Gild (The Plated Prisoner #1)(7)

Joq shrugs, and I watch the whole exchange with budding curiosity. I wonder if he’d ever play a drinking game with me.

“You think she has a gold cunt?” Joq asks abruptly, tilting his head as he looks over at me.

Oookay, so he’s not interested in a drinking game, then. Good to know.

“It’s rude to talk about people’s cunts right in front of them,” I tell him pointedly, and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise at my blunt words.

“But you’re a saddle,” he says with a frown. “Your cunt is what you’re good for.”

Wow, okay. So Joq’s an asshole.

I grip my gold bars as I narrow my eyes on him. “Female saddles aren’t only good for their cunts. We usually have awesome tits too,” I say dryly.

Instead of catching my scathing tone, he just looks excited. Joq is an idiot too, it seems.

Digby turns to him. “Careful, lad. The king hears you speaking about his favored’s body, and he’ll have your head on a gold spike faster than you can say forged fuck.”

Joq’s eyes trail over me like he isn’t listening to Digby at all. “She’s a fine piece, that’s all I’m sayin’,” he replies, clearly not wanting to shut up. “I thought it was a myth that King Midas gold-touched his favorite saddle.” Joq scratches the back of his mussed up, mud-colored hair. “How do you think he did it?”

“Did what?” Digby asks, clearly irritated with him.

“Well...shouldn’t everything he touches turn solid gold? She should be a solid statue right now, right?”

Digby looks at him like he’s a fool. “Look around, boy. The king turns some things solid gold, and other things keep their form and just go golden, like the curtains and shit. I don’t know how the fuck he does it, and I don’t care, because it’s not my duty to care. It is my duty to guard the top wing of the castle and his favored, though, so that’s what I do. If you were wise, you’d do the same and stop yapping your damn mouth. Now go walk your rounds.”

“Alright, alright.” Chastised, Joq sends me one more curious look before he turns away and slips out the door to do his walking rounds of the rest of the floor.

I shake my head. “Young guards these days. Idiots, all of them, am I right, Dig?”

Digby just glances at me before looking away to stare straight ahead in his guardy pose. After all the years of being around him, I’ve learned that he takes his job very, very seriously.

“Best get ready, Miss Auren. It’s late,” he says gruffly.

I sigh, pressing a thumb against my sore temple before I head for the archway that leads to the barred walkway that separates my rooms. I walk through it and go into my dressing room, while Digby stays in the other room to give me privacy.

Some of the other guards like to push the boundaries and follow me in here from the other side. I’m glad to be behind my bars in those instances. Luckily, I do have a golden sheath of fabric draped down from the ceiling. It covers part of the cage so that I can undress behind it without being seen, but I’m pretty sure it still casts off the shadow of my silhouette, which is why those pricks follow.

But I don’t have to worry about Digby ogling my shadow. He’s never tried to be inappropriate or steal looks at me—not like some of the others. Come to think of it, that’s probably why he’s been my guard for so many years, while some of the others haven’t lasted. I wonder if King Midas put their heads on golden spikes.

This morning, it’s dark and dreary in my dressing room. I only have one skylight in the ceiling above, but the window is usually covered in snow, and today is no different. My only other light source is the lantern on the table. I quickly refill it and turn up the flame, and then get started with my morning routine in the soft light. Midas is going to summon me this morning, so I have to be ready on time.

I look around at all the racks of gowns hanging up in the room, my eyes searching through them. They’re all made with gold thread and fabric of course. As Midas’s favored, I’m never seen in anything less.

Walking over to the back, I pick one with an empire waist and a non-existent back. All of my dresses have no backs. It’s necessary because of my ribbons.

I call them ribbons for lack of a better word. I have two dozen long golden ribbons that sprout out on both sides of my spine, spanning the entire length, from my shoulders to my tailbone. They’re long too, so they drape to the floor like a train on a gown, dragging behind me as I walk.

That’s what most people think they are—just extra fabric from my dresses. They have no idea that they’re actually attached to me. And honestly, it was a surprise to me as well. I grew them right before Midas saved me. It wasn’t painless, either. I went through weeks of night sweats and burning pain as they grew from my back, slowly lengthening each day until they finally stopped.

As far as I know, I’m the only person in Orea with ribbons. All the royals have magic, of course. They can’t take the crown without it. Some commoners have magic too. I once saw a jester who could make the flares of light emit from his fingers every time he snapped or clapped. A nice little night show for shadow puppets on the wall.

But as far as my ribbons, they aren’t just pretty or unusual. They aren’t just a throne room trick. They’re prehensile. I can control them like I can control my own limbs. Usually, I just let them drape behind me like supple fabric, but I can also move each one when I want to, and they’re stronger than they look.