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“Always so eager to stab me, Reckless,” he coos with a playful smile.

“Not”—I pant, gasping for air—”funny, Prince.” My chest heaves with each breath.

He releases my wrist but slides the dagger back into the sheath on my thigh. “You did well, but never—and I mean never, risk yourself for me again, Reign. Never. That is an order.”

“I didn’t want you to get hurt,” I explain.

“Oh, Reckless,” he says, placing a hand over his heart with a mocking smile. “The only thing that can truly hurt me is you.”

Rolling my eyes, I turn and look at the fire burning brightly—taking the guards and Necrums to the other side. I watch the guards finish burning the carcasses and citing the old prayer, “May the Mother.”

That brings me to a thought. Do Necrums get brought to the double burning hells or the heavens? They were once unfortunate souls that got infected. This thought brings me to another: Why are there so many infected people? Why are they together and where did they come from?

A child’s scream breaks my thoughts. Lukene and I lock eyes then sprint down the alley where the shriek came from. We find four Drifters, including the old man Lukene had helped earlier, battling a swarm of Necrums that must have slipped past us during the chaos.

Lukene and I jump into action, slaying the Necrums. The old man is ripped apart as we fight to clear the monsters. Another scream rings out—a child stands near a house, a Necrum closing in.

Lukene throws shadows toward the child, knocking him to the ground just before the monster’s talons can rip him apart. Then he wraps shadows around the Necrum’s head and rips it clean off its body. The child faints, most likely from fear or the sheer brutality of Lukene’s actions. Lukene runs to him, cradling the unconscious boy in his arms. The Drifters watch with wary eyes, knowing all too well the tales of the Dark Prince.

“Where are his parents?” he demands. One Drifter points to the dead old man.

“He was all the boy had left,” the Drifter says.

“We’ll take care of him. Vanna rehouses the orphaned children we bring to her,” Lukene replies. The Drifters look at each other with suspicious expressions on their faces, but no one is brave enough to speak out against the Dark Prince.

Lukene carries the child to a nearby carriage, setting him gently on the leather bench. How can someone be so tender, yet so terrifying? Watching him protect the boy, I see a different side of him, one that only deepens the mystery. Lukene is a puzzle I want to solve, a man of masks and layers. And I find myself wanting to peel them away, to see the real him beneath it all. As we load the carriages, we prepare to head back to the palace.

* * *

We makeour way to the throne room once we arrive, where Vanna and the king are speaking in hushed tones. As we enter, their conversation fades, and they turn to greet us.

“How many have we lost?” the king asks, addressing Lukene without even glancing my way.

“Half the guards we brought and four from the Drifts. The damage was minimal, and no one was infected,” Lukene replies, handing the child over to Vanna. Her expression shifts oddly when she looks at the child—satisfaction, maybe even excitement—but that can’t be right.

“I don’t care about the Drifters, only the guards,” the king says dismissively. His indifference to the lives of his own people is sickening. I take a slow, deep breath, trying to push away the oppressive arrogance that fills the air. The breath didn’t go unnoticed by Lukene… or Vanna.

“Is there a problem, Drifter?” Vanna sneers, her gaze condescending.

“Not at all, Princess Vanna. Just tired,” I reply, my voice steady but simmering with fatigue.

“Well, rest up. We found the blood wielder who summoned the Necrums to the Drifts. I have guards watching her cottage outside the wall.” A small, unsettling smile spreads across her lips. “Drifter, tomorrow, you alone will deal with her.”

“Vanna, I can—” Lukene starts, but she interrupts.

“Dismissed!” Vanna snaps.

I glare at Vanna, exhaustion and anger burning in my eyes, before turning to follow Lukene out of the throne room. We walk in silence down the corridor toward our chambers.

“Where do the children go?” I ask, breaking the silence. “Do you ever see them after they leave the palace?”

“Vanna has several homes that foster them, and no, I don’t see them again. Why do you ask?” Lukene replies, his voice guarded.

“I… something seems off Luke—” I clear my throat, as we continue to walk down the corridor. “—Prince Lukene, I mean.” I correct myself, my voice faltering. “I can’t place it. It’s just a feeling I get—like I can sense something is wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong,” he says firmly. “Vanna isn’t the kindest person, but helping orphaned children is probably her only redeeming quality. You’re just fatigued from battle.”

I nod, though unease still clings to me, almost tangible. Maybe he’s right; maybe my past with Vanna clouds my judgment. Still, I can’t shake the feeling.