Glint (Plated Prisoner Book 2)

King Ravinger arrives with a flock of timberwings.

I’ve never seen the flying beasts before. Their numbers are small, their breed barely kept from extinction a century ago. They used to live wild in Orea in droves, but now, only the wealthiest own them. Kings, for instance.

Just a couple of hours after dawn, six of the giant birds appear in the sky. Although, bird is used lightly.

They have tree-bark-colored feathers on the tops of their wings, and snow white on the underside to match the rest of their bodies. It allows them to blend into the clouds when in flight, their wings spanning a good twenty feet.

Unlike birds though, they have no beak. Instead, there’s a wide muzzle with razor sharp teeth, perfect for scooping up prey and carrying them into the air, never even having to land to get a meal.

That reason alone makes me not want to get too close.

Instead, I watch from a distance as the six timberwings and riders drop down into the heart of Fourth army’s camp and disappear from my view.

I wander around for a bit, but the camp feels eerie. Most of the soldiers have gone to greet their king and await orders, but it feels like a ghost town. It’s too quiet, too still, like the breath before the scream. I wonder if the city of Ranhold feels the same, with Fourth’s army looming on their border.

I can’t stand how tense it is. I can’t stand to watch the soldiers sharpen their blades or put on their black plated armor instead of just leathers.

When I become too anxious to walk around, I sit by one of the campfires and watch the flames, listening to the crackle of the logs.

“This her?”

I startle, not having heard the trio that just walked up behind me. Standing to turn, I find two unfamiliar soldiers stopping to face me, and Lu coming up beside them.

Lu is dressed in full armor too, a chainmail mesh visible at her neck. “Yeah, this is her,” she tells them, her face grim.

Frowning, I look between them. “What’s going on?”

“The king wants you guarded for protection,” one of the soldiers says.

My lips press together. I’m smack in the middle of their army’s camp. No one can get to me here, not even Midas.

“You mean your king wants me watched,” I say, and the look on Lu’s face confirms it for me.

“Fine. I’m just sitting here, so make yourselves comfortable,” I offer, pointing to the empty stools off to the side.

But the guard shakes his head. “The king wants you kept secure. Lead the way to your tent, my lady.”

My eyes flash over to Lu. “Seriously?”

She gives me a shrug. “Sorry, Gildy. Those are the orders.”

I shouldn’t be surprised, but all this time being a prisoner without really being a prisoner has spoiled me.

“Was a deal struck?” I ask. “Am I being traded for something? Ransomed?”

Lu braces a hand on the hilt of her sword. “I don’t know yet.”

I give a quick nod, hating the not-knowing.

She looks me up and down, and I can tell she wants to say something, but for whatever reason, she seems to hold back.

“Ready to go, my lady?” the guard asks.

I nod, because it’s a natural response for me to be compliant, to follow orders. What I really want to do is stay by this fire, to give Lu a hug and tell her that I’ll miss her if I don’t see her again. To thank her and the other Wraths for helping me.

Maybe Lu sees the struggle in my face, because she steps forward and says, “Remember what I said, Gildy. Don’t lie down for the thumbs, okay?”

I can’t reply, because I think I might cry, and Lu doesn’t seem like the kind of person who wants you to sob all over her. I nod instead.

I’m silent as I lead the guards to the tent, my mood brooding. When I slip inside, the two soldiers stay outside to keep watch, their shadows outlined through the sunlit leather.

I can’t just do nothing in my tent though, because I’ll go crazy. So instead, I make myself busy.

I wash, I plait my hair, I clean out the ash and replace the basin with new coals, even though I’m not sure Rip will even be back to use it. I roll up the furs on my side of the tent. Unroll them. Roll them again. Decide maybe I should try to take a nap, so I unroll them once more. Lie down. Can’t sleep.

I find the trio of peonies Hojat gave me, effectively smashed and nearly disintegrated, but I take the one that’s held up the best and snap off the flattened head of the blossom before slipping it into my pocket.

Looking around the tent, I realize that the small space somehow became a comfort to me, and I won’t be back after today. This is it.

There’s a choking feeling that settles in my throat, and I lift a gloved hand to it, as if that will ease it.

But instead, I feel the scar from when King Fulke held a blade there. With simmering fear rising in my gut, I remember that the last time I was caught between two kings, I nearly had my throat slit.

So what’s going to happen to me this time?

I don’t know how the hell I manage to fall asleep, but I do.

Something wakes me though, like a shift in the air. I sit up on my pallet and wipe the weariness from my eyes. Stretching, I straighten my dress as I stand and then go to the front of the tent and peek through the open strip.

My watch dogs are still sitting outside, talking quietly, voices muffled. I pull my coat on, careful to draw my hood overhead even though it’s not snowing, and then check my gloves, sleeves, and collar. When all is secure, I duck outside.

Both guards immediately jump to their feet. “My lady, you aren’t supposed to leave the tent.”

“I have to use the latrine.”

They share a look with each other, like they’re about to forbid it. Irritation swarms inside me that shows in the tightening of my mouth. “Did your king say I wasn’t allowed to go pee? Because things could get messy very quickly,” I deadpan.

The guard on the left goes pink in the face, as if talking about pee embarrasses him.

“Pardon, my lady. Of course you may go. We’ll escort you,” the other man says.

With a nod, I let them lead me away from the camp and behind an embankment, then into an outcropping of bare-branched trees.

Much to my embarrassment, the guards stay only a few paces away while I do my business. Bright side? Soon, I won’t have to go in the snow anymore.

When I’m finished, I peer around the tree, glimpsing the backs of the guards where they’re standing. They took a few more steps so that they’re on top of the gentle slope instead of behind it. At first, I think they did it to give me a little more privacy, but when one of them points, I realize it’s because they’re looking at something.

Unease creeps up my spine as I walk forward to join them, snow coming up around my ankles with every step I take. When I reach the top beside them, a gasp comes from my parted lips.

The city is surrounded.

Perfect formations of Fourth’s army are placed in the frozen valley around the entirety of Ranhold, like a dark horseshoe tossed down, ready to strike the stake of the castle.

From up here, the semi-circle of black-clad soldiers looks like a curled hand, ready to squeeze, to strangle the city. I feel that hand like it’s on my stomach, holding me in a painful grasp.

Seeing the army like this…it’s so different from the way I’ve come to know them—gathering around fires, evenings filled with camaraderie. But I saw a glimpse of the battle-ready men when I saw them in the fight circle. I knew what was coming, so it shouldn’t surprise me.

“Fourth is attacking?” I breathe.

“Not yet,” the guard to my left answers.

My eyes dart from left to right as I try to pick out familiar soldiers in the lineup. But from this far away, they’re not much more than black ants ready to swarm, though it still doesn’t stop my eyes from skimming.

I’m looking for a spot of mustard hair, a behemoth male, a quick-footed female.

Spikes on a spine.

But I can’t pick anything out, not from this distance.

I don’t know what I thought would happen when we arrived. The idea of battle was there, but it didn’t feel real.

This…this feels real.

“Your army is going to decimate them.”

The guards don’t disagree with me, and my stomach hurts with misery for the innocent people of Ranhold.

“Serves them right,” the other guard tells me without sympathy. “They did this. Fifth Kingdom attacked our borders. Killed some of our men.”

I turn to look at him. “What’s your name?”

“Pierce, my lady.”

“Well, Pierce, I heard that your soldiers slaughtered Fifth’s army pretty effectively at that battle,” I tell him. “Isn’t that enough?”

He shrugs. “Not to our king.”

My fingers curl into my skirts, gripping them tight.

I know Midas tricked King Fulke into attacking Fourth’s borders. I know that this is essentially Midas’s fault. But to wage war, to be ready to decimate a kingdom…it’s like a lead weight in my chest that drags me down.

I hate the power plays of kings.Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org exclusive © material.

Ranhold Castle flies purple flags at half mast, a symbol of their dead king. The walls of the fortress glitter gray and white like marbled stone, proud spires pointing up to the Divines.

It would be pretty, if it weren’t for Fourth looming around them.

“Come, my lady,” Pierce tells me. “Time to get you safely in your tent.”

“I don’t want to go back to my tent,” I reply.

The thought of being cooped up where I can’t see, can’t know what’s going on, it makes me anxious.

Pierce gives me a sympathetic look. “Apologies. It’s orders.”

I press my lips into a firm line as they turn and lead me back. They let me walk along the line of the embankment though, like they’re trying to give me extra time to see.

It’s a testament to just how big Fourth’s army is that the camp isn’t completely deserted. There are still some guarding the perimeter, some on horseback, others on foot.

But no one jokes or drinks or plays dice by the fire, no one smiles. The soldiers are in battle mode, faces formidable and bodies tense, none of them familiar to me.

Then, just as we’re about to descend the slope, I feel it.

A pulse.

The single beat strums, rippling along the ground with a strange, errant swell. I stop in my tracks, every single hair on the back of my neck rising to attention in crippling awareness.

“What is that?” I whisper, palms gone clammy, fear racing in my heart.

The guards turn to look at me with confusion marring their faces. “What’s what, my lady?” Pierce asks.

I follow my instinct to turn, to look, and that’s when I see him.

A lone figure in all black, standing at the back of the army.

Even from this distance, even though I’ve never seen him before, I know who it is, because I can feel it. Because power pours from him, like a deluge of tainted water from the falls.

King Rot.

His menacing silhouette starts to move, striding forward, and I watch as the pure, glittering white plains beneath his feet begin to change.

Die.

My eyes widen as brown tendrils streak through the snow, forming from every footstep he takes. His power is reaching out, clawed fingers scratching the ground and leaving behind wounds to fester.

Veins appear in the snow like poisoned blood, the color of dead bark. Those lines stretch out, a frozen lake cracking, ready to crumble.

I can feel it every time he takes a step. Because that pulse of power comes again and again, delivered through the ground and traveling up my feet.

It makes bile rise in the back of my throat. The power feels wrong, ugly, like a sickness ready to spread.

The farther King Ravinger walks, the more land he ruins. The cracked veins infect the snow around it, destroying its crystalline purity. The frozen-flaked ground churns and collapses, turning a sickly yellow-brown shade.

Fear has an iron grip around me, but I can’t look away, and I can’t take a full breath. I don’t know how his army doesn’t run from it, run from him. I don’t know how they stay in formation, because even at my distance, my every instinct is telling me to flee.

He continues to walk forward, straight up an empty path between the organized lines of his readied army. Not an inch of power crosses beneath the soldiers’ feet. Not a single rotted line touches them. The control of that makes me shiver with intimidation.

This man doesn’t have power. He is power.

King Ravinger’s gait is steady but sure. He doesn’t stop walking until he’s standing directly at the front, with the might of his army at his back and his power around him like a halo of decay.

All the rumors about him are true.

No wonder a fae male like Rip follows him. This is might. This is true unfettered strength.

With this display, I have no doubt in my mind that he’s something to fear. Because King Ravinger just proved that he can rot the world and collapse it beneath the arrogance of his feet.

The question is, who is he going to walk all over?