The guards lead me to yet another narrow passageway, and still, no one greets us, no one is around. The whole floor is empty, and I frown in confusion as to why I’m not being led through the main parts of the castle. But then it dawns on me.
I’m a secret.
Until this second, I didn’t even remember that when he traveled here, Midas used a gold-painted saddle as a decoy. A move that was supposed to protect me—one that didn’t work out so well.
The silence of the guards, the lack of a welcome, and the clandestine routes of emptied servant’s passageways solidifies my guess. It’s probably not public knowledge that I was captured, or that I’ve been traded now, not if Midas has kept up the façade.
I don’t know how I feel about that.
I’m led up a bare stone stairway and then led down a path with slits of windows at the high ceiling carrying a smear of light that dusts the narrow hallway.
Then we seem to exit the servant’s walkways, because I’m herded into a hallway that’s much more decorated. A straight runner of plush purple extends the length of the floor from one end to the next, and gleaming silver sconces hang from the walls, unlit. The windows are tall and wide, curtains pulled back, letting in both the sunlight and a wintry draft.
Another set of stairs, then a second, and then we finally reach a wing of the castle that isn’t empty.
I recognize Midas’s king’s guards immediately—six standing against either wall. They eye us, saying nothing.
I don’t feel my chest rise or fall with breath when one of them raps a knuckle against a set of double doors. I don’t feel my eyes blink when that door is opened. I definitely don’t feel the weight of my steps as the guards move aside, and I walk through the doorway.
But when I enter that room, when I lay eyes on my golden king for the first time in two months, I do feel my heart leap.
The door closes behind me as I stop, and then it’s just us. Just him and me.
He stands in the very middle of a large private study, the entire room bathed in deep purples and blues, all except for him. He practically shines with the golden threads of his clothes, the slightly tanned skin, his honey-blond hair. And those eyes, those warm hickory eyes—they glint most of all.
He releases a breath, one that’s ragged, short. Like he’d been holding it in his chest ever since he knew I was captured, and he’s only just now able to let it out.
“Precious.”
The single word is nothing but a murmur slipping out of his mouth, but the agony of his pent-up worry blares through it, loud enough that it cracks his expression as if it were made of glass. His handsome face shows overwhelming relief that’s so stark, so palpable, I can almost taste it.
At the sight of him looking at me like that, at hearing him speak, my own face crumples. In the next instant, I’m racing forward to close the distance between us, because I can’t bear to not be in his arms for a second longer.
But right before I fling my arms around his neck, his hands come out to stop me, grasping my upper arms to hold me still. I notice he’s wearing gloves too, though his are pristine, while mine are filthy and worn.
“Precious,” he says again, but this time, I can hear the shade of reprimand tinging it.
I shake my head at myself as I wipe the tears from my eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”
“Are you alright?” he asks softly.
It’s like his simple question throws open the gate that I had shut on everything that happened. The fear and grief of those terrible moments come flooding out. Digby’s and Sail’s faces immediately flash through my head, making a golden tear drip down my cheek.
His eyes widen slightly. “What’s wrong?” he demands, shaking me a little. “Did anyone touch you? Tell me every single name of who dared to lay a finger on you, and I’ll burn them all to their bones and crush their ashes beneath my boots.”
Startled at the vehemency of his words, I just stare open-mouthed at him for a moment.
“Who, Precious?” he asks, shaking me again.
I immediately think of Captain Fane, but I’m not ready for that discussion. Not ready to tell him what I did. I still don’t even know what I’m going to do about Rissa.
“No, it’s not that. It’s my guards.” I say with a shake of my head. “Digby and—” I sniffle, trying to shore myself up, trying to get the words out. “After the attack, what the pirates did to Sail...it was horrible. I can’t stop replaying it in my head, of him being murdered right in front of me.”
My heart feels like someone is squeezing it in a punishing fist, fingers digging in, making it hurt, making it bleed. “I didn’t do anything to stop it. I just let him die there in the snow.”
My guilt is a writhing, pitiful beast, dragging its claws beneath my skin and ripping me to shreds.
“They dragged him onboard and they—” The vision of the pirates tying Sail up to that pole makes my throat close up. I’m crying so hard now that I’m not even sure he can understand what I’m saying.
