I still think they’re crazy for attacking King Ravinger’s land. Not only is Midas breaking a centuries-old peace pact, but Ravinger isn’t exactly known for his magnanimous kindness. They call him King Rot for a reason, and it’s not just because of his power of decay and death. It’s said that his viciousness makes everyone near him cringe.
His land is one of withering corrosion, but it’s also a place where he lets wickedness flourish. His power allows him to deteriorate anything he wishes. Crops, animals, land, people...but I think his cruelty might be the worse evil.
I hope Midas knows what he’s doing, because making an enemy of someone like Ravinger is dangerous. If Midas fails, I’m not sure any amount of wealth could buy him out of the consequences, and that scares me. Sometimes I wish he wouldn’t be so confident in the ability to solve all his problems with gold.
Midas takes wealth for granted—and why wouldn’t he? One look around, every surface, every possession, it’s all gold. He knows that he’ll forever be as rich as he wishes.
Queen Malina believes that I’m garish and gaudy, but what about this entire castle and everything in it? The soles of her shoes are golden silk—for only her sweaty feet to ever appreciate. The structure of the dungeons beneath the palace—pure gold for the withering prisoners to die in. Even the toilets we piss in are gilded.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that this much wealth...it becomes meaningless after a while. Empty. You can have all the gold in the world and yet lack everything of real worth.
But maybe...maybe the underlying reason for Malina’s hatred of me isn’t that Midas keeps me here even though he’s married to her. Maybe the queen simply wishes that Midas had gold-touched her. Because of what it represents. Because of the way he calls me his Precious.
And just like that, I find myself feeling sorry for her. For her childless, loveless marriage. For losing the kingdom before she could even take it. For having to compete against a gilded orphan girl.
As I contemplate all of this, I lean against the gold bars to stare at the snowfall outside. That jealousy, if that’s what it is, has festered for years. There’s no way for me to do anything about it now. What’s done is done. The queen will never look at me with anything other than hatred. That’s simply the way it is.
But if she’s jealous that Midas hasn’t gold-touched her, she doesn’t understand at all. I won’t deny the fact that there are benefits of being gold-touched...but there are disadvantages too.
No one sees me for anything but the metallic glimmer of my skin. No one looks past the pure gold threads of my hair. Aside from the whites of my eyes and teeth, I’m just a golden statue to everyone. A fixture to be seen and not heard.
A commodity to be bought for a night.
My bedroom door opens suddenly, making me flinch away from the window. I turn to see a maid come inside and walk over to Digby where he’s still standing at attention at his spot near the wall. She delivers hushed words to him, while I stand by, watching warily.
As soon as she leaves, I walk over to the other end of my cage to face him. “What’s going on?”
Digby gestures up at the gown that’s still hanging up. “It’s time.”
My stomach breaks apart in cold, brittle pieces, falling down through my feet.
“Already?” I ask, and I barely recognize my voice. It’s timid and quiet like a skittish mouse, and I can’t afford to be a mouse tonight. I have to be strong.
Digby nods, and I blow out a breath, sending a tendril of hair to shift up and out of my face. I force myself to swallow hard, as if I can internalize my nerves and drink them down, bury them into a chasm inside of me.
Turning away, I pluck the sheer dress off its hanger with a pounding heart, and head into my dressing room with wooden steps. In front of my broken mirror, I take off the simple gown I dressed myself in and slip into the sheer one. My ribbons do all the work while my arms move robotically, my face expressionless.
When I have it all the way on, I take in the gauze drapery hanging over my body, and I will myself not to flinch. Just like I knew it would be, it’s so sheer that it shows every trace of my curves, even a veiled glimpse of the burnished tips of my nipples.
The dress has see-through sleeves of swirling gold lace, clasps at each shoulder holding it in place. It drapes over my breasts with a loose, plunging neckline that shows the edge of my bruised stomach in the front.
At the skirt, there are slits on each side that reach from my toes to my hips, so that no matter which direction someone is standing beside me, they’ll g
et an eyeful of flesh. The whole thing flows loosely over my curves, easy access for anyone to slip their hand in and touch an intimate part of me.
Midas has never dressed me like this before. Sure, I wear sensual dresses that accentuate my body, but nothing as provocative as this. My body, for the most part, is private. For him to enjoy. But for the first time in my life, I’m dressed like a true royal saddle, ready to be ridden.
I know the moment the last of daylight recedes, because a chill fills the air. I look up at my skylight, seeing darkness descending already. A dejected emptiness pulls at me, a shiver scattering goose bumps over my arms as night starts to rise.
Behave tonight.
A souvenir to show off.
Sit pretty.
Leave the men to speak.
Gritting my teeth, my spirit rebels. Midas wants me to wear this? Fine. But he never said I couldn’t embellish it.