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As one of the strongest Infinities and captain of the royal army, it’s my duty to do my father’s—no, my king’s—biddings. That honor extends to my oldest sister as well, since she is the crowned heir. It bothered me once, when I found out she would be heir, but not anymore. I was twelve when I found out. Fourteen years later, and I’m over it. Mostly… I think…

My duty to my kingdom is my purpose. This is what I am meant to do—what I’m born to do: to be hidden under the disguise of night by my darkness, my shadows. I end the lives of Necrums, traitors, and whoever else my king sees fit, often without question. They all meet the same fate, either by the end of my sword or the death grip of my shadows.

Someone clears their throat, pulling me out of my spiraling mind. I turn to find Kylo, my closest friend and my second in command, behind me.

“Prince Lukene, the kingdom’s handsome, dark prince.” He does a mocking bow and smiles, his light brown hair flopping in his dark-complexioned face. “Saving the continent, and women’s undergarments all at one time. My true hero.”

I let loose a deep, heartfelt chuckle. What a free spirit Kylo is—always joking, always carefree, not yet touched by the darkness that I have endured. I hope he never is.

“It was one time—once, and she put them in my pocket. I had no idea they were there until I pulled out those coppers for the Nomatrab in the Drifts.”

We both laugh, reminiscing about the memory and my embarrassment. I look into his brown mischievous eyes, noticing worry hidden there.

“You need to see a healer. The black hair and green eyes aren’t going to work for you with bruises and cuts like that. You don’t want to ruin that handsome, princely face of yours. Spar with James again?”

I laugh deeply. “Yeah, I’ll see a healer in a moment. And you know James is the only person that can do this to me.” I point to my face. “Did you need something?”

“I came to inform you that we found a grove past The Hollows, at the base of the Serpent’s Reach.”

“Cursed?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“Damn it. Anyone infected by it?”

“Not that we are aware of.”

“That’s good news then. Well, at least we don’t have to climb Serpent’s Reach tonight.”

Kylo nods in agreement.

We finally reachthe base at Serpent’s Reach. Jumping out of the carriage, I take it all in. The towering mountain looms above us, monstrous and mysterious, with the Shadowed Forest to our backs.

There is something so alluring to me about dark and dangerous things.

I look to the sky and close my eyes as the wind carries the sweet scent of the grove toward us. My black cape billows in the breeze as we walk to the grove. I had Kylo bring four guards along—just in case any Necrums, or something worse, decide to bother us tonight.

I watch as my royal guards, dressed in the vibrant red and gold of our house, march toward the grove—their cloaks flowing behind them like beacons in the dark.

When we reach the grove, I thank the gods and goddesses it’s only a few bushes—manageable. I wish they were ordinary rose bushes; they’re easier to deal with. But these cursed roses are different, taller than small trees, with thick stems and wicked thorns.

The cursed roses are still very beautiful. They have little black spidering veins that stretch throughout the petals, creating a stark contrast to their vibrant blood-red color. Alluring—alluring yet deadly.

“Alright, listen up, men.” I turn from the grove and face them. “Remember, do not touch the roses. If you get pricked, by a thorn, you know what we must do.”

“Yes, Prince Lukene,” they respond in unison.

The men stand there, nodding. They know—everyone knows—if you get pricked you become infected.

The infection from the cursed roses starts slowly as black spidery veins, like the ones on the infected rose petals. They stretch and grow, crawling up your skin. Once they reach your neck, it’s over. You turn into a Necrum—a hollow ghost of your former self, with grayed skin, haunting eyes, elongated teeth, claws like curved blades, and a ravenous hunger for blood—human blood.

One bite.

One scratch.

One prick of a thorn.

That is all it takes to become infected.