Gild (The Plated Prisoner, #1)(8)
Lifting off my night dress, I leave the wrinkled fabric in the pile near the bars where the maids can come to pick it up later for washing. I pull on the new gown, adjusting the drapery to lay just right and cover everything that should be covered.
Sitting down at the vanity table, I look into the mirrored glass. My ribbons raise behind me, threading through my hair and braiding it into intricate weaving plaits until it looks like I have a net of braids resting against the crown of my head, and then every long golden strand that was hanging down my back gets woven up at the nape of my neck.
It’s a lot of hair, but since the king is possessive of me, he doesn’t let anyone near me. Not even the barber. Which means I always have to give myself haircuts, and I suck at it.
After one particularly tragic haircut incident, I had lopsided bangs for two months before they finally grew out long enough to tuck behind my ears. It was not cute. I’ve tried to avoid the scissors as much as possible since that debacle and just trim my dead ends because I learned my lesson.
Though, to be fair, I’m not sure even straight bangs would’ve been a good thing. One should never decide something as serious as bangs when they have a bottle of wine in their stomachs.
Once my hair is tightly woven against my scalp, I get up from the table and walk back into my bedroom, just in time for a servant to walk in. She addresses Digby, slightly out of breath from her climb upstairs. “King Midas has summoned the favored to the breakfast room.”
Digby nods at her, and the woman scurries away, a fleeting glance over at me before she disappears through the door. “Ready?” Digby asks me.
I look around and tap a finger to my lip. “I actually need to run a few errands before I head over. See some people, do some things. I’m very busy, you know,” I tell him, my lips curling up in amusement.
Digby doesn’t fall into banter with me though. The man doesn’t even smile. All I get back is a patient stare.
I sigh. “Are you ever going to start laughing at my jokes, Dig?”
A slow shake of his head. “No.”
“One of these days. I’m going to finally crack that gruff guard fa?ade. Just you wait.”
“If you say so, Lady Auren. Are you ready? We shouldn’t keep His Majesty waiting.”
I blow out a breath, wishing my headache would subside a little bit more before I have to face King Fulke. “Fine. Yes, I’m ready. But you really need to work on your cageside manner. A little small talk would be nice. And would a friendly quip every now and then kill you?”
He just stares back at me with his brown eyes, totally expressionless.
“Alright, alright. I’m going,” I grumble. “See you in eighty-two seconds,” I add with a hint of snark and a blown kiss. “I’ll miss you.”
Turning, I walk out of my bedroom to the other side of the cage, which leads down a hallway specifically added for me. I walk over the gold floor in my silk slippers, my ribbons and the hem of my dress trailing behind me.
It’s dark down here, but the narrow hallway is only ten feet or so, and then I’m spilling into the library, which is massive, but smells of musty parchment and stagnant air, despite the fact that the servants come up here to clean.
I go through the caged-in portion of the library, down another dark hallway, past the atrium, and then I make it to the hallway that leads to the breakfast room. Once I reach the archway, I pause to listen for a moment, giving my sore temple another rub. I can hear King Midas speaking to a servant, and the sound of plates being placed onto the table.
Taking a breath, I head through the doorways and into the small cage that spills out into the room. On the other side of the bars lies a long dining table, filled with exactly six platters of food, six pitchers of drink, and six bouquets of solid gold flowers to match the plates and goblets, Midas’s numeral and gold fetish are ever present.
My stomach churns sourly at the sight of the food, and I’m glad that I won’t be expected to dine with them. I expect it would be a bit off-putting to vomit all over their place settings.
Gray, snowy light from the windows streaks into the room, somehow making all of the opulence seem a bit dimmed. The fireplace roars with flame, but no matter how many fires are lit, it never quite gets warm enough. The fires are always just chasing away the perpetual chill.
My eyes immediately find King Midas at the head of the table, dressed in a handsome tunic, his spiked gold crown sitting perfectly atop his combed blond hair.
King Fulke is sitting at his left, a gluttonous belly hanging over the edge of his waistband. And as is consistent with Fifth Kingdom’s fashion, he’s wearing velvet leggings. He also has on a dark purple tunic—his kingdom’s color—to match. His own golden crown is skewed on his bald head, a careless reminder of his rule, purple gemstones set into it that are the size of my fist.
I have no idea if Fulke used to be a handsome man when he was younger. All I see now is creased skin and an over-plumped body. But the yellowing of his teeth from too much pipe smoking is what makes me cringe. That, and the leer in his dark eyes every time he glances at me. It’s a tie between the two, really.
Right now, it’s not just velvet leggings that are wrapped around his legs. He has two blonde, scantily dressed saddles straddling each of his thighs, the women feeding him bits of pastries and fruit as part of their all-inclusive duties.
Polly sits on one thigh while Rissa straddles the other, giggling as she feeds him berries between her own lips and he gropes their breasts. I guess it’s that kind of breakfast.