I dread waking up.
Usually, that’s just because I’m not a morning person. I often have a wicked hangover from all the wine, so waking up bright and early is not my favorite. Plus, it’s not like I have any bright sunshine to greet me. I haven’t seen the sun’s rays in years.
But when the last of sleep slips away from me, I dread it even more than my usual passive disdain for mornings, because today, I know my time has run out.
I don’t know how I know this—maybe it’s a charge in the air. Maybe it’s the wicked wind outside my window—the Gale Widow shrieking her shrill lament. She’s warning me that the last of the sand in the hourglass has settled at the bottom like a stone in the sea, and I have no more grains to count.
My eyes peel open, and I stare at the window, shivering at the blurry ice distorted over the glass. I push the ribbons from my body, but groan from how sore I am. My scalp and stomach feel like one giant bruise from the vicious attention I received last night.
I sit up carefully, looking past my bars into the rest of the room to find that Digby is already standing watch for his morning rounds. Too bad he wasn’t here last night, but that’s my own fault.
When I was eighteen, I argued with Midas for months to stop sending night guards. It creeped me out to have someone standing there watching me sleep. He finally relented, agreeing to let me have my privacy at night, but I can’t help but regret that a little bit right now.
Even if she is the queen, I don’t think Digby is the type of man to let me get assaulted on his watch. At the very least, I think he would have informed Midas. Unlike me. I have zero intention of telling Midas anything. All that would do is infuriate Malina even more, and that’s the last thing I need.
Getting up is more difficult than it should be, and I wince a little at the pull on my stomach. Digby shoots me a frown, his eyes narrowing. He’s way too attentive for his own good.
“Stomach’s upset. Too much wine,” I lie as I lightly pat my stomach to drive my point home. I don’t want him to be suspicious or ask questions. Questions are dangerous.
I turn and rub the tiredness from my eyes, but out of my peripheral, I notice a gown hanging up on one of the bars of my cage. Gold and gauzy, so sheer that it’s barely a gown at all.
My teeth press together as I look at it, my spine gone rigid. Midas had this dress pulled out for me. A message, plain and simple.
Tonight, I’m to be dressed as a saddle. Tonight, he’s going to let me out of my cage.
I stare at the wispy fabric, at the plunging neckline, at the slits up the thin skirt. My ribbons curl at the same time that my fingers do, fists clamping onto emotions, tension contracting. The appearance of this gown goes perfectly with Queen Malina’s words.
You’re just a pet.
A souvenir to show off.
Turning away, I leave the dress hanging there and walk through out of my bedroom and into my dressing room, feeling Digby’s eyes on my back as I go.
Once I’m in the other room alone, I pause in the darkness, letting out a calming breath. I force myself to release my fists, and my ribbons grudgingly uncurl. In the other room, I hear the outer bedroom door open and shut, signaling that Digby is walking his rounds of the rest of the rooms, but no doubt doing it to give me privacy.
Turning, I walk over to the table, my ribbons trailing on the floor behind me as I go. At the vanity table, I reach over and turn the lantern up, casting more light in the room since the window is snowed in again.
I use my ribbons to undress myself, letting the fabric pool at my feet. Naked, I stand in front of the mirror and look over my body. My gold skin is marred on my stomach, a bruise the size of a fist with edges like a puffy cloud from where the guard’s fist slammed into me. I press my fingers to it, wincing at the tender twinge. It reminds me of the gold tea set Midas has—the one that the servants always have to shine. It’s a tarnished spot in need of polishing.
With a sigh, I remove my hand from my stomach and pluck a floor-length dress robe from the hook near the mirror and pull it on, tying it at my waist.
I check my scalp next, my fingers running carefully over my head, but it throbs at the lightest touch, making me suck in a breath. I’ll have to be gentle when I brush my hair.
“How did you sleep?”
Midas’s voice startles me so much that I whirl around with my hand over my heart. “Divine be damned, you scared me,” I admonish. I didn’t hear him open my cage door or his footsteps leading from my bedroom to here.
He smiles from where he’s standing, leaning against the bars of my cage near the archway. “Tsk tsk, Auren. You shouldn’t curse the gods.”
My racing heart slows down now that I know it’s just Midas who’s crept up on me. He looks so good in the soft lighting. His golden tunic more like butterscotch, his hair like warm brandy.
“How can I serve you, my king?” I ask, and although my words are proper, my tone is unsure. Tenuous.
Midas reaches up and taps his chin in thought as he studies me. I try not to fidget under his stare, the thin cover of my robe leaving me feeling like I’m naked in front of him.
“I know you’re angry with me,” he finally says, catching me off guard.
I study his expression, trying to discern what thoughts are spinning through his head. I don’t know what to say.