Glint (Plated Prisoner Book 2)

I don’t let myself hesitate too long in front of the tent, because if I do, I’m worried I’ll chicken out. I’ll turn around and tell Lu I’d rather play dice with them than to actually face the saddles.

The problem is, I don’t know what to expect, but I’m going to go out on a frozen limb and say they still don’t like me.

Pinching the corner of the leather flap, I lift it up and duck inside.

As soon as my eyes adjust, I’m already doing a mental count. When I confirm that all twelve of them are accounted for, I let out a breath of relief.

Even though I stand at the entrance awkwardly with the chill of night at my back, none of the saddles see me at first. They’re too busy arguing with each other to notice.

There are fur piles everywhere, flickering lanterns hanging on the poles that hold up the fabric of the tent, and food trays shoved aside, forgotten. The tent is big, but it seems tiny with all of them inside, the energy thick with irritation as they bicker with each other.

My gaze flicks to the loudest voice, and I find black-haired Mist arguing with a small, pixie-looking female named Gia. They’re standing face-to-face, arms crossed, anger flashing in their eyes.

“You ripped my Divine-damned dress!” Gia growls, the sleeve of her bodice clearly torn, making it sag slightly.

Mist shrugs. “I warned you not to stretch your gangly ass limbs on my side.”

“I’ll stretch wherever I damn well please, Mist. You’re not in charge, and this tent barely fits all of us, in case you haven’t noticed. Not that you’re helping any, since you’re about two of me put together.”

Mist bares her teeth like she’s about to tear the girl’s throat out, but a saddle with long red hair cuts in. “You think you have it bad, Gia? Isis stinks so bad that even the goddesses in the high heavens are pinching their noses.”

Isis, the statuesque saddle on the other end of the tent, whips her head in the redhead’s direction. “Excuse me? You think you smell like roses, bitch?” she demands, angry red patches appearing on her cheeks. “You’re bathing with melted snow rags and shitting in holes just like the rest of us, so don’t try to pretend you’re any better!” she screeches.

“I don’t care who stinks,” Mist cuts in, still glaring daggers at Gia. “If you touch me again while I’m trying to sleep, it won’t be your dress next time. I’ll rip out your stupid hair.”

Gia fists her hands. “Try it, you whore!”

Several other saddles jump in to defend whichever side they’re on, tossing insults vicious enough that I worry they’re about to physically tackle each other.

Okay, so, the saddles aren’t doing great.

Bright side? All twelve of them are alive.All content © N/.ôvel/Dr/ama.Org.

I clear my throat, trying to cut through the multiple spats that seem to be going on. “Umm…hi.” Not my best opening, but at least everyone stops arguing.

Immediately, two blondes who had their backs to me whip around at the sound of my voice. “What are you doing here?” Polly asks, looking me up and down. She’s still wearing my old golden coat, and her sneer for me seems to have returned.

Mist rounds on me, all of the vitriol she’d been using on Gia now directed at me. “Oh, look, it’s the favored,” she says, practically spitting.

I ignore her. “I just came to make sure you’re all okay,” I say, glancing around.

Mist lets out a dry, ugly laugh as she sits down, propping herself up on a pile of furs and snatching one to drape over her. “You hear that? The favored came down from her pedestal to check on us lowly saddles. How kind.”

My ribbons tug against my back, like they’re envisioning coming out and shoving her again the way they did on the pirate ship.

I pointedly ignore her. “Is everyone okay?” I ask, glancing to Rissa for an answer.

She hasn’t said a word since I came in, and she, more than the others, makes me nervous. I truly did want to make sure the saddles were alright, but I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit that I specifically came to see her.

My life depends on it.

Rissa shrugs a shoulder, her hands braiding small sections of her hair while her shrewd blue eyes watch me. “As well as can be expected.”

My head bobs. “I saw the army mender. He mentioned some of you wouldn’t accept his help?”

Another girl, Noel, rolls her eyes. “Trust one of them? Are you really that daft?”

“He won’t hurt you.”

Several of the saddles laugh, shaking their heads. “Guess she is that daft,” Noel mutters.

“Shouldn’t come as a surprise. We all knew King Midas wasn’t keeping her for her mind, just her gilded cunt,” someone snickers under their breath.

I feel my face go hot, embarrassment clawing at my cheeks and leaving scratches of color behind. Once again, I’m put in my place. An outsider, always. They might have been arguing when I walked in here, but it seems like they can all agree on one thing.

They hate me.

Taking a breath to keep myself calm, I force their words to run off me like rain over oil. “If any of you are injured or feeling sick, you should let the mender tend to you. He hasn’t hurt me, and I don’t believe he holds any ill will.”

“Why bother?” Mist asks.

My eyes cut over to her. “What do you mean?”

Behind the hatred in her face, I see the tiredness, the worry. Her black hair is tangled, heavy shadows hanging black crescents beneath her eyes. “Pretty soon, the soldiers will get bored, and they’ll start to have their fun with us. Even if that mender really does do his job, we’re just going to end up worse off anyway.”

My nerves knot with worry. “You’ve heard the soldiers say they’re going to do that?”

“We don’t need to hear them,” Polly interjects as she leans her head against the male saddle, Rosh’s shoulder. “Look around, Auren. We’re captives in the middle of an army full of lonely soldiers. They’re going to take advantage sooner or later. Men are all the same.” She looks up at Rosh and pats him on the cheek. “Except for you, Roshy.”

He snorts and shakes his head at her, but even he seems uneasy at her words. As I look at the others, I can see it in all of their faces—the troubled resignation.

Every single one of them truly believes that this reprieve in captivity will be over soon, that the soldiers will use them however they like. And really, why wouldn’t they believe that? It would be naive to think otherwise.

Just as I’m seen as a statue on a pedestal to be gawked at, they’ve always been treated as saddles to be ridden.

A sick feeling drenches me, an agitated wave crashing against the pit of my stomach, soaking me in worry.

What if they’re right? What if Fourth’s soldiers do start using them?

It’s no secret the saddles are here, and who knows how long the soldiers have been traveling day in and day out?

Rip says he trusts his army, and even Lu said no one would hurt her fellow female soldiers, but what about hurting the saddles? After all, they belong to the enemy.

“This is the real world, Auren,” Polly tells me haughtily. “We aren’t Midas’s favored. We don’t have that title to protect us like you do. That’s why we’re in here and you’re out there.”

The saddles all nod, their gazes stuck on me like pins, every envious, hateful glare another prick to sting my skin and hold me in place.

I wish I could tell them they’re wrong, that no one will hurt them. But the fact is, I don’t know. I can’t shovel them a pile of false promises and hope it doesn’t collapse.

“Do you know where they’re keeping our guards?” I ask, my voice quieter. What little confidence I had before I walked in this tent is long gone.

“No idea,” Gia answers, legs curled beneath her small body as she now sits, tugging at the torn hem of her dirty dress. “They keep us apart, probably so that we don’t try something suicidal, like escape.”

I nod distractedly, cataloging their tired, rumpled, and worried faces. No wonder they’re at each other’s throats. They’re taking their emotions out on one another, and I can’t blame them.

They’re scared, they’re crammed together like ants in a hole, walking over each other and ready to pinch. They’ve been captured by Orea’s most fearful army, and they’re living in fear that at any moment, they could be abused. I’d probably be fighting about leg space and body odor too.

My eyes skim back to Rissa. Unsaid words thicken my tongue, making me feel clumsy. “Rissa, can I talk to you for a moment?”

She looks at me steadily, a knowing glint in her blue eyes. My palms start sweating inside my gloves, while one question thrums in my head like a drum.

We’re both still wearing our same dresses, the ones we had on when we were with the captain. I wonder if it makes her skin crawl, knowing that the fabric holds his touch? I wonder if she scrubbed it as madly as I did, if she found any blood stained into the threads.

While the two of us stare at each other, the other saddles look between us, picking up on the tension. My hands wring in front of me, my stomach twisting the same way.

One question keeps running through my head as I look at her, the unknown circling me like a vulture ready to dive.

Did she tell?