Page 60

“Luke, it’s okay to worry about her, you know. Admitting you care isn’t going to harm you.”

I dart my eyes back to his. I clench and unclench my fists, trying to tame my temper. Instead of snapping on him, I wrangle my anger back. I let his words settle on me—’it’s okay to worry about her’. It’s not okay to worry about her. Worrying about her would be admitting to myself that I care. If I care, then I’m bound to get hurt. So, no—I won’t admit it. At least not out loud. The truth is, I am. I am worried about the purple-headed prisoner.

We sit in silence for the rest of the ride as we make our way to the coast.

It’s midday by the time I reach my room. Despite sleeping on the carriage ride back, exhaustion clings to me. I’m filthy, and every step sends sharp aches through my legs and feet.

The tub is already half-full when I approach. I wait until Sasha puts the healing salts away and closes the door before stepping in.

I always hesitate in the bath, needing a moment to calm my nerves. My gaze sweeps the washroom, making sure I’m truly alone. Only when I feel safe do I lean back against the tub.

The steamy water works its way into my tired muscles, easing the tension in my legs and feet. I scrub every inch of my skin, washing away the dirt, debris, and the haunting images of the fallen contestants. For a brief moment, thoughts of Lukene creep in.

Lukene is unlike anyone I’ve ever known. He’s a force—intimidating, dark, commanding fear and respect with nothing more than a glance. And yet, beneath that formidable exterior, there’s something that draws me in—a mystery I can’t resist unraveling.

Once I finish washing, I wrap a cloth around me and step out of the bath chamber. My stomach growls, but the pull of sleep is stronger. Food can wait.

In my bedchamber, the fire burns low, casting long shadows across the room. A chill settles in, creeping through the dim space. I’m too tired to stoke the flames and decide to let them die.

After slipping on a black nightgown, I climb into bed. The cold air brushes against my skin, making me shiver. I pull the blanket tight under my chin, welcoming the warmth.

As sleep pulls me under, a dreadful realization grips me—there’s only one trial left. Only one winner. What will happen if I lose and Elm wins? Or worse, if he loses and I win?

I don’t want to be separated from Elm.

Suddenly, the weight of everything crashes over me, making my chest ache with each breath. I squeeze my eyes shut, desperate for sleep, but warm tears betray me, slipping down my cheeks and stinging my skin. I hate feeling weak, but I allow myself this moment.

I cry for losing Larah. I cry for losing my parents. I cry for being forced to marry a man who never cared for me at all. I cry for what I went through to get into the Hollows and what I endured there. I cry for fear of losing Elm. I cry for what life could have been but never was. And finally, I just cry, to get it all out, not knowing what tomorrow will bring.

When the tears stop, exhaustion slams into me with brutal force. My throat burns, raw like an ember lodged within it. I shut my aching eyes and fall into a deep, grief-laden sleep, overwhelmed from feeling everything I have locked away for so long. The prisoner has finally broken.

A soft knock at the door pulls me from sleep. The dim light of the setting sun filters through the window, casting a pale glow across the room. I sit up, shivering now that the fire has died out.

“Come in, Sasha.”

The door creaks open, and instead of Sasha, Prince Lukene steps inside, shutting the door behind him. A tray rests in his hands. His bright green eyes flicker over me, lingering on the skin visible through my thin nightgown. Heat crawls up my neck as I pull the blanket tighter around my chest and wrap another around my shoulders.

He clears his throat and approaches, placing the tray on the bedside table to my left. Dark shadows smudge beneath his eyes, and stubble darkens his sharp jaw. His clothes are wrinkled and dirty, as if sleep has eluded him for days.

“Prince Lukene,” I murmur, dipping my head in acknowledgment.

“Prisoner.” He drags a chair next to the bed, sitting slightly off to my right. My heart kicks up a beat, confusion swirling in my chest. What could he possibly need to come to my bedchamber for?

“You could have sent Sasha to bring the tray,” I say quietly.

“I am sure I could have,” he replies, his lips curving in a half-smile as he nudges the tray closer to me. His gaze sharpens, and he frowns slightly. “Why are your eyes so red and puffy?”

Well, I only cried my eyes out for the first hour,I think, but I won’t dare to speak about my moment of vulnerability. “I am unsure. Maybe it’s from the trials.”

I keep my gaze down, avoiding his. Picking up the fork, I push the food around on the tray—root vegetables, fresh fruit, pork, bread, and a bowl of broth. Even though hunger gnawed at me earlier, the urge to eat has vanished now that I’ve allowed myself to cry.

A draft creeps through the room, making me shiver. I clutch the blanket tighter around me, fully aware of Lukene’s gaze lingering on me. Every place his eyes seem to land burns against my skin as if it’s on fire.

Without a word, he stands and moves to the fireplace. I watch him stoke the fire, coaxing it back to life until it roars, sending delicious waves of warmth through the room. I can’t help but admire the way his muscles strain with movement through his shirt. He truly is handsome, no matter how much I try to ignore it.

Lukene turns, taking his seat again. He leans back in the chair, his head resting against the edge.

“Eat, Reign,” he says dryly.