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Elm and Lilyana finish their dance and join us. Lilyana, of course, comes with another drink, which I happily accept. I forgot life could have happy moments. I spent the last nine years in total darkness. It started when my mom left me at seventeen to pass away alone, the next three years with my abusive late husband who I was forced to marry, then the six years at the Hollows. Now at age twenty-six I find myself having fun with one of the royals I planned to kill. Well, not anymore. I will not kill her, and I’ll convince Elm there is another way. There must be another way.

I laugh at something Lilyana says, only to be yanked away mid-laugh. Startled, I look down at the hand gripping my arm—Lukene’s. He pulls my wine glass from my grasp with an irritated expression.

Does he care? No, he can’t. He hasn’t bothered with me this whole month. So why act like he cares now? Emboldened by the wine, I look him dead in the eyes and ask, “Why do you care?”

I search his gaze—not for the words he’ll say, but for the truth beneath them. And there it is—a storm of emotions swirling just under the surface. I see it. I see his internal turmoil. He is a man trying to keep his masks in place—a man scared of change and emotions. But it doesn’t matter. I am a prisoner, and he is a prince. His family is the reason I ended up in the Hollows. We are enemies.

He says it’s his duty, that he doesn’t care. A laughable excuse. I tell him I won’t leave, but he threatens Larah and Elm, leaving me no choice. He truly is a monster. A handsome, insufferable monster.

Fuming, I storm out of the ballroom, weaving through the palace corridors. I know he’s following me. I can’t hear his steps, but I feel him—like a shadow at my back. The halls are empty, all the guards preoccupied with the ball. Just before I reach my room, I feel his hand on my shoulder.

Without hesitation, I reach into the plunge of my neckline and draw the palm blade. Spinning around, I shove him against the wall, pressing the blade to his throat. The tip digs in just enough to pinch his tan skin, drawing a bead of crimson. I could just do it. I could end him right here. But do I actually want to?

“Pompous, palace-princely prick! I could slit your throat right here. You know that, right?” I hiss, leaning in closer. His eyes show no fear, only dancing dark delight. I push the blade a little deeper, piercing the skin until a drop of crimson beads at the surface.

He grins that wicked grin of his, his dimple appearing as he reaches up, gently touching one of my earrings. Then he drops his hand, still smiling.

“You could,” he murmurs. “Then I’d die a happy man because I get to gaze into those pools of lavender when I meet my maker.”

I scoff and pinch my brows together. I am a prisoner, a murderer, and not to mention, I have a blade to his throat. Yet, he shows no fear at all, only grave delight—and gods he has a wicked grin plastered on that handsome face. I know just the thing to wipe it off.

I drop my blade between his legs, “What if I cut off your favorite part, Prince? How would that make you feel? You wouldn’t be able to bed anyone ever again. What a sad prince you would be.” I smile and try not to think about the bulge touching my hand.

He laughs—a deep, joyful sound that reverberates through me, igniting something dangerous within. He is enjoying this, if he wasn’t laughing, the strain in his pants would give him away. My heart rate kicks up and is a steady thumping in my chest, a reminder that I am playing a dangerous game with him.

“Oh Reckless, that wouldn’t be the best idea,” he says, his smile completely sinful.

“Oh yeah. And why not, Prince?” I lean closer to him as I say it.

He moves from the wall slightly, drawing his face toward mine as he whispers, “Because I haven’t had a chance to make it your favorite part too.”

I scowl, ignoring the flutter in my stomach, and lower the blade. The moment I step back, he grabs me, pinning me to the wall. One of his massive hands traps my wrists above my head, and his hips press against mine, holding me in place. He’s solid as stone. Even if I used all my strength to try to buck him off, I doubt he’d budge. I don’t even try. Maybe I don’t want to try.

“You are reckless, Reckless. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Pulling a blade on the prince…” he murmurs, his eyes gleaming with delight.

My heart is now thunderous in my chest. Heat floods my veins at our proximity. My chest is heaving up and down as he lowers his face close to mine. He stares into my eyes while running the back of his hand down the side of my face. His eyes drop to my lips, then the revealing dress just below. He enjoys toying with me, with the hardened length of him pushing into me, it is evident. He brings his lips to my ear. His stubble slightly scratches my face, and he says, “Don’t hesitate out there tomorrow. It would be a shame for you to die.” His voice is low, and husky.

With that, he releases me and steps back. I stand there, gaping and breathless. He winks, then gestures toward my door, silently commanding me to retreat to bed. Scowling, I storm into my room and slam the door behind me.

* * *

In my roomI get ready for sleep. I change into a black nightgown and climb into bed. I would read; however, I already finished the sinful romance book Sasha brought me, so I lay here, thinking. Thinking of what the trials will bring, about what Lukene is doing, what his hands would?—

No. No, I can’t think like that. But his eyes… I sigh. I am in trouble. I am conflicted. I should hate him, yet I really don’t. I rub a hand down my face. I don’t think I can kill him, but he would retaliate against us for killing Vanna, and the king and queen. There must be another way.

A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts, and Sasha enters, her sweet smile brightening the room.

“Oh good, you are still awake. I was told to bring you this,” her sweet voice says.

“What is it?” I ask, frowning.

She sets a mug filled with herbs and a kettle of hot water on the table. A fragrant blend of mint and other herbs wafts through the air.

“It is a special tea. It will ensure you are feeling your best for the trial tomorrow.”

“Who sent it?” I ask, though I already know the answer—bossy, know-it-all prince.

“Does it matter? I was just told to ensure you drank it.” She gives me a kind smile as she pours the hot water over the herbs and hands me the steaming mug before turning to leave.