold to slavery. Wouldn’t you agree, Auren?”

A punch.

That’s what it is. His words punch into my stomach, against my heart, up my throat. He shreds me inside with a sentence, memories threatening to come up, to spill out my eyes.

“I did it for you, Auren,” Midas says, quieter now, losing the defensiveness of his voice. “To make sure they don’t endure what you did.”

When a tear slips past my eye, he swears and wipes it away, his face earnest. “I’m sorry. You know me, you know how I get. Once I get a plan in my head, it’s all I see. I didn’t stop to consider the consequences. I just knew I wanted him gone. Done. To stop him once and for all.” His hand comes up to cup my cheek, his eyes boring into mine. “But listen to me when I say this: I was never going to let him have you. It was a ruse.”

My throat is dry, but I clear it so I can speak. “Why not just tell me, then? Why not explain all this before so I knew?”

“I was worried that he’d find out somehow, that you wouldn’t be able to pretend. I needed Fulke complacent. Distracted. You did your part beautifully.”

I drop my head, shaking it. “I was so damn terrified, so hurt. I don’t know if I can get past that.”

“Like I said, I didn’t think,” he tells me, a stroke against my cheek before he drops his hand.

“You killed a king, Midas. Used him to attack another. What are you going to do?” I ask, the worry gnawing at my insides as my teeth gnaw on my lip.