Gleam: The dark fantasy romance TikTok sensation that’s sold over a million copies (Plated Prisoner Book 3)

I toss and turn in bed, twisted up in both my blankets and my thoughts. Only after the sun comes up do I finally fall into an exhausted sleep, but even that doesn’t bring much rest.

Every single word Slade spoke to me replays over and over. Not just what he said earlier in the library, or when he carried me upstairs and sat on my balcony, but even further back too. When we were together in a coal-lit tent, or fighting in a snowy circle, or walking along the edge of his army’s camp.

Small, stolen moments.

Dangerous, forbidden moments.

Tell me.

I can’t.

I’m a once-clear pond gone all murky, like Slade dove in and splashed around in my depths. Without me realizing it, he slipped into my veins and now swims through my every thought, steeped into every drop.

When I drag my eyes open again, it’s late in the day, although I feel as if I haven’t gotten any rest at all. How could I, when even in sleep, Slade seems to have soaked into every inch of me?

You’ve chosen to sit back and wither.

Sometimes, things need first to be ruined in order to then be remade.

Listen to your instincts and stop holding back.

The silence of the room only makes his voice louder in my skull. Ripping back the blankets, I get up with a restlessness that prickles my skin. Liquid gold bleeds from the soles of my feet as I begin to pace, covering the parts of the stone floor that my power hadn’t yet reached. But even that use of magic doesn’t help moor me. I’m drifting in a sea of my own tangled thoughts, caught up in the swell.

Hitching my body against the wall, I let my forehead rest on the gilded wallpaper and squeeze my eyes closed. Taking steadying breaths, I lean there for a moment, palms pressed to the doorframe and a war crowding my chest.

Three more days until the ball. Three days until I’m supposed to leave. Somehow, the sum of those days seems to equate to the missing pieces inside of me.

Right or wrong, trust or doubt, mind or heart.

I’m at a fork in the road, and I can’t linger at its point anymore. I have to choose a path.

With the sudden clarity of a cloudless sky, my eyes spring open and my body lurches upright. I cross into the dressing room and pull on a long-sleeved gown, the silk molding with gold the minute I tug it over my body. For once, I leave the corset be and don’t cut or break it, but I don’t bother to do up the back either.

My ribbons plait my hair as I tug on undergarments, stockings, gloves, boots, and a coat, and then I tear out of the room and through the balcony doors. The dogs are already back from their daily hunt, most of them out in the pen and sniffing around in the snow.

The sky is as broody as I am, with simmering gray clouds dropping lazy flakes of snow to float in the air. I do a quick check to make sure no one is near before I climb up onto the railing. I loop my ribbons around the banister before letting them drop like ropes that I then use to climb down. My arm and leg muscles are sore from my exercise sessions, but I hold on tight as I lower myself.

I keep a steady grip and manage to curl the ends of my ribbons like a hook to solidify them enough to hold my weight. Looking down, I judge the distance of the balcony a floor below to my left. I know I have to time this just right and jump with enough distance so that I don’t break a damn ankle. But I did it before, and I can do it again.

So without giving myself time to overthink, I swing my body forward, once, twice, three times, and then I release my ribbons and jump.

I land hard onto the balcony floor, and a jolt of impact shoots up both of my legs, but I smile in victory that I made it. Below, the dogs whip themselves into a frenzy and start to yip and howl at me. The last thing I want is for someone to come investigate why they’re making such a racket and find me up here. I wave my hands at the dogs below, but they just start barking louder.

“Okay, doggies, shh!”

They don’t shh.

I glance around nervously, but no one has come to check out the noise yet—though they will. I hurry to the door, thanking the Divines when the knob opens and I’m able to rush inside. I yank my ribbons in with me and shut the door, blocking out the howls and hoping that they’ll settle down now that I’m out of view.

My ribbons coil around my waist like loosely hung belts, and I inhale a steadying breath as I take in the room. It’s blessedly abandoned and freezing cold in here, clearly closed up from disuse. White sheets cover the bedroom furniture like cumbersome ghosts, and a fireplace lies empty and stained with soot.

“Alright. I made it this far,” I whisper to myself, equal parts determined and impressed. I check that my gloves are secure and pull up my hood before I cross over to the door. I cock my head to listen, making sure there aren’t any sounds before I open it just enough to peek out.

The hallway is empty.

I’m not about to waste my chance, so I quickly exit, closing the door softly behind me, and then I walk as fast as I dare in these boots without making my tread too loud.

“Opposite side, snowflake door. Opposite side, snowflake door…” My whisper carries me forward, down the hall of icy blue. The stony glass walls reflect my body as I go, and I pass white pillars cut like rough icicles dripping from ceiling to floor.

I’m approaching a corner when I hear noise coming from the staircase just behind me, and my heart kicks up a notch. I can’t be seen by the guards. It’s not an option.

Picking up my pace, I round the corner, and then I nearly gasp out in relief. Right there, at the end of this short corridor, is the snowflake door.

My hurried steps bring me right to it, and I stop, hesitating. A quick look over my shoulder shows that I’m alone, aside from a lone pillar standing sentry.

I bite my lip as I look at the door.

Do I just…knock?

Nervousness writhes in my stomach all of a sudden, but there’s no turning back now. I rushed over here without letting myself overthink it, but now that my mind has had a chance to catch up, I hesitate.

“Come on, Auren. Just do it,” I mumble to myself in a pep talk.

With a determined breath, I lift my fist to knock, but the door suddenly swings open. I blink in surprise, barely stopping my knuckles from rapping on the metal chest plate now in front of me.

“Rip?”

The black helmet tilts down. “Ah. The little golden girl.”

A wisp of breath leaves me as I realize the voice is all wrong. “You’re not Rip.” I should’ve known the moment he opened the door, but I’m too wound up.

He glances at the spikes along his forearms. “No? Who am I then, my lady?”

I narrow my eyes at his mocking tone. His voice is deep, but it’s not Slade’s, and there is no aura hovering around him. Yet his build and height is the same, and from this close, even the gleam of his spikes looks identical to the real thing.

“No idea. Why don’t you enlighten me?” I reply.

He watches me for a moment and then says, “No, I think not.”

Of course he’s not going to tell me.

I let a little disappointment roll in my eyes. “Right. Can you get Slade for me?”

“Oh, on a first name basis, are we? That’s very informal,” he replies, amusement dancing on the edge of his gravelly tone.

I drop into an exaggerated curtsy and plaster on a smile. “Apologies. May I speak to King Ravinger, Ruler of Fourth Kingdom and Rotter of…Things?”

A jagged chuckle comes from him, but he still doesn’t move out of the way. “You sure you wouldn’t rather pass along your message to me than to talk to the Rotter of Things?”

Irritation huffs out of me, but for a second, I’m worried that Slade doesn’t want to see me. Maybe after our talk in the library, he’s decided to wash his hands of me and told Fake Rip and the others to send me away. “Look, you spiky stand-in, may I speak to him or not?”

“Impatient, aren’t we?”

I grind my teeth. I’m all too aware of those footsteps I heard on the stairs, and I don’t want to get caught right at Slade’s doorstep. “Never mind,” I grumble, feeling deflated.

I start to turn around, but Fake Rip stops me when he says, “I was just messing with you, golden girl.” I eye him as he steps aside, leaving the doorway open. “Go on ahead. He’ll be back shortly.”

My foot pauses in the threshold. “Wait, he’s not even here?”

“No.”

“And…you want me to wait in there? In his private rooms? Without him present?”

Fake Rip shrugs.

Flabbergasted, I shake my head. “You’re a terrible guard.”

“Not a guard,” he counters. “And even if I were, King Ravinger, Ruler of Fourth Kingdom and Rotter of Things, wouldn’t need one.”

Can’t argue that.

He jerks his chin up. “Go on. Unless you want the guards who are about to round the corner to see you.”

My eyes go wide, and I practically leap inside the room before Fake Rip latches the door behind me with a low chuckle. Now alone, I look around the space that’s decorated in deep purples and blues. The ceiling has been painted to look like a snowfall sky, with puffy clouds and snowflakes.

I’m in a small sitting room that has a blue painted desk in the corner. There isn’t a single piece of parchment, book, or quill on top of it, and the chair seems to have been relocated. Several mismatched chairs are bunched together in front of a low burning fire, as if Slade and his guests slid them over to talk together.

Were all the members of his Wrath here? Lu, Osrik, and Judd? I suppose Fake Rip would be considered a member of that as well. But who the hell is he? It has to be someone Slade trusts implicitly to carry this facade. It’s a massive secret pretending to be two different people, and I wonder why he does it. There’s so much about Slade I don’t know.

I remove my coat and let it drape over the back of a chair before I take a seat near the fire. I let my mind spin, but I’m too bunched with nerves to sit still for long, so I get right back up again nearly as fast. I stoke the fire with the iron poker, watching the sparks blink lazily to life, and my gaze wanders over to the inched-open door to my right.

Don’t do it.

I turn away as I put the fire poker back, but I cast another look over my shoulder. Surely it’s no harm if I just take a quick peek?

I’m going to do it.

Just a teeny tiny little look. That’s not weird, right? It’s just a guest room, after all. It’s not as if it’s his actual bedroom.

Before I can talk sense into myself, I walk over to the door, whipping a guilty look behind me first to ensure I’m still alone. The moment I slip inside the bedroom, I’m immediately shrouded in shadow. The windows are covered beneath thick floor-to-ceiling curtains, though I think I see a peek of a balcony door between the two panels.

My shoes skim across the plush carpet, my gaze taking in the black shirt left haphazardly on the ottoman by the fireplace. The bed is swathed in royal blue, with most of the pillows tossed onto the floor, as if they were far too fluffy for Slade’s liking. For someone who sprouts spikes from his skin and who sleeps in an army tent a lot of the time, I guess he’s more accustomed to firm rather than soft.noveldrama

I head across the room and wander into another open door, because why not? I’ve already come this far.

Inside, I find a dressing room, but instead of each rack being stuffed with clothing and the floor lined with shoes like my own dressing room, this one is pretty empty. There are only a few shirts and pants hanging up, all of them black or dark brown. Some armor is set in a pile in the corner, and there’s also a single pair of boots. But my gaze falls to an alarming number of weapons that are leaning up against the wall.

“That seems aggressive,” I murmur.

What does it say about a male who owns more daggers than shirts? It’s probably not the best idea to sneak into said male’s personal chambers, but here I am.

Just as I turn away, something catches my eye, stuffed at the front corner where I hadn’t noticed before. My gaze latches onto the peek of brown as I slip forward and then shove aside one of Slade’s shirts to have a better look.

As soon as I do, my breath is yanked from my chest like a fist grappled it out of me. I stare at the familiar coat, my fingers running over the dappled feathers and gilded lining. Memory flashes of Slade transforming in front of my eyes for the first time, of me throwing this coat in his face when he called me Goldfinch.

He kept it.

I don’t know when, but he snuck back into those rooms, took this coat, and kept it. My eyes burn and my chest tightens, and for a moment, all I can do is stare at it. Stare and wonder.

With a shaky breath, I turn away and reenter the bedroom, trying to regain my composure. I need to get back into the sitting room, but the sight of that coat has left me reeling.

My dazed eyes drag across the bed, remembering the way he looked when he slept in the army tent, back when we had smoldering coals and a mountain of distrust between us. Closing the distance, I let my fingers trail along his pillow, noting the obvious dip in the feathers and silk where his head must’ve rested. Without thinking, I find myself leaning down to smell it.

Eyes closed, I breathe in Slade’s scent. I hadn’t really considered what he smelled like before, but there’s something very earthen and distinct about it. It reminds me of damp wood chips and churned soil, but something heavier and darker too, like the bitterness of chocolate.

Something in me settles, makes me remember the feel of his hips when I trapped them between my knees on the railing. I breathe in again and my pulse calms, like last night’s troubled tossing and turning is draining out of me.

As if my ribbons are taking a cue from my relaxed state, I feel them loosen and then slip down onto the bed. They start to twirl like dogs rolling around in a scent they like. I can’t even blame them though, because Slade smells delicious.

I take in one more indulgent sniff, but I lean just a little bit too close, and a trickle from the tip of my nose has my eyes snapping open.

Oh, shit.

I flinch backwards, watching in horror as a single golden droplet spreads from where I accidentally brushed up against the pillow. My gloved hands come down in a frenzy as if I can wipe the stuff off, which, of course I can’t.

“No, no, no…”

Since I’m not still touching it with my bare skin, I can’t even control it enough to stop it from turning solid, either. So instead of just infusing the fabric with gilded threads, my magic spreads until the pillow goes completely stiff, the metallic surface reflecting my panicked face.

Within seconds, the silk and feather is now completely gold, solidifying Slade’s head indentation forever, encased in my own idiotic carelessness.

I stare at it for a moment, grimacing at the way it’s now weighing down the bed so much that the mattress has flattened out beneath it, and the bed frame wails an angry creak like it’s threatening to crack.

“Maybe he won’t notice?” I muse, swiping at my nose before I make a fist and lightly knock on the pillow. The bed creaks in protest again.

Alright, yeah. He’s probably going to notice.

At a tug along my back, my attention is pulled away from the pillow statue to see that my ribbons are diving beneath Slade’s blankets like hyper kittens.

“Oh, great Divine,” I mutter as I try to shove them away. They never used to act this way before. It’s like ever since they burst out to attack Slade in the fighting circle, they’ve just taken on a life of their own.

“Get out of his bed!” I hiss, but the damn things are strong. I try to get them off, but they pull right out of my grasp again and continue doing barrel rolls. With an exasperated sigh, I lean over and shove my hands beneath the blankets, grabbing hold of the ribbons like a twenty-four stranded rope.

I start pulling on them when a deep, sensual voice stops me cold. “If I knew you had interest in tangling yourself up in my bed, I would’ve at least had the forethought to be in it already.”

Slade.

Bright side? None. Absolutely none. Because I just turned his pillow solid gold from sniffing it like a lunatic, while he watched my ribbons dive into his sheets like fish in a Slade stream.

Fantastic.