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“Come along, King Midas. I have much to discuss,” Niven says, impatience dripping off his pretentious tone as he begins to walk past us in the direction of the meeting room.

Midas’s shoulders go tight, brow lowering with irritation. I wonder what he’d really say to the prince if he weren’t busy spinning a political web threaded with fake niceties.

With one last look at me, Midas turns on his heel and catches up with Niven. The prince’s prattling voice carries up to me as he launches into conversation. Midas matches Niven’s stride, so stiff that his arms don’t even swing at his sides. They round the corner and disappear from view, and a tension I hadn’t realized I carried immediately loosens its grip on me.

“Come, my lady.”

I pull my attention to the guards. “Yeah. Okay,” I say with a sigh. “Just...give me a second.”

Still leaning on the railing, I look down at my feet, as if eyeing them will somehow offer encouragement. I manage a step, then two, but by the third, my legs are shaking again. When I lift my foot and pull myself up the stair, I realize there’s a very good possibility I’ll end up on the floor in a crumpled heap.

I stop again and lean against the railing, my palms throbbing where I grip the banister. Great Divine, four days of using my power nonstop is too much.

“My lady?”

“Just...gimme...a minute.” I say a minute this time instead of a second, but really, I’m gonna need a few hours.

I try to breathe in and out, willing myself not to collapse. I pushed myself way further than I realized.

“We must escort you upstairs immediately,” the guard insists.

I feel weaker than I have in a long time, and it pisses me off. This weakness is exactly what I need to eradicate. I need to get my mind, my body, my power stronger.

The guards share whispered conversation, but my mind is swimming, so they’re just going to have to wait. I lay my head against the railing, trying to talk my body into not falling asleep standing up. I’m not sure it’s working.

“Goldfinch? What’s wrong?”

My eyes snap open.

Groggily, I swivel my head to the left without picking it up. Since when is my head so damn heavy?

“Rip?”

My vision tunnels as I watch him striding toward me, taking the stairs two at a time, his leather uniform practically molded against his muscled body. I can see it’s the real him, not his body-double, because his helmet is off and his dark aura is clinging to his silhouette. His spikes are jutting out menacingly, and the look on his face makes the guards back up.

When Rip sees their retreating steps, a storm gathers on his thick brow, and his aura pierces the air like an off-key note, making me wince from the pitched tremor.

“You see a commander from another kingdom’s army coming toward your king’s favored, and your instinct is to back the fuck up?” he seethes.

Whoa.

A chill runs down my spine at the dark anger that bleeds out of his voice, and my breath catches in my chest.

He stops in front of the two men, a good half a foot taller than them both. The blazing black of his eyes make me glad I’m not the one who’s catching the brunt of his glare.

“We...were just escorting her to her rooms.”

“You were doing nothing but standing there being useless while she’s practically falling over.” His jaw is tight, expression filled with cutting disdain, and my pulse jumps at the ferocious protectiveness streaming from his words, like the warning growl of an alpha wolf.

Right now, he looks every bit the menacing monster that the rumors paint him as. Even I’m a little scared, and I know he won’t hurt me. At least, not physically.

“I’m fine,” I say, though my voice is throaty, quiet.

The prod of his aura reaching out toward me takes me by surprise, and I gasp at the feel of it caressing over my skin. “Oh?” Rip asks me with a cock of his brow that lifts the row of blunt spikes there. “Then stand up straight.”

“Oh sure, I’ll just lift a horse too while I’m at it. Maybe run all the way to the Barrens,” I grumble.

“Mm-hmm,” Rip says, clearly cocky about proving his point.


Tags: Raven Kennedy The Plated Prisoner Fantasy