Glint (Plated Prisoner Book 2)

The woman beside me moves like a bird.

Light on her feet, she doesn’t stalk, or stomp, or even do what I’d describe as a walk. She flits, moving over packed snow with a swooping grace I didn’t know was possible, while all I can do is try not to slip.

She takes me in the opposite direction I was heading, keeping away from the crowded bonfire at the cave, and even though I don’t see her eyes on me, I can feel them. The prickle on the side of my face tells me that she’s taking my measure.

My shoulders are tight under the silent observation, my lips pressed together to keep from speaking. It’s not until we’re well away from Hojat that she talks to me.

“So, you’re the famous gilded woman that everyone’s been talking about.”

“Unless you have another one stashed somewhere.”

She huffs, though I can’t tell if it’s in irritation or amusement. I hope it’s the latter.

We approach a smaller campfire with a group of thirty or so soldiers gathered around it, but she abruptly veers to the left, behind a stack of firewood. I nearly trip from her sudden change in direction.

On the next aisle, there are a few soldiers walking around, and once again, she cuts a corner, making us squeeze between tightly-packed tents as she leads us to another pathway.

A sense of foreboding crawls over my skin as I look around the empty aisle. “You are taking me to see the saddles…right?”

“I said I was, didn’t I?”

Well, that’s not an answer at all.

Every time we see another soldier, she changes direction, until I’m so turned around and worried about her clandestine efforts that I don’t know which one is making me more nauseated. Either the commander really wouldn’t give me permission to see the saddles and she’s breaking the rules, or…

Oh, great Divine. She’s going to murder me.

Every sharp turn and ducking maneuver she performs to avoid nearby soldiers makes me more certain it’s the latter option.

Thanks a lot, Hojat. I’d really started to like the intestine-stirring army mender, too.

My ribbons trill nervously beneath my coat, but just as I’m about to turn and try to make a break for it, the woman claps her hands. “Yes!”

I stop in my tracks, watching as she hurries over to one of the tents and crouches down beside a large wooden barrel sitting right at the front of it.

When she sees me still standing a few paces away, she gives me an impatient look. “What are you doing over there? Hurry up and come help me with this.”

I blink in bewilderment before lurching forward at her glare, stopping in front of the barrel. “What do you want me to do?”

She rolls her eyes. “What do you think? Grab the end of this.” Without warning, she shoves the barrel over, giving me only a split-second warning to catch it.

The weight of it crashes into my arms, and I let out a yelp of surprise. I nearly drop it when she grabs the bottom and heaves it up, forcing me to follow suit.

I straighten on my legs, the barrel lifted between the two of us on its side, liquid splashing around inside.

“Come on, Gildy Locks. Pick up those feet,” she tells me, and then we’re slogging through the narrow path again, but this time, carrying a heavy ass barrel.

“What is in this damn thing?” I ask through gritted teeth, trying not to fall.

“It’s mine,” she replies loftily.

“Okay…and why are we carrying it?”

“Because these left flank bastards stole it from the right flank. So I’m stealing it back.”

The liquid inside sloshes against my ear as we carry it, the rough wood catching into the fingers of my gloves. “And you’re the right flank?” I guess.

“Yep. Now pick up your side more. Don’t make me do all the work.”

I try to glare at her over the barrel, but I nearly trip, so I’m forced to watch my feet instead. My escort is forcing me into thiefdom. Probably not the best circumstance for me, considering I’m already their prisoner.

Bright side? At least she’s not murdering me. I’m just an accomplice to a crime.

The woman adjusts her grip. “So, was it painful?”

I frown, shooting her a confused look as I do my best not to pant. “Was what painful?”

She turns sideways, leading me between a pair of tents in a ridiculously tight squeeze. “Everyone in Orea has heard about you. But now that I see you’re real, not painted or just some bullshit rumor, I want to know if it hurt when King Midas gold-touched you and turned you into…this,” she says, brown eyes flicking over my body.

My mind stutters at her question, surprise nearly making me forget that I’m holding a hundred-pound barrel. She wants to know if being gold-touched hurt me?

No one has ever asked me that before.

They’ve asked other things, sure. Crude things. Words that would never pass their lips if they actually saw me as a regular person deserving of common decency.

Yet because Midas has made me a symbol, they can say whatever they want to assuage their curiosity. They believe my notoriety gives them the right to ask whatever obnoxious question piques their interest.

But this is different. It’s not about what my gold body means to her. It’s what it meant for me.

I realize that she’s still waiting for an answer, that a long pause of silence has stretched between us, spreading like a shadow.

I clear my throat. “No. No, it didn’t hurt.”

She hums in thought, the hilt of her sword lightly tapping against the wood every time she takes a step. “Do you hate it? To be stared at all the time?”

Another thing I’ve never been asked. But this time, I don’t have to pause before answering.

“Yes.” The word comes out like a rush—involuntary, immediate.

Whenever Midas brought me around others—whether it was a throne room full of revelers, or an intimate breakfast meant to impress—it was always the same result. People stare. They talk. They judge.

That’s why befriending Sail was such a breath of fresh air. He didn’t ask me questions about being gold. He didn’t gawk or treat me like a novelty.

He just…saw me as a person, treated me like a friend. Such a simple thing, but for me, it was everything.

But Sail is gone, and I’m here. With a woman I know nothing about, other than the fact that Hojat seemed a little scared of her and she likes to steal barrels in her free time.

Noting the shape of muscles visible beneath the black sleeves of her leathers and the confident way she touches her hilt, to me, she looks like a warrior.

I study her curiously, but my hands are strained, my arms burning and shaky. “I can’t hold this thing much longer,” I warn.

A click of her tongue. “Need to build up that arm strength, Gildy,” she says before she nods toward a circle of tents. “Right up here.”

She leads me to one of them, and we carefully set the barrel down. As soon as it’s on the ground, her face splits with a smug smile, while mine pulls into a grimace as I shake out my sore hands and arms.

She ducks inside the tent and comes out with a pile of furs, throwing them over the barrel haphazardly. “There.”

I look down at the sloppy covering with an arched brow. “It’s not exactly hidden.”

Her leather jerkin moves with the shrug of her shoulders. “Eh, good enough. Here.” She reaches into the tent again, pulling out an iron goblet. Kneeling in the snow, she slips her hand beneath the furs at the bottom of the barrel, and with a twist of her arm, I hear liquid pour out.

Standing up, she takes a hearty drink, draining half the cup before she hands it to me.

I stare at the red liquid, eyes wide. “Is that…”

“Wine. Made from the vineyards in Fourth Kingdom.”

I’ve snatched the cup from her hand before she even finished explaining, downing it all in a few gluttonous gulps. It’s sweet yet spiced, thick, rich, yet refreshing. Maybe this is the withdrawals talking, but I think it might be the best wine I’ve ever tasted.

An appreciative groan leaves my lips as I swipe my sleeve against my lips. “Great Divine, that’s delicious.”

She smirks. “I know.”

I try not to pout when she takes the cup back and chucks it into her tent. I missed wine so, so much.Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

“Alright, I’ll take you to your saddles now. But this wine barrel thing? Never happened,” she tells me sternly, pointing at my face. “I’m not joking.”

“I never joke about wine,” I reply.

“Good. Let’s go.”

Maybe it’s because my tongue is now coated in alcohol, but I feel much calmer now with this strange woman. “So…you’re a soldier.”

“What gave me away?” she says dryly.

“Has King Ravinger always allowed women to serve in his army?”

Her head snaps over as she pins me with a glare, eyes flashing in the dark, lip curled back. “Allowed? Like he’s doing us women a favor?”

“No, I just—”

“He’s lucky to have women in his army,” she interrupts. “All the kingdoms in Orea would be smart to utilize their women, but they don’t. Which is why Fourth will always be superior.”

Going off the impassioned vehemence of her voice, I’d say she’s had this argument with people before.

“Sorry,” I say quickly, hoping to assuage her. “I was just surprised. I’ve never heard of women in other kingdoms being accepted to serve as soldiers.”

She gives a terse nod as we sidestep a row of buckets on the ground. “Like I said, Fourth’s army is superior.”

I slip my hands into my coat pockets. “Do the men… Are they cruel to you and the other women serving?”

“You mean you want to know if they fuck with us.”

“Yes.”

She shrugs. “There’s always a few pricks who like to think that they’re better than us,” she tells me. “But it’s not what you think. No soldier in this entire army would abuse one of the women.”

“Really?” I ask dubiously.

“Of course,” she says with unrivaled confidence. “For one, the commander would rip their heads clear off their necks if they did anything so disgraceful. But secondly, this army is a clan. We might have caught some shit in training, but everyone here has earned their place, whether they have a cock or a cunt. Being in Fourth’s army under the commander is an honor none of us take lightly.”

She speaks about Rip like serving under him is an immense honor, sounds almost fanatic in her respect for him.

I never imagined that Rip nor King Ravinger would ever hold such stock in equality of women. Midas wouldn’t dream of allowing females to serve in his army.

As if she’s reading my mind, she glances over at me with a knowing look, hand running over her shaved head to dust the collecting snow off. “I’m not surprised that the idea seems so foreign to you. Your Golden King wants women to be saddles, not sit on top of one to ride into battle.”

I don’t respond, because there’s nothing to say in defense. She’s right.

“What’s your name?” I say instead. I should know it, now that we’ve stolen a wine barrel together.

“Lu,” she answers.

“Just Lu?”

“Talula Gallerin, but if you call me Talula, I’ll knock you on your golden ass, Gildy Locks.”

My lips twitch. “Thanks for the warning. And it’s Auren.”

“Just Auren?” she retorts with a wry look. “No family name?”

I shrug. “No family.”

Lu goes quiet at that. Whatever family I once had is gone forever. I wish I’d known that night was the last time I’d ever see them. I would’ve hugged my father a little bit tighter. I would’ve buried my nose in my mother’s hair as she held me and tried to memorize her scent.

It’s funny how I forgot that smell, but I vividly remember the taste of the honeyed candy she slipped to me that night, because they were my favorite, and she was bribing me to be brave.

I remember the way it felt in the pocket of my nightgown, how it softened inside my shaking, sweaty palm. I recall how it tasted too, a burst of chewy warmth that melted against my tongue, the flavor mixing with the salt of my tears.

A small, sweet candy for a dark, bitter night.

I shove the memory away, crumpling it like I did the paper wrapper I buried deep into my pocket that night.

Lu brings me to a large tent, coming to a stop in front of it where two soldiers are outside, both of them sitting on stools beside a small campfire, the flames casting an orange glow across their faces. They’re playing some kind of game, tossing down dice made of wood, the worn edges rolling with the shake of their hands.

Turning at the sound of our footsteps, their eyes widen on me. “What…” The man’s question cuts off when he tears his gaze away from me and notices Lu.

The other soldier lets out a curse as they both immediately jump up to stand at attention.

“Captain,” the man on the left says with a wary nod, while the one on the right spits out the rolled cigarette in his mouth, leaving it to hiss in the snow like an angry serpent.

“Evening, gentlemen,” she says cheerfully. “Gildy Locks here would like to see the saddles.”

The soldiers share a look. “Erm…”

Just like she did with Hojat, Lu grins and claps the soldier on the back, cutting off his hesitation. “Won’t be but five minutes.”

She moves and sits down on one of the stools they were just occupying before plucking up the used cigarette from the ground. It’s still smoking a little as she sticks it in the fire to relight it.

She perches it between her lips before looking up at them with a cock of her brow. “Well? You assholes just going to stand there, or are you going to teach me how to play this dice game?”

The men pause, fidgeting on their feet with uncertainty, but when she snaps her fingers, they rush forward to accommodate her.

First Hojat is a little skittish around her, and now these soldiers called her Captain. Clearly, she’s not just a soldier, but she has status too.

Interesting.

Lu smirks at them and gives me a conspiratorial wink. “Five minutes, Gildy. And don’t even think about trying anything stupid. You do, and it won’t be just you who gets in trouble, you get me?”

I nod slowly. “I get you.”

“Good. Because if you do anything to undermine their capture, there will be a price to pay,” she says.

I have no doubt there will be. Just like I have no doubt that I won’t want to pay it.