The sound of a key fitting into my door pulls me from my thoughts. Several sets of footsteps come near as servants file into my cage one after the other. They walk past me, steps determined, as they head for my bathroom, steam rising from buckets in their arms.
A minute later, they all walk right back out silently, the cage closing again, my bedroom door shutting.
I don’t turn, don’t move, but I wait. Listen.
I can feel him behind me, watching, but I keep my back straight, keep my eyes on the window, to the blizzard raging outside.
Finally, Midas walks over, a dark silhouette that stops in front of me a few paces away.
He waits for a beat, and although I can’t see his eyes, I feel the trace of them, feel them land on the slash over my throat.
Midas takes three slow steps and then offers his hand, holding it in front of me, waiting.
I don’t take it.
“Let me get you cleaned up, Precious.”
My eyes lift up to his face. I still don’t take his hand.
His expression fills with remorse. “I know,” he says hoarsely. “I know, but let me explain. Let me—I want to hold you. Take care of you. Let me help you, Auren.”
That slowly creeping crack spreading up from the gash in the glass, it halts. Waits. Wonders.
Because Midas said those words to me before—Let me help you.
Is that why he’s using them now? To remind me?
When I was on the streets, I slept during the day and crept around at night. Hungry, often. Afraid, always. I was too scared to buy anything, to approach anyone. I did so only when it was absolutely necessary.
I wandered alone, stayed hidden. It was the only way a girl like me could stay safe. To make sure I didn’t end up right back in the same situation I’d escaped from.
Bad men. The world was run by bad men.
And as much as I tried to lay low, to be invisible, I couldn’t. I wasn’t.
I knew better than to stay too long in one place. I knew better, but I was tired. Worn down. I slipped up. Got sloppy. I knew it was just a matter of time before something bad happened to repay me for it.
The looters came that night.
With fire and axes, they took the village I was hiding in—the one I should’ve left behind days before.
They took everything and anything they wanted. The farmers who lived there didn’t stand a chance, didn’t have any defensive training. They didn’t even own weapons other than their pitchforks and shovels.
I tried to run. Too late. I was far too late.
Pulled from an alleyway, I was shoved into a cart with the other women who’d been dragged from their beds.
They screamed and cried, but I was silent. Resigned. I knew it was over for me. I knew there was no way I’d escape. Not again. The fates don’t give second chances. So I steeled my spine, and I readied myself to face the life I’d tried to run from.
And that’s when he came. Midas. Like the goddesses themselves had sent him, riding in on a dappled gray horse with a half dozen other men.
At first, I thought the shouts were just continued fighting from the villagers, a last-ditch effort to defend their homes. But then I saw the looters being cut down. And then the cart was opened and the women were running, sobbing again—this time, with tears of terrified relief.
But I had no family to reunite with, no one to run to. So I staggered back to that alleyway. Tense shoulders collapsed against a rough stone wall. I didn’t believe it was over so quickly. Didn’t trust it. But I thanked the stars, all the same.
At some point, the sounds of the fighting stopped. The fires tossed on thatched roofs were put out, the clinging smoke in the air the only thing warming my thin, bedraggled body.
And then a lone figure appeared in the alley. I cowered against stacked crates until he stopped in front of me, and I looked up at his handsome face. He smiled at me. Not a jeer, not a cruel tilt of lips. A genuine smile. It was warm. Just looking at it stopped my ceaseless shaking.
He held out a hand while that smile stayed on his face. “You’re safe now. Let me help you.”
And I was. And he did.
From that moment on, he kept me safe. When I wanted to hide from the world, he gave me his cloak and hood. When I shied away from other people, he made sure we stayed separate. When I clung to him, he held me.
And when I kissed him for the first time, he kissed me right back.
You’re safe now. Let me help you.
I was done being exposed and vulnerable in the world, so he made sure I didn’t have to be anymore.
Swallowing hard, I look up at Midas as our past settles around me, like he’s once again leading me out of that dark alley, like he’s reminding me where we’ve come from. Of what he did for me.
He earned my trust. My love. My loyalty. I wouldn’t be here, in this gilded cage, if he hadn’t.
“Please,” he pleads, surprising me. Midas never pleads. Not since he put a crown on his own head.
I hesitate for a moment, but the past is a powerful thing, so my hand finally lifts, slips inside his grasp, and squeezes. That smile lights up his face as I let him pull me up, let him guide me into the bathroom, and something in me warms slightly. My body stops shaking.
Inside, a golden tub is filled, tendrils of steam curling over the lip, oil poured into the water, making it smell of winterberries.
He stops us in the middle of the room, the hanging sconces already lit, casting everything in its comforting glow. The hanging mirror above the washbasin shows the two of us, shows Midas step up behind me.
I feel his fingers skim up my spine before delving into my ribbons—each silken strand still bound around me.
Carefully, he unwraps me, layer by layer.
My ribbons don’t do anything to help him—but they don’t stop him either, don’t rip from his grasp.
He works slowly, taking his time with each pass, until the last of my long ribbons are let out, draping from my spine to the floor behind me. All the while, I watch him in the mirror, my heart beating quicker than usual.
He helps me out of the saddle gown next, his fingers never once straying, never crossing any sort of line except to simply help me undress.
When the fabric falls at my feet, Midas looks at my eyes in the reflection of the mirror for a moment, before taking my hand once more and leading me into the tub. One leg over, then the next, and I sit down, the hot water shoulder-deep, a few scattered bubbles mingling with the oil that seeps into my skin.
I sigh.
Midas sits on a stool beside the tub with a cloth in his hand, dipping it in the water before his eyes come back up to look at me.
“May I?”
I don’t answer or nod, but I tip my chin up slightly, and that’s invitation enough. He reaches forward and gently begins to dab at the wound, the sting making me flinch.
“I’m sorry.”
His words are gentle but steady—same as the swipes against my throat.
“For what part?” I ask, my voice croaky from disuse or emotion. Maybe both.
The cloth is dipped again and again, new warm water to wash away the dried blood, to clean the cut.
“You weren’t supposed to get hurt.”
My brows rise at his admission, even as indignant anger rises up, shouldering past the numbness I’ve felt for the last few hours.
“The slice against my throat is the least of them,” I reply, and I mean it.
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.
When I sit back up, I take a gulping breath and rest my head against the back of the tub, my eyes landing on Midas. I don’t cover up the hurt and anger there, don’t mask it from him.
Midas nods, like he accepts what I’m silently telling him.
“I know,” he says again, just like he did in the bedroom. “I know what you’re thinking.”
What I’m thinking isn’t nearly as bad as what I’m feeling, but I don’t say that.
“I didn’t think you’d actually go through with it,” I tell him, my tone accusatory. “And as nervous as I was, as gutted, some part of me thought that you’d have a plan. That you wouldn’t go through with it.”
My breaths come quicker, the water line rising and lowering over my chest. My ribbons swim in the water, pulling tighter around me once more, like they’re trying to keep me from cracking to pieces.
“I trusted you, Midas. I trust us. After all these years, after all I’ve done—”
Midas grabs one of my hands, squeezing it between his, his face earnest. “I was never going to let him touch you.”
I frown, my thoughts cut short. “What?”
“Just listen,” he tells me. “I knew Fulke coveted you. Hell, everyone knew. He was a fool. He dared to ask for what was mine.”
I blink, remembering the morning when Fulke asked for me, when they struck their deal.
“You set him up for it.”
Midas tilts his head. “Did I? Is that what you think?”
My lips turn down, confusion swimming through me, making my thoughts murky. “I don’t understand.”
Midas hooks his foot around the leg of the stool to move it closer, his hands still holding onto mine, the water droplets collecting on his palms.
“Fulke is a flesh trader.”
Shock courses through me. “What?”
Midas nods solemnly. “I heard rumors, but I found out for sure months ago. When I was able to confirm it, I knew something needed to be done.”
I try to keep up with his words, try to make the connections. “So you planned how to take him out? How to kill him?”
Midas’s lips press together at my damning tone. “Would you rather I let him continue to sell his own people for profit?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Auren, I’m a king, and kings have to make hard decisions. When it became clear to me that Fulke was no longer a viable ally, not even a good person, I decided to act.”
“By setting him up. Tricking him. By sending his men into a meaningless slaughter,” I accuse. “How many of his soldiers died, Midas?”
“As few as possible, just enough to make it work.”
I scoff. “As if that makes it any better!”
“Better a man die with honor on a battlefield than a child be sold to slavery. Wouldn’t you agree, Auren?”
A punch.
That’s what it is. His words punch into my stomach, against my heart, up my throat. He shreds me inside with a sentence, memories threatening to come up, to spill out my eyes.
“I did it for you, Auren,” Midas says, quieter now, losing the defensiveness of his voice. “To make sure they don’t endure what you did.”
When a tear slips past my eye, he swears and wipes it away, his face earnest. “I’m sorry. You know me, you know how I get. Once I get a plan in my head, it’s all I see. I didn’t stop to consider the consequences. I just knew I wanted him gone. Done. To stop him once and for all.” His hand comes up to cup my cheek, his eyes boring into mine. “But listen to me when I say this: I was never going to let him have you. It was a ruse.”
My throat is dry, but I clear it so I can speak. “Why not just tell me, then? Why not explain all this before so I knew?”
“I was worried that he’d find out somehow, that you wouldn’t be able to pretend. I needed Fulke complacent. Distracted. You did your part beautifully.”
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.”
Midas sighs. “I didn’t dare say more. No one knows any of this, Auren. No one aside from you knew what I set up. And I have to play this next part just as carefully. Just as meticulously. But I need you to forgive me, Precious. I need you to understand.”
Do I? Do I understand?
I’m relieved, I know that much. The coiled tension that’s been inside me these past days has eased. He wasn’t going to let Fulke have me. He had a plan.
It was callous and thoughtless, but it makes sense. This is how Midas is, how he’s always been. That strategic, brilliant mind of his sometimes falls short on emotions. He can scheme and plan like an expert, but he often forgets the human side of it.
“I was so mad at you.”
Midas chuckles, the sound breaking some of the tension between us, bringing us a step back to what we were, what we should be.
“I know. I thought you were acting. Figured you trusted me enough and you were just putting on a good show. But then in the ballroom earlier, you were furious.”
A heat crawls up my cheeks. “Yeah, sorry about defying you in front of everyone.”
He gives me a soft smile. “It’s alright.”
Midas gets up and grabs a drying cloth off a hook, holding it up for me. I stand up at the silent direction and step out of the tub, letting him wrap me up in it.
Once I’m dried and dressed in a nightgown, Midas takes me back to my bedroom. My damp ribbons splay behind me with my hair, my head resting on his chest as his hand rubs down my back.
This. This is what we’ve been missing. How many nights has it been since he’s held me like this?
Months. I’m not sure how many.
“You used to hold me every night,” I say softly against his tanned skin, his chest peeking out from the undone tie at the top of his tunic. His legs are crossed at the ankles, both of us lying atop the blankets, not needing any other warmth besides each other.
Midas smiles against my head. “I did. Probably not the best thing for a newly wedded man to do.”
Probably not, but I was greedy for it anyway.
“If the queen was jealous, she had a strange way of showing it,” I say, remembering that first year. “She gifted you three royal saddles for your birthday.”
I remember being shocked. Shocked and jealous. His own wife expected him to have sex with other women. Encouraged it, even. Just not with me.
The first time he slept with one of them, it had gutted me. I’ve grown used to it by now. Not that it doesn’t still hurt, but I understand. He’s a king. What did I really expect?
As if he can sense the directions of my thoughts, Midas’s arm pulls me up until I’m lying on top of him, our faces in front of each other.
“It’s just me and you when I’m here,” he reminds me. “Nothing else exists outside of this cage.”
I nod slowly. “I know.”
His brown eyes fall to the mark on my neck before his hands come up to grip my waist. “You’re mine.”
I know that too.
His gaze flicks down my body, his grip tightening as lust simmers between us, and my breath catches. So long. It’s been so long.
I’ve waited to see this look from him again. For him to have time to give me more than just a passing caress, a distracted smile. For him not to be a king that has to behave like one, but to just be Midas. My Midas.
“You’re mine,” he says again, and his hands move, one to hold the back of my head, the other to skim down to my ass and squeeze.
“I’ve missed you,” he says, his lips poised at the hollow of my throat, right below the blade’s mark. “You looked beautiful tonight. So damned sexy.”
His fingers pull up the side of my nightgown, until his hand can dip beneath, bare palm against thigh. My breathing quickens, and I sigh into his mouth as he kisses me in quick, angled bursts.
“I missed you too,” I reply.
He sits us up, keeping me on his lap, my hands coming up to his shoulders to steady myself. With hunger in his eyes, he pulls off my dress, lets me undo the laces at his pants. “So pretty, Precious. So damned pretty.”
My heart beats fast, my stomach knotting and unknotting as his lips once again caress my throat, travel up my jaw. And then his hard length is pushing into me, his groan a taste in my mouth that I swallow down and try to keep.
He possesses me like this, hips pushing up, driving himself deeper, even as his arms tighten around me, squeezing, telling me he won’t ever let me go. And when I moan, my eyes fluttering closed, his tongue comes in to claim me, to rule me. He takes and takes, and I give. I give it all.
My heart swells when he sucks at my tongue and plunges deeper into my core, and I move with him, my spine like a wave as I work to bring him pleasure, to give him what he needs. To make him happy.
And when he pulls from my body and spills his seed against my stomach with a groan, I lie back down against his sweat-slicked chest with a sigh and a soft smile.
But the traitorous tear that falls from my eye tells a different story as it lands on my lip. It brines my happiness and rinses the smile away, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.
Midas leaves before dawn with a kiss, but his lips don’t take the taste away. And there in the dark, alone, I cry.
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.
So I let the satin soak it up, and then I fall asleep, the candor hidden beneath my head and shoved away by the time the morning dawns.
