Gild (The Plated Prisoner, #1)(10)
But every second that passes and he doesn’t say anything makes my gut churn.
“Well? What do you say?” Fulke presses. “Name an amount.”
Bile burns the back of my throat at Midas’s cocked head. What the hell is happening?
Finally, Midas lifts his hand and gestures around the room like he’s reminding Fulke of his surroundings. Gold walls, gold ceilings, gold floors. Gold fireplace and portraits and window frames. Gold, gold, gold. “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t need to be paid anything. I have more wealth than all of the other five kingdoms combined, including yours. I’m the richest person alive.”
Thank Divine.
Instead of getting offended, Fulke just waves him off. “Bah. Not money. Something else you desire.”
My eyes bounce between them, my headache coming back full force. It pulses at my temple like an aching war drum. A beat of threat. A rhythm of dread.
How is this happening?
Usually, King Fulke just makes lewd comments about what he’d like to “do to me,” but Midas never entertains him, and it never moves past that, because my king always shuts it down. But this has gone much further than ever before. Fulke is getting bolder, and Midas...Midas is looking at Fulke with that cunning look in his eye that I know all too well. The look that tells me he’s thinking.
Unease swirls in my stomach like a dark tidepool.
One of Fulke’s advisors chances to lean forward, his face anxious. “Your Majesty—”
“Quiet,” Fulke snaps, not even looking at him.
The man promptly shuts his mouth, sharing a look with the others.
When Midas leans forward, my bated breath leans with him.
Midas holds up a single finger, his expression like a hook to a fish. “One night with her, and you give me your army for the attack I’m launching next week. I want them mobilized today so they can catch up with my own armies at Fourth’s borders.”
What?
Shock courses through me. My breath stutters to a stop, and my fingers curl around the strings of the harp like I’m trying to grab hold of reality and pull it apart. I grip them so tightly that the taut threads slice into the pads of my fingers, sending droplets of golden blood dripping down. I don’t even feel the pain.
Fulke scoffs, pushing the saddles off his lap so he can lean forward, while Polly and Rissa hurry to stand behind him. “There isn’t time for that, Midas. My army couldn’t possibly catch up to yours. And I’ve told you my stance on the matter.”
“There is if you send word today and I have my army change course,” Midas counters, as if he already had the cogs turning. My mind churns with the direction of their spin.
He’s going to make me fuck another king so that he can use an army?
“It’s against the Orean Covenant,” Fulke replies.
“Don’t pretend that you haven’t sent soldiers to weaken Fourth’s border.”
Fulke’s nostrils flare. “Fourth was pushing into my lands, spreading his rot. I’m simply defending what’s mine.”
Fulke’s defensive temper rises, while Midas looks like the cat who got the bowl of cream. “And I’m simply being proactive. It’s time to cut Fourth off before he can attempt to encroach on territory that isn’t his.”
I can’t help but stare, appalled. He’s launching an attack on Fourth Kingdom? Nobody launches an attack on Fourth Kingdom. King Ravinger is called King Rot for a reason. He’s powerful and brutal and vicious. What the hell is Midas thinking?
The allied kings look at each other, both of them contemplating, judging, studying. Like a scholar poring over ancient texts of a dead language, trying to thumb through the pages and comprehend the passages without a key.
Seconds tick by, a whistling wind from the blizzard bolstering the moment, the noise a representation of the harrowing gale that’s gusting through my insides.
The same advisor who tried to interrupt before leans forward to King Fulke, speaking quietly into his ear. Fulke’s eyes dart over as he listens, the man pulling back just a moment later.
A meaty hand comes up to trace over the gold goblet in front of him as Fulke gazes contemplatively at Midas. “We’re allies, Midas. I support you in your endeavor toward challenging Fourth Kingdom’s breach. But one night with a whore is hardly worth the might of my army.”
Midas lifts a shoulder in an unimpressed shrug. “You’re wrong about that. A night with my famed favored, one who has never been touched by anyone other than myself, whose body alone is worth more than all the riches in your vault. Trading her for the use of your army is more than fair.”
Fulke’s eyes narrow while my own vision tunnels. My bruising head thrums with a pulse of its own, anxiety whipping it like a cruel horseman, forcing it to go faster and harder with each snap of the lash.
“One month.”
The back of my throat burns with Fulke’s counter offer. My fingers dig in harder to the strings.
“One night,” Midas repeats, unyielding. “One night with her, and you stand with your ally. We share the victory of Fourth and split the land, or I may need to reevaluate your worth to me as an ally.”
A gasp hitches in my throat. The tension in the room spikes up again to an entirely new level. If I weren’t already watching Fulke, I might’ve missed the shocked flash that goes through his eyes, but I catch it. The thought of him not having Midas to add to his own wealth alarms him. The shock makes way for anger, but not quick enough. Midas saw it too, I know he did. He hit Fulke’s mark.