Gild Plated Prisoner Quotes

A cage is a cage, no matter how gilded.

It’s the arrogance of men, to think so little of women. And it’ll be their downfall too.

Men making deals on the behalf of women never seems to go very well for the women.

You can have all the gold in the world and yet lack everything of real worth.

But memory and time aren’t friends. They reject each other, they hurry in opposite directions, pulling the binding taut between them, threatening to snap.

I wish I could string up the sun and keep it tied in the sky, but wishes are for stars, and I hardly get to see any of those anyway.

Does it really matter if your cage is solid gold when you aren't allowed to leave it? A cage is a cage, no matter how gilded.

I’m ridiculously fun. You kind of have to be when the only person you hang out with is you. I wouldn’t want to bore myself.

To the ones who try, but can’t see the stars. Keep looking up.

You are worth more than all the gold in this castle. But I still own you, and I will spend you any way I see fit.

I cried beneath my parents’ kisses, but they told me to go. To be brave. That they would see me soon. One order, one urge, one lie.

Why am I so cursed to endure the greed of men?

One should never decide something as serious as bangs when they have a bottle of wine in their stomachs.

But a simple friendship. Just two people who enjoy talking to each other, who can share stories and meet in laughter, conspiring only for one another’s amusement.

Despite what I look like, I’m not a coin to be spent.

Mouth dribbles red life, breath like choked water. Blue-tinged lips to match his eyes as they rain. My heart shatters itself against my ribs. He looks at me, my teardrops landing on his. I sob. He shudders. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” I cry. Lying for him, as he did for me. And with his last breath, he nods.

You can pretend a lot of things in life. You can pretend so well that you even start to believe your own deceit. We’re all actors; we’re all on pedestals with a spotlight shining on us, playing whatever part we need to in order to make it through the day—in order to help ourselves sleep at night.

And I’m terrified that one wrong step will have me tipping right over the edge, headfirst into a fall that I can’t recover from.

I never misplaced my innocence. It wasn’t my own doing from a forgetful lack of care. It was taken from me, one cruel exploit at a time.

And that, that secret sob I let drain into my pillow, is an ugly truth. But it’s not one I’m ready to face yet.

But memory and time aren't friends. They reject each other, they hurry in opposite directions, pulling the binding taut between them, threatening to snap. They fight, and we inexplicably lose. Memory and time. Always losing one as you go on with the other.

When I chose to hide away, I was barely more than a girl. Vulnerable. Battered. Scattered. Utterly sick of what the world had to offer. So I hid in a cage, and I was content to do so. After the things I endured, I wanted it. I accepted the bars, embraced them, even - not to keep me in, but to keep others out.

Are you a princess?” an older girl asks, but I smile and shake my head. “No. Are you?” The children all scoff together, trading looks. “You think princesses live in the shanties like street urchins?” I lower my hood and give her a conspiratorial smile. “Maybe hidden princesses do.

But memory and time aren’t friends. They reject each other, they hurry in opposite directions, pulling the binding taut between them, threatening to snap. They fight, and we inexplicably lose. Memory and time. Always losing one as you go on with the other. I can’t recall what my mother’s face

As if I could run away from my own disappointments. As if I could avoid my hurts, my shame, my dark thoughts that creep out every time I close my eyes for sleep.

I keep waiting for rescue to come, for a dawn to bloom, for a star to hatch, for a hope to surface. But it doesn’t.

The soft, hovering snowfall is gone, and in its place is a punishing surge, frozen rain sluicing down like spikes.

When I chose to hide away, I was barely more than a girl. Vulnerable. Battered. Scared. Utterly sick of what the world had to offer.

I live in a cage, but I’ve never felt so trapped.

Sooner or later, every troubled thought and aching bitterness is going to come pouring out and demand I face them.

But I could’ve gilded you,” I repeat. “Then you’d be a statue stuck right here on the stairwell, and I don’t think gold’s your color, Commander.”  “I disagree. Gold has quickly become my favorite.

You can pretend a lot of things in life. You can pretend so well that you even start to believe your own deceit. We’re all actors; we’re all on pedestals with a spotlight shining on us, playing whatever part we need to in order to

But one question burns in my mind for the entire day: What would happen if I didn’t?

Does it really matter if your cage is solid gold when you aren’t allowed to leave it? A cage is a cage, no matter how gilded.

You can pretend a lot of things in life. You can pretend so well that you even start to believe your own deceit.

It’s okay, it’s okay,

But I do know this: All men, whether they’re a king or a peasant, covet what they do not have.

Empty. You can have all the gold in the world and yet lack everything of real worth.

You won’t like what happens if you refuse. But by all means, the choice is yours.

The saddles? Yeah, they don’t like me. But the queen? She fucking hates me.

I realize how much I’ve wished for this, this connection with another person. Not an alliance for similar goals, not anything driven by politics or society or even lust. But a simple friendship. Just two people who enjoy talking to each other, who can share stories and meet in laughter, conspiring only for one another’s amusement.

And the night is crushing me. Crushing me on all sides, as every part of what happened presses against my mind, replaying, picking it apart. Showing me again and again what happened, from the moment I woke up to right now.

Although, I’m convinced that if they actually spent any length of time with me, they’d really enjoy me. I’m ridiculously fun. You kind of have to be when the only person you hang out with is you. I wouldn’t want to bore myself.

She deserves to breathe in the air of home, to walk amongst fae who are in awe of her. She deserves to have the land sing just from her presence, and the sun stream down upon her gilded skin. Auren was always too bright for Orea.

those stars really are goddesses waiting to be born, I should warn them to stay where they are in the safety of their twinkling light. Because down here? Down here, life is dark and lonely, and it has noisy bells and not nearly enough wine.

I’m an oddity, a commodity, a rumor. I’m the king’s favored. His prized saddle. The one he gold-touched and keeps in a cage at the top of his castle, my body bearing the mark of his ownership and favoritism. The gilded pet. I’m the darling of King Midas, ruler of Highbell and the Sixth Kingdom of Orea. People flock to see me just as much as they come to look upon his gleaming castle worth more than all the riches in the entire realm. I’m the gold-plated prisoner. But what a pretty prison it is.

But memory and time aren’t friends. They reject each other, they hurry in opposite directions, pulling the binding taut between them, threatening to snap. They fight, and we inexplicably lose. Memory and time. Always losing one as you go on with the other.

I never misplaced my innocence. It wasn’t my own doing from a forgetful lack of care. It was taken from me, one cruel exploit at a time. I remember each piece of it as it broke away from me, until I was raw and bare, exposed to the harsh elements of the world with a chip gouged deep in my shoulder and a bitter taste always at the back of my tongue.

Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I repeat against his chest. He saved me. My quiet, stoic guard just killed a king to save my life.

But I swear, for one fleeting second, I see a glimpse of a star winking at me. So I wink back.

But no matter how many people I see every day, I still wake up lonely and go to sleep the same way.

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.

You’re okay, you’re okay. He protects me, bolsters me, there in those kind blue eyes.

So if I make it through this, if I live, I vow to myself that I won’t let it happen again. I won’t sit idly by and keep letting men crush me in their fists.

The gold castle sitting on the mountain in the distance must be like a thorn in their sides. A constant reminder of a horizon they can’t reach.

At least I know that for every King Rot that exists, there’s someone like Sail in the world to balance it out.

All men, whether they’re a king or a peasant, covet what they do not have.

We loyalists call you the Lyäri Ulvêre—the golden one gone. The gilded girl who was lost in the night.

They fight, and we inexplicably lose. Memory and time. Always losing one as you go on with the other.

It gives me the crawling caterpillars in my stomach—not butterflies. I’m jealous of those free-flying bitches.

So I hid in a cage, and I was content to do so. After the things I endured, I wanted it. I accepted the bars, embraced them, even—not to keep me in, but to keep others out.

Una jaula siempre será una jaula, por muy dorada y brillante que sea.

My innocence was lost—that’s how some people would put it. But not me. I never misplaced my innocence. It wasn’t my own doing from a forgetful lack of care. It was taken from me, one cruel exploit at a time. I remember each piece of it as it broke away from me, until I was raw and bare, exposed to the harsh elements of the world with a chip gouged deep in my shoulder and a bitter taste always at the back of my tongue.

You can pretend a lot of things in life. You can pretend so well that you even start to believe your own deceit. We're all actors; we're all on pedestals with a spotlight shining on us, playing whatever part we need to in order to make it through the day- in order to help ourselves sleep at night.

I’m his. That’s what he always says. I’m precious to him. I’ve been his for ten years, and in all that time, he’s never let anyone near me. Midas saved me. He pulled me from ruin and put me in a castle. I gave him my heart, and he gave me his protection. One look. He said he took one look at me, and he loved me, and I loved him right back. How could I not? He was the first man to ever treat me with kindness. How can he ruin that

Golden Gold Vine Part One There was a miser who prized her, this golden gold vine. This sapling so gilded, her leaflings did shine. The moment he saw her, he let out a whisper of, “mine.” He’d found her in rubble, along a plain road. Unburied, he took her, in pocket he stowed. Back to his house, where he stared at her gleam. Hands curled to covet, want stitched to seam. What a chance this was, the chance for much more. So he planted her there, right outside his front door. Kept under secrets and hidden she lay. This old miser did find her, did steal her away. Brought to the yard, he planted her there. Fenced her all in to shelter her glare. Soon she grew tiny buds, glinting with gold. He plucked them by one, went to town to be sold. He paid off his debts, bought whatever he sought. But it wasn’t enough, whatever he got. For greed had been planted beside her thin roots. Want had leafed out, along with her shoots. Yet although he watered, soon she did wilt. Her golden did dull and worry he spilt. For his most prized possession looked right to be culled. She wasted away, while he fretted and mulled. It wasn't til so angry, he pulled out his hair. Brown clumps all fallen on the vine bare, that her color suddenly glistened, her vine did then surge. She grew ever much from his body he'd purged. Ecstatic, he knew, what he must do. So this miser clip-clipped, and gold flowers then bloomed. His hair he snip-snipped, gladly shedding his plume. For she would not grow without sacrifice. Only pieces of him would ever suffice. For her to keep growing, that was her price. This golden gold vine was the miser’s own vice. To be continued…

slept like the dead all day, so I should be well-rested and ready to go, but instead, I feel tired and sodden, like a towel wrung out.

I hear the short shouts. The swords meeting in vicious swipes. And the abruptness of it acts like a shock to the brain, dredging up memories as my past and present meet. Fighting is too close and too loud, and I’m sprawled on the ground just like I was on a different day, during a different fight.

I pull away from his ministrations and lie all the way back, dipping my head and hair beneath the water. With eyes closed, I let it envelop me, let it press into my skin, let the warmth soothe my body like I wish it could soothe my aching heart.

They say he doesn’t act with honor even on a battlefield—that he uses his power to make people fester and decompose, leaving their bodies in his fields for the flies to hatch maggots in.

The door to the library suddenly opens, and inside sweeps a beautiful white-haired woman with high cheekbones and a golden crown. Queen Malina. I stand corrected. It just got worse. The saddles? Yeah, they don’t like me. But the queen? She fucking hates me.

She even manages to pull off her sleek white hair. I’m told she was born with it. White hair is a Colier family trait.

I’m still no winged butterfly, but I do feel as if I’ve been reborn. My metamorphosis has been twenty years in the making, but I’m ready to be what I’m supposed to be. My old life had to end, had to be cut away, burned down to nothing but gilded ashes. And I can either remain stagnant in these ashes or I can root down into them and sprout up anew. I can thrive.

I wouldn’t call him handsome, he’s far too wicked looking for that, but the savage grace of him is as magnificent as it is utterly alarming.

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.

It’s okay, it’s okay. But it’s not okay. Not at all. Because before that nod is even finished, the captain has unhooked a knife from the scabbard at his waist and rammed it into Sail’s chest. Straight through to his heart.

Ropes are wrapped around him, forcing his body straight against the pole. His vacant eyes are still open, looking ahead at nothing, but it was a gaze that was meant for me, a gaze that he offered with his last dying breath. Someone shouts, “Our ship’s finally got a Sail!

And Sail’s body hangs, degraded and scorned, like a carved figurehead at the bow, the last of his blood already frozen against his chest. But those eyes of an ocean don’t shut. Though they don’t see anymore, either. I turn and vomit on the white-washed wooden planks.

These are Fourth Kingdom’s soldiers. King Rot’s soldiers.

No, the man standing there, whose body basks in menace, is one thing and one thing only. Fae.

Lemuria. The bridge that led to nowhere.

Saira Turley did the one thing that no others had—she walked the bridge of Lemuria, and came back to tell the tale. But she didn’t return alone. Because the bridge, that narrow road in the nothing, led to a new world. A world of magic.

but Saira did find Annwyn—the territory in the realm beyond. The realm of fae.

Because there is no Seventh Kingdom anymore. There is no peaceful alliance. There is no bridge to Annwyn. There are no more fae. …Or so people think.

One second, his skin is ruddy, his tunic stained, his cock purple, his eyes brown. And the next, he’s frozen in time, every inch of him, from the beads on his beard to the toes in his boots, all of it gleaming, resplendent, vindictive. Because I just turned the motherfucker solid gold.

Before Quarter can finish his sentence or go through with his threat, a cold, smooth voice cuts through the air like a boom, a volcano erupting in the middle of a silent twilight. “What do you think you’re doing?

There, in front of Highbell’s wall, hang a dozen bodies, strung up on a row of gnarly, weather-beaten branches. The bodies are…wrong. Abhorrent. They aren’t just corpses. They aren’t gilded heads on spikes, warning people of Midas’s wrath if one should break the law. No, these...these are... “Rotted,” Sail says grimly beside me, as if he were hearing my thoughts. “That’s what the smell is. We’ve been getting these little gifts from King Rot all week.

Bile curls in the pit of my stomach, and I cover my mouth and nose with my hand. I don’t need to ask Sail who they are. I can see the purple-plated emblems on their still-visible armor. They’re King Fulke’s soldiers.

And even though I just met him, I know this down to my bones. Because this soldier from the slums, he’s not so different from me.

No, you cared enough about getting Miss Rissa out of a tight spot, so much so that you risked looking like the villain. You did something, a little rough, sure, and probably not the most well thought out plan, but you acted. You didn’t just stand by.

Lemuria. The bridge that led to nowhere. The bridge was just a track of gray, empty dirt that stretched over the edge of the world, past what the eye could see. That strip of land kept going, with nothing below or around it, nothing existing at all except for the dark, sightless void.

You think she has a gold cunt?” Joq asks abruptly, tilting his head as he looks over at me.

Female saddles aren’t only good for their cunts. We usually have awesome tits too,

It’s not the usual way I see her going down, but

The second I stepped foot outside of the Highbell Castle, something changed. Like a plug pulled out of its drain, a decade’s worth of water, water that’s engulfed me completely, began to lower. Gone was the strain of holding my head above it. There was no sucking in breaths, counting them, reminding myself I had air, that the crushing flood wouldn’t suffocate me as I treaded water.

Remember your place, saddle,” Queen Malina says, drawing my gaze back to her as she begins to walk away. “You’re just a pet for Midas to mount. A souvenir to show off.

pedestals with a spotlight shining on us, playing whatever part we need to in order to make it through the day—in order to help ourselves sleep at night.

I don’t care that I’m vulnerable, that I’m walking toward the captain alone.

It’s the arrogance of men, to think so little of women. And it’ll be

It was taken from me, one cruel exploit at a time. I remember each piece of it as it broke away from me, until I was raw and bare, exposed to the harsh elements of the world with a chip gouged deep in my shoulder and a bitter taste always at the back of my tongue.

There’s a hole dug between us too. A hole of his own making. And I’m terrified that one wrong step will have me tipping right over the edge, headfirst into a fall that I can’t recover from.

He has thick black hair, a rough black beard over pale skin, and a strong square jaw—a jaw that leads up to subtly pointed ears. And all of this on a body standing six and a half feet tall, thick with muscles and an aura ripe with menace.

When his gaze finally lifts to my face, my wary gold eyes get caught by his intense black ones.

One should never decide something as serious as bangs when they have a bottle of wine in their stomachs

I’ll pluck every gilded hair from your head and scrape the gold from your skin, because you are mine to use as I will.

He’s beautiful.

Midas is only in his thirties, the edge of youth still softening his face. He has tanned skin, despite the fact that all it ever does is snow and rain here, and his hair is blond with reddish honey tones, the scarlet hue more pronounced in the candlelight. His eyes are a deep brown, and there’s a presence about him—a charm. It’s his charm that always gets me.

It’s the arrogance of men, to think so little of women. And it’ll be their downfall

Observé cómo se desarrollaba el plan de Midas mientras tejía una historia de lo que había sucedido. La gente sabe todo sobre el Toque de Oro de Midas. ¿Pero su lengua dorada? Para mí ese es su verdadero poder.

Es fácil. muy fácil cruzar el barco. Pasar sin que nadie se moleste siquiera en mirarme. Es la arrogancia de los hombres pensar tan poco de las mujeres. Y también será su perdición.

would give anything to see him right now.

I’m shaped like an hourglass, with a generous chest, hips, and butt, yet that’s not what people notice when they first look at me.

Maybe they’ll ferment in my stomach, and I can get a little quasi-drunk from it? A girl can hope.

Now sit pretty on your stool and play your silly music. Leave the men to speak, Auren.

Fulke is a flesh trader.” Shock courses through me. “What?

Even the toilets we piss in are gilded.

How to please a man. As if that should be a woman’s—saddle or otherwise—sole purpose for living. The edge of my lip curls with the hint of a sneer.

We’re all actors; we’re all on pedestals with a spotlight shining on us, playing whatever part we need to in order to make it through the day—in order to help ourselves sleep at night.

He was good. So very good at speaking.

No. Don’t think of that now. Loyal. I’m loyal.

Because this moment—this is mine.

You know, some could argue that it’s one of the few jobs we women can have to earn a decent wage and manage to stay independent,” I tell him.

I lean against the carriage wall and close my eyes, wondering how many days we still have of travel before we reach Fifth Kingdom. I know the storm set us back, but I’m not sure by how much.

See?” he challenges, as if I just proved a point. “You’re different. And you don’t deserve to have such a rough time of it.

At his answer, Captain Fane tips his head back and laughs. “Reds, did you hear that? We finally got a Sail for our sail-less ships!” Mean amusement floods the icy plains.

A thick piercing through his left ear, a plug of red-stained wood filling the hole.

Why am I so cursed to endure the greed of men? Is it simply the gild of my skin? Or is it something more, something deeper, something inside of me that brought me this life?

The captain’s quarters aren’t much to look at. Although, I’ve probably inherited some unreasonable expectations. Living in a solid gold castle will do that to a girl.

My favored. My gilded. My precious. She’s been stolen from me and is being held in an enemy’s clutches.

A face laid bare for me to see, with a mouth revealing a few missing teeth that have been replaced with the same white wood as the ship.

Down here, life is dark and lonely, and it has noisy bells and not nearly enough wine.

We usually have awesome tits too,” I say dryly.

Ever since that night, when a blade was pressed against my neck, I’ve depended on Digby’s steady presence. We’ve never spoken about it—that’s not his way—but at night in my cage, I’d roll over from a nightmare and see him there, already standing watch against the wall, even though his shift wouldn’t start for hours.

the captain lowers himself, bending down until he’s directly in front of Sail, eye-to-eye. Brown to blue. Cruel to kind.

To everyone else, I probably seem unchanged. I probably look like the same gilded saddle, the same gold-touched favored. But if you look closer, you might see the gleam in my eye. You might catch the twist of my downturned lips that hints at the discontent lying just at the edge of my mouth.

I don’t know if the bones in my body are as gold as the rest of me, but for my sake, I hope they are. I hope my spine is gilded, because I’m going to need a strong backbone if I want to survive.

I remember my mother telling me that the stars were goddesses waiting to hatch from the light.

I’d rather not waste my time. Which is what this is,” he says, gesturing between them. “Wasted time. Now, if you’re done with your feminine fit, I have work to do.

But a filament floats from the golden star’s surface. A cut root, pointing down toward those waters. Reaching. Fall, they say. You are now one of us. But the gilded star feels that root, still growing from its core. What if I do not want to fall?

This light that I burned with, it had always been in me. The gilded light of a goddess-touched.

Want me to gild you a pair of trousers?” I tease. He flashes me a grin. “Would you make it fit even tighter than what I have on now?” “It’s a possibility.

I know what you are,” I say with a sharp tone, my accusation escaping with a puff of hazy air between us.

El Rey Midas no cree en la sutileza. Hace alarde de su renombrado poder, y la gente se inclina maravillada o hambrienta de envidia

I'm ridiculously fun. You kind of have to be when the only person you hang out with is you. I wouldn't want to bore myself.

You don’t have to be careful or censure yourself. I’m just a saddle, after all.” But Sail shakes his head. “You’re definitely more than just that, my lady. And you should make sure people treat you as such.

I’m the darling of King Midas, ruler of Highbell and the Sixth Kingdom of Orea. People flock to see me just as much as they come to look upon his gleaming castle worth more than all the riches in the entire realm. I’m the gold-plated prisoner. But what a pretty prison it is.

I lift the gold goblet to my lips as I watch the show of naked flesh through the space between my bars.

I’m moving rather than stagnant. I’m out in the world, and I’m embracing it rather than hiding from it. So that’s something, at least.

I admit, I don’t know a lot about the inner workings of a king’s mind. I don’t know how their advisors advise them. But I do know this: All men, whether they’re a king or a peasant, covet what they do not have.

If those stars really are goddesses waiting to be born, I should warn them to stay where they are in the safety of their twinkling light. Because down here? Down here, life is dark and lonely, and it has noisy bells and not nearly enough wine.

I admit, I don’t know a lot about the inner workings of a king’s mind. I don’t know how their advisors advise them. But I do know this: All men, whether they’re a king or a peasant, covet what they do not have. And these two men covet Fourth Kingdom.

Gold is a big theme here in King Midas’s Highbell Castle.

It’s funny how he can make me feel both immense desire and crushing disappointment at the same time.

I can’t stand King Fulke of Fifth Kingdom. He’s a sleazy, crass old man with the power of duplication. When he uses his power, he can duplicate whatever he touches exactly once. It doesn’t work on people, thank Divine, or I bet he would’ve tried to duplicate me ages ago.

You’d think I might resent the stars for that, but that’s not the case. Because every time I look up, I remember my mother. Or at least, a piece of her. A piece I’ve been desperately trying to hold onto for twenty years.

I call them ribbons for lack of a better word. I have two dozen long golden ribbons that sprout out on both sides of my spine, spanning the entire length, from my shoulders to my tailbone. They’re long too, so they drape to the floor like a train on a gown, dragging behind me as I walk.

Looks like you lost that bet, hmm?” “Ah, but I didn’t actually get to take the bet, did I?” Sail laughs and shakes his head. The fact that he can always be in such good humor, regardless of what’s going on around him, is a testament to his character. “You got lucky this time. I won’t let you off the hook so easily next time.” “Thanks for the warning. Good night.” “Night, my lady.

I drop my head, shaking it. “I was so damn terrified, so hurt. I don’t know if I can get past that.” “Like I said, I didn’t think,” he tells me, a stroke against my cheek before he drops his hand. “You killed a king, Midas. Used him to attack another. What are you going to do?” I ask, the worry gnawing at my insides as my teeth gnaw on my lip. “Don’t worry about that,” he tells me. “I have a plan.” I can’t help the bitter snort that escapes me. “I suppose you’re not going to tell me it, just like you didn’t tell me that you were tricking Fulke about giving me to him.

Even with my hands landing against his shoulders, Sail still goes down. All I’m able to do is twist him up, to keep his face pointed at the sky. Mouth dribbles red life, breath like choked water. Blue-tinged lips to match his eyes as they rain. My heart shatters itself against my ribs. He looks at me, my teardrops landing on his. I sob. He shudders. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” I cry. Lying for him, as he did for me. And with his last breath, he nods.

I make myself a promise right here and now though. If I somehow make it through this, if the Red Raids don’t ruin me completely, I won’t allow myself to be stagnant anymore. I won’t allow myself to be so weak and inept. I should’ve known better, after my childhood, after all the things I’ve been through. I should’ve known better than to become so complacent or languid. If I could go back, I’d shake myself. I became like Coin, that solid gold bird forever resting on his roost. I clipped my own wings, I stayed listless on my perch. So if I make it through this, if I live, I vow to myself that I won’t let it happen again. I won’t say idly by and keep letting men crush me in their fists.

You are not here to have thoughts,

One order, one urge, one lie.

But I’m not going to be a mouse.

I suppose a person has limits, and this is mine.

It’s the arrogance of men to think so little of women. It’ll be their downfall too.

And there, in the corner of a ten-year-long foundation of reliance and trust, a break appears. Like a shallow, jagged chip knocked into glass, a tiny fissure like spider’s silk spreads up an inch.

The saddles in this city are probably tougher than the whole of the army, for all they have to put up with.

If we get sold to the devil, the demons shouldn’t get to torment us.

consume, to devour. Why am I so cursed to endure the greed of men? Is it simply the gild of my skin? Or is it something more, something deeper, something inside of me that brought me this life?

the sound digs into the soil of my fury and makes it sprout into a bud of hate.

If only I’d been able to get Midas’s secret notebook. We searched everywhere in his rooms for it, had my own personal decipherer on standby, but we never found it. It’s probably tucked away beneath his shirt, now gilded with the rest of him.

Yes, if all goes well, she’ll have my name. But you have my love, Precious.

It was risky and rash, but it showed you cared. That you saw, that you looked.

I don’t remember the rumble of my father’s voice.

Above the hairline of each eyebrow is a line of tiny, very short spikes. The same black as the spikes on his back and arms, though these ones don’t curve, look slightly more blunted at the tips, and are only about a centimeter tall. His nose is strong and straight, his teeth are bright white, showing a hint of slightly sharp and elongated canines. Along his temples and curving down his cheekbones, he has a subtle dusting of gray, nearly iridescent scales, like the scales of the lizards that live in the Ash Dunes. He has thick black hair, a rough black beard over pale skin, and a strong square jaw—a jaw that leads up to subtly pointed ears. And all of this on a body standing six and a half feet tall, thick with muscles and an aura ripe with menace.

Don’t worry,” Sail tells me again, obviously picking up on my thoughts. “They’ll be back soon.” “And if the mountain breaks loose?” Sail begins to lead me down the hill. “A little thing like an avalanche wouldn’t be enough to stop him. He’s too stubborn.” He smiles over at me. “Too good of a soldier.” “Is he? He must hate having babysitting duty all the time, then,” I reply with a dry chuckle, an attempt to pretend, to smother the worry. Sail shakes his head. “I heard he requested it.” My eyes cut over. “Really?” “Really.

I turn to my guards, my anger rising like boiling water, sending a thick haze of fury over my vision. The precision of my planned annihilation against King Fulke will be nothing compared to those who dared take Auren from me. She’s mine. And I’ll destroy everyone in my path to get her back.

Digby turns to Sail. “Guard her,” he says gruffly. Sail salutes him by hitting his right fist against his left shoulder plate. “Yes, sir.” Digby gives me a look that says, Behave yourself. To reassure him, I attempt to mimic the same salute motion that Sail gave him, except I overshoot and end up punching myself in the arm way too hard. “Ouch,” I mutter, rubbing the spot on my shoulder with a wince. Digby sighs at me and looks at Sail again. “Guard her a lot.

How to please a man. As if that should be a woman’s—saddle or otherwise—sole purpose for living.

I’ve been to every single kingdom in Orea. First Kingdom is a tepid jungle, flooded with pretentious fools who fancy themselves masters of the arts. Second is an arid expanse of sand and not much more, the monarchs a dull, puritanical lot. Third Kingdom holds more interest, their coasts speckled with private islands only to be visited upon invitation of the monarchs. Their only blight is that they share a murky border of swampland with Fourth, but King Rot’s kingdom holds no interest to me at all. Fifth Kingdom, however, I’ve grown increasingly fond of.

It’s okay, it’s okay,” I cry. Lying for him, as he did for me. And with his last breath, he nods.

Behave tonight. A souvenir to show off. Sit pretty. Leave the men to speak.

Not an alliance for similar goals, not anything driven by politics or society or even lust. But a simple friendship. Just two people who enjoy talking to each other, who can share stories and meet in laughter, conspiring only for one another’s amusement.

Snow pirates. We’re about to be attacked by snow pirates.

And then his hard length is pushing into me, his groan a taste in my mouth that I swallow down and try to keep.

But I could’ve gilded you,” I repeat. “Then you’d be a statue stuck right here on the stairwell, and I don’t think gold’s your color, Commander.”  “I disagree. Gold has quickly become my favorite.”  I gape at him, too dumbstruck to say a damn thing.  My gaping is so effective that my unblinking state of surprise sends my head into another exhausted dizzy spell. I slump further into him. “Ugh.”  Rip adjusts his hold on me, and I have to work not to let my neck fall back. “You’re very floppy.”  I rest my head against his firm, muscled chest. “You’re very hard,” I counter.  A rich, dark laugh slips from his mouth. “You’ve no idea.

Does it really matter if your cage is solid gold when you aren’t allowed to leave it? A cage

You can pretend a lot of things in life. You can pretend so well that you even start to believe your own deceit. We’re all actors; we’re all on pedestals

Rip

At the door, she looks over her shoulder at me. “Queen to queen, I’ll let you in on a little secret. That gilded whore is much more than she seems. And so am I. What are you, Malina?

But I could’ve gilded you,” I repeat. “Then you’d be a statue stuck right here on the stairwell, and I don’t think gold’s your color, Commander.”  “I disagree. Gold has quickly become my favorite.” 

my eyes flicker over to the king who’s currently balls-deep in his saddle while the others flaunt and play for his pleasure.

I’m just the king’s favorite saddle.

I watch the king’s ass flex as he plunges in and out of one of the girls beneath him, while two more women kneel on the bed on both sides of him so that he has full access to their bare breasts, which he’s currently kneading, two-handed.

King Midas’s

Sometimes, when I drink enough wine, I can forget I’m in a cage, I can forget the pestering scratch. So I drink a lot of wine.

Although, I’m convinced that if they actually spent any length of time with me, they’d really enjoy me. I’m ridiculously fun.

I’m going to mark you with so much cum your skin won’t even look gold anymore,

These are Fourth Kingdom’s soldiers. King Rot’s soldiers. And they’re an awful long way from their borders.

Fae.