I freeze, the spoon halfway to my mouth.
A quiet sigh comes from Midas. “Malina, don’t start.”
She manages an elegant, uncaring shrug, except I can see the hardening ice of her gaze. “It was meant as a compliment, Tyndall. The last time I saw her eat, I thought we were going to have to sop up the stew from her lap.”
My fingers tighten as I lower the spoon, my eyes flicking up to her. Our gazes collide, blue and gold, ice and metal. I can see it, there in her eyes—the jealousy, the anger.
And she can see it too, in mine.
Beneath the table, Midas’s foot brushes against my leg. It’s a small, hidden touch of comfort that helps me loosen my breath, but it’s also a reminder.
Malina can provoke me all she wants, because her status allows it. But I’m just the favored saddle that she tolerates. I’m the other woman, and I can’t openly do anything to show disrespect.
Subtly put in my place, the stirring fire inside of me goes out, like a snuff over a lit wick. My eyes drop from hers.
“How do you like the room?” Midas asks Malina, diverting her attention, changing the subject. I’m grateful for his attempt at moving the conversation away from her verbal criticism of me, but for once, I wish he’d stand up for me instead.
He can’t, though. That’s his ring on her finger. She’s the one who sits beside him on a throne, the one on his arm when they visit town. I can’t be that with him.
He’s a king, and I’m no queen.
Malina looks around, noting all the changes in the room, all the places that have been gold-touched. I wonder what she thinks of it, all the things tinged new.
Ever since her father passed away, Midas has been dubbed the Golden King. He’s certainly living up to the title, too. Room by room, the castle is being transformed. Every day, a little bit more gold shines on its surfaces.
Sometimes, Midas wants things to go solid because he likes the way it looks—like the plants in the atrium, now ageless and unchanging. A bold statement of wealth that requires no words.
But that wouldn’t do for everything. It certainly wouldn’t be comfortable to sleep on solid gold beds. So for the most part, the material itself is morphed, glass cups tinted, supple thread spun golden, wooden frames gone gilt, all of it done with a single touch.
“It looks fine,” Malina finally answers, voice gone stiff.
“Fine?” Midas repeats with a frown marring his tanned, handsome face. “Highbell has never looked better. By the time I’m finished, it will be so superior no one will even remember what it was before.”
If I wasn’t looking at her already, I’d have missed the flinch of pain that crosses her face. It’s a split second, there one moment and gone the next, but I saw it.
It surprises me, because the cold queen never shows any emotion other than superiority.
Malina swallows, delicate throat bobbing, before placing her spoon down on the napkin in front of her. “The soup seems to be disagreeing with me,” she states. “I think I’ll head up to my rooms, after all.”
“Would you like me to escort you?” Midas asks.
“No, thank you.”
I can’t help it—a sigh of relief passes my lips, and my eyes lighten with the weight of her presence lifting.
But I should’ve hidden it, shouldn’t have reacted, because she notices. Her eyes narrow, an acrimonious chill meant to freeze me out.
I immediately install my cordial, careful expression again, but it’s too late. The damage is done.
A servant rushes forward to pull out her chair as Malina rises to her feet. She pauses beside Midas, her ghostly pale hand coming down to rest on his shoulder. I can see the blue veins beneath the cream of her porcelain skin as her fingers toy with the short ends of his hair.
“Coming up tonight?” she asks him, voice dropped low.
Midas’s leg moves away from mine before he nods at her. “Yes, of course.”
She beams, but her attention is on me, stealing every bit of that relief and replacing it with something that makes my stomach churn.
“Wonderful,” Malina purrs before bending forward to place a kiss on his cheek. “Have a good supper with your pet, Midas. I’ll see you soon in bed.”