Page 178 of Gilded

Except, as she rounded the bend of the spiraling steps, she spotted a figure leaning against the doorway.

She froze, bracing one hand against the wall.

Gild stared up at her, clutching a bundle of fabric in his arms. His sleeves were pushed up past his elbows and she could see lines of red welts where the gold chains had wrapped around him. There was tension in his shoulders. His expression was too careful, too wary.

She wanted to rush into his arms, but they did not open to her.

Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she found words. “I was coming to free you.”

His jaw tensed, but a second later, his gaze softened. “I was starting to make a bit of a ruckus. Moaning. Chain-rattling. Typical poltergeist stuff. They finally got tired of listening to me and brought me down around sunset.”

She eased down the steps. A finger reached for one of the marks on his forearm, but he flinched away.

She pulled back. “How did they do it?”

“Cornered me outside the tower,” he said. “They had the chains around me before I knew what was happening. I’ve never had to worry about that before. Being … trapped like that.”

“I’m so sorry, Gild. If it wasn’t for me—”

“You didn’t do this to me,” he interrupted sharply.

“But the gold—”

“I made the gold. I designed my own prison. How’s that for torture?” He looked briefly like he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite figure out how.

“But if I’d told the truth … at anytime, if I’d just told the truth, rather than asking you to spin the gold, to keep coming back, to keep helping me—”

“Then you would be dead.”

“And those children would be alive …” Her voice cracked. “And you wouldn’t have been chained to a wall.”

“Hecut out their hearts. He’s the murderer.”

She shook her head. “Don’t try to convince me that I’m not at fault for this. I tried to escape, even though I knew … I knew what he was capable of.”

They stared at each other for a long moment.

“I should go,” he finally whispered. “The king might not like to see his future bride cavorting with the resident poltergeist.” The bitterness was tangible, his mouth twisting as if he’d bitten something sour. “I just wanted to bring you this.” He thrust the fabric toward her, and it took Serilda a moment to recognize her cloak.

Her old, ratty, stained, beloved cloak.

“I patched the shoulder,” he said sadly, as Serilda took it from him. Unfolding it, she saw that the place where the drude had torn the fabric had indeed been mended with a square of gray fabric, almost the same color as the original wool, but softer to the touch.

“It’s dahut fur,” he said. “We don’t have any sheep here, so?…”

She squeezed the cloak to her chest for a moment, then slung it over her shoulders. Its familiar weight was an immediate comfort. “Thank you.”

Gild nodded, and for a moment she worried that he really would go. But then his shoulders sank and, resigned, he opened his arms.

With a grateful sob, Serilda fell into them, tying her hands around his back, feeling the warmth of his hold spreading through her.

“I’m scared,” she said as her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“I am, too,” he murmured. “It’s been a long time since I felt scared like this.” His hands rubbed her arms, his cheek pressed to her temple. “What happened in that throne room? When he dragged you away, I thought”—emotion clogged his throat—“I thought he’d kill you for sure. And then you both come back out and suddenly he’s calling you our queen? Saying you’re going tomarryhim?”

She grimaced. “I hardly understand it myself.” She clawed her fingers into Gild’s shirt, wanting to stay here forever. To never face the reality of life in this castle, at the side of the Erlking. She couldn’t begin to fathom what future awaited her or the children she’d left behind in that room.

“Serilda,” said Gild, more sternly now. “Truly. What happened in that throne room?”