Gild (The Plated Prisoner, #1)(26)
My eyes skate around the gaping crowd, my ears assaulted with their murmured observations. They talk about everything from the shine of my skin to how much they think my fingernails are worth.
The way they look at me, I can tell that I’m not a woman to them. I’m a trinket that the king usually keeps hidden away. Everyone wants to take advantage of this rare sighting like I’m a nearly extinct animal.
The walk through that room feels miles long.
By the time I stop in front of the dais, everyone has gone quiet. All I hear is my own thudding heart and the howling wind outside.
I curtsy in front of him, knees bending, neck curving down with learned poise.
“Rise, Precious.”
I do, my eyes meeting his as his hand extends. I walk up the steps of the dais, stopping beside him. He’s so handsome that it makes my heart hurt just to look at him. Instead of looking back at me, he addresses the assembled crowd again. “Continue your celebrations.”
As soon as he finishes saying the words, the musicians strike up their instruments again, dancers slowly begin to move, and the crowd converges once more.
“Hmm, you’ve made some adjustments,” King Midas says, his eyes flicking over every place where my ribbons are wrapped around my dress.
There’s no use in denying it. “Yes, my king.”
He clicks his tongue in disapproval but runs a knuckle against my cheek. My entire body reacts, fluttering with the desire to curl against his chest and be wrapped in his arms. To pull me from this madness, to be the dreaming wanderer in the snow drift once more, when we could just talk for hours, lying in each other’s arms.
As if he knows the direction of my nostalgic thoughts, Midas’s knuckle settles beneath my chin and tilts it up so he can look me in the eye. “You’re spectacular, you know that?”
I don’t answer, my tongue tied to the knots in my stomach.
He taps my chin affectionately before dropping his hold. “Be a good girl?”
Behave tonight.
Sit pretty.
A hard swallow pushes bitterness past the tangles of my throat. “Yes, my king.”
He smiles, transforming his face to easygoing handsomeness that makes my heart clench. “Go and sit with King Fulke,” he murmurs. “We owe him a debt that needs to be paid.”
I’ve never felt like a walking coin so much in my entire life as I do right now.
Midas gives me a reassuring nod and then turns away from me, grabbing more wine from a servant as two new saddles surround him with sultry giggles as he takes his place on his throne and is immediately approached by a pair of nobles. I’m officially on my own.
Turning, I walk over to King Fulke with my chin held high. I won’t let him see how much I’m dreading this. I have a feeling that would only amuse him more, when what I really want is for him to lose interest entirely.
When I was tossing and turning last night in my bed, I told myself that no matter what happened tonight, I would handle it. Saddles are forced to give away their bodies to people they don’t like every single day. I’ve endured far worse than this before.
Besides, King Midas is growing his empire, ridding Orea of a rotten king. And he was able to do that because a single night with me was worth an entire army of soldiers.
King Fulke grins at me, showing off his yellowed, rotting teeth. His eyes run over my form greedily with carnal hunger. Despite the way my ribbons are giving me extra coverage, one look seems like he’s peeling away the layers in his head, imagining what lies beneath the wrapping.
“You’re mine for the night, gilded pet. Let’s celebrate.”
The music lifts into a crescendo.
My spirit drops into my shoes.
Chapter Eleven
He makes me feed him.
Platters of food are brought out and placed on a table between the thrones, and Midas and Fulke enjoy the spread, the saddles around me indulging too.
Meats, cheeses, chocolates, fruit, bread. Sweet-smelling cakes and vinegar dips. I feed him everything as I sit on the armrest of the throne, my body twisted toward him as much as I have to without allowing any part of me to touch him.
But no matter how careful I am to hold as little of the food as I can without dropping it, he still sucks my fingers into his mouth, licking the pads of my fingers, scraping my nails with his teeth.
The piece of chocolate in my hand is quickly nabbed, his mouth sucking my fingers in before I can pull away. He laughs as he chews, the confectionary staining his teeth as he licks them. “Your gold skin makes the food taste so much richer.”
I feel the eyes of the other saddles look over at me, assessing, judging, calculating, sizing me up as a threat, as if I want his attention.
Midas is speaking to more nobles again, the spot beside his throne filled one after another, as people occupy his time and borrow his ear. He hasn’t glanced my way at all since I was traded off to Fulke.
“Open.”
My eyes flick up to Fulke’s hand that’s hovering in front of my face. A slice of meat is caught between his fingers, sauce dripping off the bottom and landing on his black velvet leggings.
When I start to shake my head, horrified at the thought of having his fingers anywhere near my mouth or touching my food, Fulke raises a bushy brow. A question. A demand.
Behave tonight.
My lips part, barely, and Fulke presses the meat into my mouth, more forceful than he needs to. When he tries to push his fingers inside, I turn my head and snap my mouth closed.