Eyes fluttering closed, I breathe in the scent of the floral oils the maids must’ve mixed in. But I flinch and spring them open again when Midas’s hands suddenly begin to stroke my hair from behind. “Shh, it’s alright, Precious. I’m going to make it all up to you.”
“The only way you can make it up to me is by not trying to lock me away ever again,” I tell him evenly, focusing on the bubbles as they float on the surface of the water.
I might need to play along, to act like I’m once more ensnared by his charm, but I won’t go back to being a captive.
Midas hesitates for a moment, hands paused at my hair. “Of course,” he says after a stunted breath. “Of course. The cage was only ever there for your protection. But if you don’t need it anymore, then I’ll keep you safe without it.”
He backtracks beautifully.
I let a small smile play on my lips and turn to look at him over my shoulder. His handsome face is the epitome of adoration, but his shoulders are stiff, betraying the burden of his lingering anger. “Truly?”
“Yes,” he replies vehemently, grasping onto my tentative hope as he reaches down to cup my face, as tendrils of blond hair fall across his forehead. “I’m so sorry for the way I behaved earlier, Precious. Forgive me.”
“You hurt me,” I say, and this time, I’m speaking true.
He leans down from where he’s perched on the stool beside the tub and presses his cheek against my forehead. His skin is cold, while mine is dewy with the steam of the bath whispering between us. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll earn your trust and forgiveness again.”
“You said you didn’t need my forgiveness,” I remind him with a bite in my tone.
Midas winces before he reaches over and picks up a silver pitcher from the floor. He dunks it in the water and begins to wet my hair.
“I wasn’t thinking straight.” He rolls up his sleeves and drags the tray of food closer to me. Then he begins to lather soap in his hands and starts washing my oily, tangled strands. “I don’t expect you to forgive me right away, but I only acted that way because I was worried about you.”
I believe that Midas does care for me, in his own twisted way. But it’s not healthy, and it’s not enough. It’s not what I deserve. I don’t think I’ll ever have the kind of love that I crave.
That thought makes my eyes blur as I stare at the ceiling, gaze locked onto the frosted window at the top of the wall. Grief clings to me as much as the beaded water against my skin.
As sadness overtakes my anger, I wonder what’s wrong with me. Why couldn’t he love me? Truly love me?
Midas loves my shimmering skin, my gleaming hair. He is undoubtedly in love with my power. I gave him my heart, and I was too young, too stupid to see that his adoration was for my gold, not me.
I must be defective in some way. Unworthy.
Or maybe this is simply what I’m destined for. Maybe this is all I’m allowed to have. The woman who can turn the world gold has to have a check on her own greed.
Perhaps love is the price of my power.
My thoughts droop down like a weight depressing at the edge of a petaled conscience. Midas continues to wash my hair, keeping up conversation in a steady cadence. He talks of how much he missed me, of the things he’s been doing in Fifth Kingdom since we’ve been separated, of how much work we have to do now that we’re together again.
I let him speak and he lets me stay quiet, using the food as my excuse not to talk. I eat everything on
the tray without tasting it, too busy chewing my own quiet contemplation. I can’t help but think about the last time he did this, took care of me, bathed me, right after the attack with King Fulke.
Automatically, my hand lifts to my throat, fingers stroking over the small scar that still resides there. It wasn’t Midas who saved me that night, not really. It was Digby, and I lost him too.
Somehow, in some way, everyone I’ve ever loved has been taken from me. Even Midas, and he’s sitting just inches away.
After I’ve scrubbed, rinsed, and polished off the last of the food, I get out of the tub and pull on a fresh night dress. It’s thick white cotton, the hem reaching my toes, the sleeves wide and ending at points past my fingers. My ribbons wring themselves out before hanging loose in lazy strips against my back.
“There,” Midas murmurs, looking me over from head to toe. “You’re shiny and new again.”
I offer him a tight smile. My body is as tired as my spirit, and all I want to do now is get away from him. “I need to sleep.”
He quickly nods. “I’ve had the maids make up a room right across the hall,” he says. “You can stay there. Have your own...space.”
Wary surprise has me turning to face him. “My own room? Without bars?”
He tucks a damp strand of hair behind my ear. “No bars. Just your own room where you can relax and be safe,” he says quietly. “I meant what I said. I was wrong, and I’ll make it up to you, Auren. Now, come. You must be tired.”