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“You did that for him?”

“No... I did that foryou. I knew you would win, so I planned ahead.” Her gaze lowers to my lips before meeting my eyes again. “I got this for you before the third trial.”

I hand her the gift and watch as she unwraps the short dagger I designed for her and a leather thigh sheath. Its ornate steel gleams in the firelight. A black onyx stone glimmers in the pommel, and metal vines twist around a rose carved into the grip—an homage to the cursed roses. Ari’s craftsmanship is flawless.

“It’s beautiful… but I can’t accept this.” She tries handing it back.

I scoff, dismissing her reluctance. That just won’t do.

Taking the dagger back, I slide it into the sheath. Then, I kneel. “Lift your leg.”

“Prince Lukene…”

“Now, Reign.”

She lifts her foot, and I slide the leather sheath over it and slowly up her calf, tracing my fingers up her leg as I do. A small gasp escapes her, causing my heart to skip a beat. I continue up her leg, caressing her softly as I go, until I get to her upper thigh. I fasten it securely.

Her cheeks flush pink, and I rise. “You will accept it. That’s an order.”

Her eyes hold a question I can’t quite read. “Thank you,” she murmurs before turning to leave.

“Reign.”

She pauses with her hand on the door, glancing back at me.

“About yesterday, I?—”

“No need to explain. I don’t want an explanation, nor do I need it.”

And just like that, she walks out, leaving me behind. Why did that feel like a goodbye, like a permanent dismissal? The realization makes my mask slip, emotions clawing at the surface, unbidden and unwelcome.

An hour after leaving Lukene’s room, I’m summoned. The king claims a chance to prove myself has so graciously appeared. The watchtower in the Drifts is lit—an ominous signal that a herd of Necrums is approaching.

Lukene and I are to go with a small group of guards to take care of them. I have never seen a Necrum except in books and haunting nightmares, and the thought of facing them makes my heart race.

I attempt to seat myself in a carriage with guards, but Lukene doesn’t allow that—a controlling prick as always. We end up sitting alone, both stealing glances and having words on the tips of our tongues, words that never manage to be spoken as we ride toward the Drifts—my home.

When we arrive, we head straight to the tower, climbing the many daunting stairs to the top. If my mind wasn’t so preoccupied, I’d despise the trip up. At the top, we look out over Valrum. The setting sun casts a shadow, making it difficult to see clearly. But in the distance, through the rolling sands, a moving group of Necrums emerges, heading directly for the Drifts

The Drifts are not protected by stone wall barriers or a sea of royal guards. It only has the single watchtower and that is more for informing the kingdom of approaching war or Necrums more than it is for protecting the defenseless that live here. The very thought envelops me in blinding rage for the people living in the Drifts—my people.

As if sensing the shift in my emotions, Lukene turns to me. He sees the anger boiling in my eyes, eclipsing the broken feelings he left behind. Tilting his beautiful head, he squints. He has his mouth slightly open, rubbing his chin in that assessing, calculating way of his, ever so the dark prince. After a moment, he straightens up to address us.

“The Necrums are heading straight toward the Drifts. They are not very far out. An hour, maybe two until they reach the city’s boundary. We need to stop them before they make it into the center.” His commanding presence earns the silent respect of the guards. “Walk the city. Ensure everyone stays inside behind locked doors and boarded up windows. We don’t need a massacre. Go.”

He turns to the watchtower guard and orders, “Ring it.” My gaze follows his to the large bell hanging from the ceiling, something I’d never noticed. It was never rung while I lived here.

The rings are so loud, they vibrate through me, setting my already rattled nerves on high alert. Lukene lightly grips my arm, pulling me to the stairs where we start to descend to the chaotic streets. Never in my life have I seen such panic. It is tangible. My eyes must show my shock.

“Don’t tell me a fierce little thing like you is scared of a few Necrums, Reckless?”

Scoffing, I force out a lie. “No, I’m not scared.” I shrug. “I’m just surprised you care about these people. They’re just worthless Drifters, right? Beneath you and the royals.”Just like I’m beneath you, I want to add, but I hold back. His expression says he understands the jab exactly as I mean it.

He opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off. “I’m not interested in hearing your response.” I walk out into the mayhem on the streets.

People are running to their houses, boarding the windows and doors. People are yelling, children are crying, and dogs are barking. The chaos spins around us as we make our way down alleys between broken down buildings. I adjust my lavender litham to cover my mouth, so I don’t breathe in the sand clinging to the air.

Lukene stops when he sees an elderly man struggling with boards for his windows. Without hesitation, he takes the wood from the man and helps him, despite the initial look of terror on the man’s face. The stories of the Dark Prince have spread far, but relief soon replaces fear. I seize this moment to slip through an alley, making my way to the street where my childhood home stands.