Gild (The Plated Prisoner, #1)(2)
Gold floors. Gold window frames. Rugs, paintings, tapestries, cushions, clothing, dishes, knights’ armor, hell, even the pet bird is frozen in lifeless shine. As far as the eye can see, everything is gold, gold, gold, including the entire infrastructure of the palace itself. Every stone and rung and pillar.
The exterior of the castle must be glaring when the sun hits it. Luckily for everyone who lives outside of the palace, I don’t think the sun has actually ever come out to shine on it. If it’s not snowing, it’s sleeting, and if it’s not doing either, there’s usually a blizzard on the way.
The bell here always tolls with a warning when there’s a blizzard coming, warning people to stay indoors. And that enormous bell in the tower that sits at the highest point of the castle? Yep, that’s solid gold too. And damn, is it loud.
I hate it. Its peals are noisier than a hail storm on a glass ceiling, but with a name like Highbell Castle, I guess not having an annoying bell would be blasphemy.
I’ve heard that people can hear it ringing from miles and miles away. So with the loud bell and the dazzling gold, Highbell Castle is a bit garish from its spot perched on the side of this snow-covered, rocky mountain. King Midas doesn’t believe in subtlety. He flaunts his renowned power, and the people either bow in wonder or hunger in envy of it.
I walk over to the edge of my cage to pour myself more wine, only to find that the pitcher is empty. I frown down at it as I try to ignore the squeals and male grunts going on behind me. A different saddle—Polly—is getting ridden by the king now, her sex noises grating on me like an aching tooth scraped over ice, while jealousy cringes inside my chest.
I really wish I had more wine.
Instead, I snatch up the grapes on my cheese and fruit platter and stuff them in my mouth. Maybe they’ll ferment in my stomach, and I can get a little quasi-drunk from it? A girl can hope.
Stuffing in another mouthful for good luck, I walk back to the corner and settle down on the plush gold pillows on the floor. With one ankle crossed over the other, I watch the writhing bodies as they put on their lovely performance for the king.
Three of the saddles are new, so I don’t know their names yet. The new male is standing up on the mattress, totally naked, and great Divine, he is pretty. His body is molded to perfection. I can see why the king chose him, because with those chiseled abs and effeminate face, he’s very nice to look at. It’s clear that when he isn’t servicing Midas, he’s working out to sculpt his each and every muscle.
Right now, he has his forearms braced on the top beam of the four poster bed frame, and a female saddle is perched on it like a squirrel on a branch, her legs spread wide as he eats her out. Their balance and showmanship can’t be ignored.
The third newbie is on her knees in front of the male, sucking his length like poison from a snake bite. And...wow, she’s really good at that. Now I know why she was chosen. I tilt my head, taking mental notes. You never know when something like this can come in handy.
“Your cunt is boring me,” Midas suddenly says, making Polly quickly get out from under him. He spanks the boob girl in front of him. “You’re up. I want your ass.”
“Of course, my king,” she purrs before spinning around and dropping onto her knees, her ass high in the air. He plunges into her with the slick juices of Polly still on his cock, and the woman gives off a moan.
“Faker,” I mumble under my breath. No way that felt good.
Not that I would know firsthand. I’ve never been breached down there, thank Divine.
The sounds in the room intensify when a couple of the saddles orgasm—either faking it or real—and the king slams harshly into his female before finally spilling his seed with a grunt.
Hopefully, he’ll be well and truly done this time, because I’m tired and I’m out of wine.
No sooner does the woman collapse beneath him than he smacks her on the ass again, this time in dismissal. “All of you can go back to the harem wing. I’m done with you for the night.”
His words interrupt the rest of the saddles, cutting short their own releases. The male is still rocking his erection, but none of them complain or pout or ignore his command. To do so would be pure stupidity.
They all quickly disentangle themselves from each other and walk out naked in a single file line, some thighs still wet and sticky. It’s been a long night.
I wonder if the saddles will finish things off themselves in the harem wing. I wouldn’t know, because I’m not allowed in there, so I don’t know their dynamic when the king isn’t around. I’m not allowed to go anywhere unless I’m in my cages or in the presence of the king. As his favored, I’m kept locked away and safe. A pet to be protected and kept.
I watch Midas carefully while he pulls on his golden robe as the last saddle walks out. Just the sight of him standing there, barely dressed and satisfied from his sensual pleasures makes my stomach tighten.
He’s beautiful.
He’s not muscled, because he has a very plush life, but he’s naturally slim and broad shouldered. Young for a ruling king, Midas is only in his thirties, the edge of youth still softening his face. He has tanned skin, despite the fact that all it ever does is snow and rain here, and his hair is blond with reddish honey tones, the scarlet hue more pronounced in the candlelight. His eyes are a deep brown, and there’s a presence about him—a charm. It’s his charm that always gets me.