Gild (The Plated Prisoner, #1)(13)
And that’s when I spotted the mines. Right smack in the middle of Fourth Kingdom.
Midas smiles slyly. “The mines will be ours.”
Even from all the way over at the back of the room, I can see the glint in their eyes. The excited straightening of their shoulders. I don’t know what’s in those mines, but whatever it is, they want it. Badly.
Fulke nods, appeased, while his advisors look on with matching expressions, like they’re already anticipating the royal coffers growing, rather than the lives and deaths they’re directing. But then, it must be easier to sit in a castle and move cavalry pieces on a map, rather than facing a sword on the battlefield.
“I want the north side,” Fulke declares, his pale purple leggings and matching tunic only embellished with the leather belt wrapped around his sagging middle.
Midas arches a brow at him, and his own advisor frowns uneasily, but instead of countering like I expect, Midas tips his head. “Very well. The north side of Blackroot will be yours.”
Fulke beams and claps his hands together once. “Ah, then we are agreed! Now all we must do is wait for our armies to meet tonight, and win ourselves a kingdom.”
“Indeed,” Midas says with amusement.
“What’s next on the agenda?” Fulke asks, turning to his advisor.
The gangly man in similar purple leggings pulls out a scroll and launches into a list of the things they still need to discuss today, but my mind stays behind, wheels turning over what could be in those mines that has these men so worked up, so willing to breach a peace pact and risk the defeat of their armies. And why now? They’re either very confident, very desperate, or there’s something else I’m not seeing.
Movement catches my eye, pulling me from my spinning thoughts, and I look over at Rissa who’s dancing by the window.
In true King Fulke fashion, he brought her and Polly along today. He’s had at least one saddle with him up here every single day during their council. Rissa and Polly must be his favorites, because it’s usually one or both of them. Sometimes he has them massage his back or serve him food, always at his beck and call.
Today, the women both have their light blonde hair coiled in thick ringlets and they’re wearing matching dresses that are slitted at the sides from their feet to their hips, with plunging necklines all the way down to their belly buttons.
Polly has been making sure to refill the wine goblets in the room, earning handsy touches from the men as she does. But Rissa was ordered to dance almost as soon as she arrived. Right now, she’s still swaying over by the window with seductive gracefulness, moving her body to soundless music.
Fulke gave her the order to dance over three hours ago and hasn’t let her stop yet. Hell, he’s barely even looked at her, aside from the passing glances. All her effort for nothing.
As I watch her, I notice what the others don’t. Although she dances as if it’s effortless, I can see that it’s not. Every so often, she’ll wince a little, like she’s sore from the nonstop movement. And there beneath her pretty blue eyes, I can see dark circles, revealing her lack of sleep. King Fulke probably keeps her busy all night, and then doesn’t let her rest during the day.
I hear the men begin to talk about what routes they’ll have their armies take back to their kingdoms after the attack, completely distracted by the sounds of their own voices. I close my book quietly, looking down at it in my lap. The binding is such shiny gold that it could be used as a mirror, and I swipe over it with my hand, feeling its smoothness, looking into my reflection for a moment before my eyes are drawn back up to Rissa.
I get to my feet, hefting the book in my hand as I stretch slightly, acting as nonchalant as I can. I meander across my cage, heading over to Rissa at the other end.
When I get closer to the window that she’s dancing in front of, I lean against the bars, holding my book in front of me again to feign reading before I turn my head in her direction. “You know, if you drop to the ground, you can just pretend that you’ve fainted from exhaustion. I’ll back you up,” I tell her, my voice barely above a whisper.
Rissa’s hip-swaying falters for a half-second before she shoots me a glare. “Don’t talk to me, Gilded Cunt,” she replies coolly. “I’m working.”
“What is it with people’s obsession over my cunt?” I mumble.
Rissa rolls her eyes and speaks under her breath. “Exactly what I’ve always wondered.”
I shoot her a scowl, but a weary sigh escapes her lips, and I feel bad for her all over again.
“Look, I know you must be tired. I can make a distraction somehow,” I offer lamely, looking around my cage. I don’t have much in here. Just some accessible bookshelves both inside and outside of my bars that I can reach, my chaise lounge, and some silk blankets and pillows strewn around.
“I don’t need help from you,” she says between clenched teeth, keeping her eyes firmly on a point in the room nowhere near me. But she stumbles, nearly losing her footing, and my lips press into a hard line.
She’s obviously determined to hate me, but I’m so tired of it. She’s weary of dancing, but I’m weary of always being looked at like a hated rival. I want to help her, and I’m going to, with or without her permission.
Glancing down at the gold-plated book still clutched in my grasp, I make a split-second decision. No forethought, no planning. I simply thrust my hand through the bars, and then I chuck it at her.