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When we reach my door, I turn to face Lukene. “How do we know this blood wielder is truly responsible for the attack? Am I just supposed to trust their word and kill this person without evidence?”

“If they say the blood wielder planned the attack, then she did,” he replies, his tone hard. “It’s not your place to question orders, only to follow them, Reign. But I’ll be there with you.”

Where is the caring man that protected that child? The man that helped an elderly man board up his home? He’s gone, replaced by the soldier, the Dark Prince. Is this the real him, or just another mask they force him to wear? They’ve trained him well, molded him into their weapon.

“Have you always been this monster?” I ask, searching his eyes. “Or did they make you this way, tainting your soul with the deeds they demand?”

He stands to his full height, towering over me, and looks down straight into my eyes, into my very soul. “I have never denied the demon I am, Reckless. It’s you who refuses to see it.”

He goes to leave, but I grasp his hand, halting him. He slowly turns, looking down at our connected hands, then drifts his eyes to mine. “I don’t believe you. This is a façade, a mask. It’s something you want people to believe so no one ever sees the real you—keeping you at a safe distance.”

I swiftly throw his hand down and storm into my room, slamming the door behind me.

Walking back to my room, Reign’s words echo in my mind:It’s something you want people to believe so no one ever sees the real you—keeping you at a safe distance. She has no idea who I am, the demon that I am. She wants to believe there is more to me, but there isn’t. I wish so badly I could be what she wants me to be…

I am who I am—the demon, the monster, the darkness… I am every fucked-up shade of black that coats my room, every nightmare, every sin I have committed, every menacing shadow… It’s all me. She needs to understand that.

My actions may be confusing to her. I get it. I am hot one moment, cold the next. Affectionate, then distant. I can’t help it with her. I know I need to distance myself, but there is a part of me that just can’t stay away. We’re like the moon and the night sky, drawn together, destined to be connected. Like the tide that keeps crashing against the shore, I keep coming back to her… over and over again.

The moon is brightest on the darkest nights. We complement each other. I am on the chopping block, and she is the henchman. I can’t rid her from my mind no matter how hard I try. She is beautiful and fierce, smart and cunning, reckless and totally wrong for me. I don’t deserve her. I don’t want to bleed my blackness onto her, smothering her light, dimming her spark. Yet I can’t rid myself of the yearning I feel, a yearning so deep it’s painful.

Once back in my room, I shower quickly, unable to shake the memory of her distress over having to kill the blood wielder without proof. I surely do think for myself, but I always take my orders. I will do it. I will kill the blood wielder, so the job is done, and her conscience is safe, protected. It’s an order I would gladly go against for her.

With that thought, I leave my room to head to hers. Telling her of my intentions may help her rest easier tonight. While walking to her room, I sense someone is close. After turning the corner, I see Vanna. What is she doing coming down this hall? There are only two rooms—one vacant the other my own.

“Prince Lukene, I was just coming to get you,” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“Not now, Vanna. I’m busy,” I reply, brushing past her.

“I need to talk to you,” she insists, her voice tinged with annoyance.

“Later.” I proceed to walk away.

“As heir to the throne, I insist.” Well, that stops me in my tracks. Halting, I turn to look at her. She is only heir to the throne because she stole it from me. My irritation rolls off me in waves, coating all my features. I flex my fingers at my side before curling my hands into tight fists, so I don’t do anything reckless, like my counterpart.

“Well, my apologies,heir to the throne. By all means… Please, lead the way.” Each word I speak is dripping with sarcasm. Seeing that my tone is pissing her off, a smirk forms on my face. She may be heir to the throne, but it was my birthright, mine first. When she rules, I will serve her as I always have, but I don’t have to be happy about it, nor will I make it easy for her.

She leads me to her favorite sitting room, adorned with oversized gilded mirrors and portraits of herself. Ever the self-absorbed princess. I take a seat on the plush, ginormous couch across from her, a marble coffee table between us.

“What is it, Vanna? Don’t waste my time. What is it that you need?” I say, leaning back on the couch, a bored expression upon my face so she can see how unaffected by her I am.

Vanna picks up the pot of tea and pours two cups full, handing me one. “Here, we will talk over tea…”

“No… No tea. Spill it, so I can get to sleep,” I snap. “I must take Reign to murder someone tomorrow—your orders, remember?”

Vanna grunts in frustration, arm still extended with the tea. “Oh, come on… I had this tea brought in. It’s delicious. Just drink with me while we discuss it. It’s an order.”

I exhale loudly, sitting up with jerky movements to emulate the irritation inside. I snatch the teacup from her hand. It looks like ordinary tea, but the fruity, floral scent intrigues me. Reluctantly, I take a sip. The taste surprises me, and I take another, a bigger gulp, drinking half the cup. I don’t want her to know I am enjoying her specially brought in tea, so I set the rest of it down on the table.

“See. It’s good,” she says, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Okay, I drank your damn tea. Now what do you need from—” My words falter. Something isn’t right. My thoughts are spinning—or is it the room.

“What were you saying, Lukene?” Vanna asks, her smile spreading.

My eyes snap to her. “What did you do, Vanna?” I growl, my voice filled with rage. I raise my palm to summon my shadows, but nothing happens. They won’t come.

Vanna laughs, shaking her head. “Oh, Lukene. Tsk, tsk.”