Gild (The Plated Prisoner, #1)(23)
A commodity to be bought for a night.
My bedroom door opens suddenly, making me flinch away from the window. I turn to see a maid come inside and walk over to Digby where he’s still standing at attention at his spot near the wall. She delivers hushed words to him, while I stand by, watching warily.
As soon as she leaves, I walk over to the other end of my cage to face him. “What’s going on?”
Digby gestures up at the gown that’s still hanging up. “It’s time.”
My stomach breaks apart in cold, brittle pieces, falling down through my feet.
“Already?” I ask, and I barely recognize my voice. It’s timid and quiet like a skittish mouse, and I can’t afford to be a mouse tonight. I have to be strong.
Digby nods, and I blow out a breath, sending a tendril of hair to shift up and out of my face. I force myself to swallow hard, as if I can internalize my nerves and drink them down, bury them into a chasm inside of me.
Turning away, I pluck the sheer dress off its hanger with a pounding heart, and head into my dressing room with wooden steps. In front of my broken mirror, I take off the simple gown I dressed myself in and slip into the sheer one. My ribbons do all the work while my arms move robotically, my face expressionless.
When I have it all the way on, I take in the gauze drapery hanging over my body, and I will myself not to flinch. Just like I knew it would be, it’s so sheer that it shows every trace of my curves, even a veiled glimpse of the burnished tips of my nipples.
The dress has see-through sleeves of swirling gold lace, clasps at each shoulder holding it in place. It drapes over my breasts with a loose, plunging neckline that shows the edge of my bruised stomach in the front.
At the skirt, there are slits on each side that reach from my toes to my hips, so that no matter which direction someone is standing beside me, they’ll get an eyeful of flesh. The whole thing flows loosely over my curves, easy access for anyone to slip their hand in and touch an intimate part of me.
Midas has never dressed me like this before. Sure, I wear sensual dresses that accentuate my body, but nothing as provocative as this. My body, for the most part, is private. For him to enjoy. But for the first time in my life, I’m dressed like a true royal saddle, ready to be ridden.
I know the moment the last of daylight recedes, because a chill fills the air. I look up at my skylight, seeing darkness descending already. A dejected emptiness pulls at me, a shiver scattering goose bumps over my arms as night starts to rise.
Behave tonight.
A souvenir to show off.
Sit pretty.
Leave the men to speak.
Gritting my teeth, my spirit rebels. Midas wants me to wear this? Fine. But he never said I couldn’t embellish it.
My ribbons rise up alongside my resolve, and I get to work.
It takes a few minutes of wrapping and tucking and tying, but after some adjusting, I finally feel satisfied with the outcome. My golden ribbons are now wrapped around the bodice in elaborate braided designs, swooping over my breasts before cinching at my waist, the rest of the strips hanging down around the entire circumference of my skirt.
I’m still way more exposed than I’d like, but it’s much, much better, holding everything in and covering my most intimate parts. I’ll still have to be careful when I walk, because even with some of my ribbons wrapped around my waist, my sides are still somewhat exposed from the gaping fabric, but at least I don’t feel naked anymore.
My hair is already braided with a few pieces hanging down my back, so I leave my scalp alone. I hear voices carry in from my bedroom, and I know that more guards have arrived to escort me downstairs.
I should be starving by now since I haven’t eaten all day, but I wouldn’t be able to tolerate food right now even if I wanted to. When I hear Digby call my name, I slip my feet into satiny slippers and then straighten my spine.
Don’t be a mouse, Auren.
I walk into my bedroom, facing the group of guards standing on the other side of the bars who have come to escort me downstairs. I haven’t been let out of my rooms for months. It’s not often that Midas allows me to leave my cage, his possession over me so intense. When he does on those rare occasions, it’s usually just to have dinner with him because he misses my company or stand behind him in the throne room, showing off to visiting dignitaries.
A skeleton key is passed to Digby as I approach. Solid iron, as black as coal, is fitted into the lock. Ironic that the key is the one thing that isn’t made of gold.
The metal creak of the key turning is so loud that it infests my eardrums and hatches into a hundred fluttering fireflies zapping against my skull.
Digby pulls open the door and the other guards step aside, careful to keep their distance under my faithful guard’s watchful eye. They know that one overstep on their part will have Digby telling the king, and that’s not something any of them want.
I walk through, the cage door swung open wide, like a rigid rib cage peeled back on a hinge, allowing its heart to spill out.
My ribbons don’t trail behind me as usual, but I take comfort in the feel of them bound around my torso like an extra set of strengthening bones as I begin to make my way out of the bedroom, sandwiched by the guards on both sides.
My footsteps feel alone, despite the fact that four pairs of feet accompany me as I walk. The sound of dread is in the soft swipes of my slippers over the polished floors, in the suck of air that pulls my lip in between teeth.