Page 13

A s I stand with Larah, sipping the delicious blackberry wine that Lilyana keeps supplying me with, I see Lukene making his way toward me. But before he can reach me, Cora intercepts him. He hesitates briefly, then decides to dance with her. Good. They deserve each other—vile, insufferable creatures. Every morning at breakfast, Cora makes snide remarks about me being a Drifter or prisoner. Let them enjoy each other’s company. They’re both cut from the same rotten cloth.

Even as Lukene dances with her, his gaze stays locked on me. Heat rises to my cheeks under his smoldering stare—or maybe it’s just the wine. Probably the wine.

He’s been watching me all night, and I’ve struggled to act like I haven’t noticed. But I have. I’ve caught glimpses of him—when he was in deep conversation with Kylo, or when he danced with other women. Each time, I couldn’t help but look. And gods, he’s handsome—annoyingly so. Not that I’d ever admit it to him. His ego doesn’t need the boost.

Elm and Lilyana finish their dance and join us. Lilyana, of course, comes with another drink, which I happily accept. I forgot life could have happy moments. I spent the last nine years in total darkness. It started when my mom left me at seventeen to pass away alone, the next three years with my abusive late husband who I was forced to marry, then the six years at the Hollows. Now at age twenty-six I find myself having fun with one of the royals I planned to kill. Well, not anymore. I will not kill her, and I’ll convince Elm there is another way. There must be another way.

I laugh at something Lilyana says, only to be yanked away mid-laugh. Startled, I look down at the hand gripping my arm—Lukene’s. He pulls my wine glass from my grasp with an irritated expression.

Does he care? No, he can’t. He hasn’t bothered with me this whole month. So why act like he cares now? Emboldened by the wine, I look him dead in the eyes and ask, “Why do you care?”

I search his gaze—not for the words he’ll say, but for the truth beneath them. And there it is—a storm of emotions swirling just under the surface. I see it. I see his internal turmoil. He is a man trying to keep his masks in place—a man scared of change and emotions. But it doesn’t matter. I am a prisoner, and he is a prince. His family is the reason I ended up in the Hollows. We are enemies.

He says it’s his duty, that he doesn’t care. A laughable excuse. I tell him I won’t leave, but he threatens Larah and Elm, leaving me no choice. He truly is a monster. A handsome, insufferable monster.

Fuming, I storm out of the ballroom, weaving through the palace corridors. I know he’s following me. I can’t hear his steps, but I feel him—like a shadow at my back. The halls are empty, all the guards preoccupied with the ball. Just before I reach my room, I feel his hand on my shoulder.

Without hesitation, I reach into the plunge of my neckline and draw the palm blade. Spinning around, I shove him against the wall, pressing the blade to his throat. The tip digs in just enough to pinch his tan skin, drawing a bead of crimson. I could just do it. I could end him right here. But do I actually want to?

“Pompous, palace-princely prick! I could slit your throat right here. You know that, right?” I hiss, leaning in closer. His eyes show no fear, only dancing dark delight. I push the blade a little deeper, piercing the skin until a drop of crimson beads at the surface.

He grins that wicked grin of his, his dimple appearing as he reaches up, gently touching one of my earrings. Then he drops his hand, still smiling.

“You could,” he murmurs. “Then I’d die a happy man because I get to gaze into those pools of lavender when I meet my maker.”

I scoff and pinch my brows together. I am a prisoner, a murderer, and not to mention, I have a blade to his throat. Yet, he shows no fear at all, only grave delight—and gods he has a wicked grin plastered on that handsome face. I know just the thing to wipe it off.

I drop my blade between his legs, “What if I cut off your favorite part, Prince? How would that make you feel? You wouldn’t be able to bed anyone ever again. What a sad prince you would be.” I smile and try not to think about the bulge touching my hand.

He laughs—a deep, joyful sound that reverberates through me, igniting something dangerous within. He is enjoying this, if he wasn’t laughing, the strain in his pants would give him away. My heart rate kicks up and is a steady thumping in my chest, a reminder that I am playing a dangerous game with him.

“Oh Reckless, that wouldn’t be the best idea,” he says, his smile completely sinful.

“Oh yeah. And why not, Prince?” I lean closer to him as I say it.

He moves from the wall slightly, drawing his face toward mine as he whispers, “Because I haven’t had a chance to make it your favorite part too.”

I scowl, ignoring the flutter in my stomach, and lower the blade. The moment I step back, he grabs me, pinning me to the wall. One of his massive hands traps my wrists above my head, and his hips press against mine, holding me in place. He’s solid as stone. Even if I used all my strength to try to buck him off, I doubt he’d budge. I don’t even try. Maybe I don’t want to try.

“You are reckless, Reckless. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Pulling a blade on the prince…” he murmurs, his eyes gleaming with delight.

My heart is now thunderous in my chest. Heat floods my veins at our proximity. My chest is heaving up and down as he lowers his face close to mine. He stares into my eyes while running the back of his hand down the side of my face. His eyes drop to my lips, then the revealing dress just below. He enjoys toying with me, with the hardened length of him pushing into me, it is evident. He brings his lips to my ear. His stubble slightly scratches my face, and he says, “Don’t hesitate out there tomorrow. It would be a shame for you to die.” His voice is low, and husky.

With that, he releases me and steps back. I stand there, gaping and breathless. He winks, then gestures toward my door, silently commanding me to retreat to bed. Scowling, I storm into my room and slam the door behind me.

* * *

In my room I get ready for sleep. I change into a black nightgown and climb into bed. I would read; however, I already finished the sinful romance book Sasha brought me, so I lay here, thinking. Thinking of what the trials will bring, about what Lukene is doing, what his hands would?—

No. No, I can’t think like that. But his eyes… I sigh. I am in trouble. I am conflicted. I should hate him, yet I really don’t. I rub a hand down my face. I don’t think I can kill him, but he would retaliate against us for killing Vanna, and the king and queen. There must be another way.

A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts, and Sasha enters, her sweet smile brightening the room.

“Oh good, you are still awake. I was told to bring you this,” her sweet voice says.

“What is it?” I ask, frowning.

She sets a mug filled with herbs and a kettle of hot water on the table. A fragrant blend of mint and other herbs wafts through the air.

“It is a special tea. It will ensure you are feeling your best for the trial tomorrow.”

“Who sent it?” I ask, though I already know the answer—bossy, know-it-all prince.

“Does it matter? I was just told to ensure you drank it.” She gives me a kind smile as she pours the hot water over the herbs and hands me the steaming mug before turning to leave.

“Oh, I almost forgot this…” She turns back, pulling a book from her apron and hands it to me. “You will love this one!”

I smile at her because she likes raunchy romance books just as much as I do. I thank her before she exits the room.

I sip the tea, warmth spreading through me as tiredness begins to creep in. The fire dances in the hearth, casting a soothing, flickering glow over the room. Comforted, I set the mug down and open the book, reading until my eyelids grow too heavy to keep open.

* * *

The dining hall buzzes with idle chatter the next morning when I enter and take my seat beside Lilyana, who looks thoroughly hungover. Her normally perfect hair is disheveled, yet she still greets me with a warm, sweet smile.

As we chat, Lukene walks in, his eyes finding mine instantly.

He takes a seat across from me and, without a word, begins scooping food onto my plate. I roll my eyes. He always thinks he knows what’s best for me, but I can’t deny that I find his cold yet caring demeanor oddly charming.

Then Cora arrives, sitting beside Lukene, directly across from Lilyana. She places a hand on Lukene’s shoulder, but the tension in his body is immediate—his irritation thick in the air between us.

“Prince Lukene…” Cora’s voice is an insufferable whine. “I waited for you last night, but you never came—” She pins her frustrated glare on me as she says it. Lukene notices it like he notices everything. Without hesitation, he lifts her hand off his shoulder and drops it as if it’s garbage.

“Well, that was a stupid decision on your part. You invited me. I declined. I don’t see where the confusion is Cora,” he says.

Her voice turns sharp with malice. “You were rolling in the sheets with her, weren’t you?” She gestures toward me. “An alley rat from the Drifts, no doubt!”

Lukene’s hands are resting on the table. Slowly, a menacing black shadow slithers out of his hand close to the plates, moving like inky fog—spreading. It moves tantalizingly slow, snaking around, heading toward Cora. She goes rigid, looking at the inky blackness, then to Lukene. He is facing her now, anger written all over his face.

“Cora,” he says, voice calm but brimming with danger. “You will refrain from acting like a spoiled palace brat. You will show respect to our contestants. And for the record, who I bed, where I bed them, and how I bed them is none of your concern—never has been and never will be.”

The shadows tighten briefly around her hand, making her wince. “Do I make myself clear?” he asks.

She nods quickly, and the shadows dissolve into nothing.

“And don’t insult me by suggesting I’d ever touch someone from the Drifts—or worse, the Hollows,” he scoffs, his tone dripping with disgust.

I look down at my plate, but I feel his gaze on me, probably trying to gauge my reaction to his words. Unsure of why his words stung like an unpredictable backhand, I decide not to look up and meet his glare. Let him wonder. Lilyana places a hand on my knee under the table to comfort me. Gods and goddesses, I love Lilyana. Her friendship recently has given me something to look forward to.

The king enters with Vanna, and we all rise. Lukene’s gaze still lingers on me, but I ignore it. I glance at Elm and Larah, and we exchange our usual gesture—braiding our fingers together and kissing them. They mirror the motion.

When I meet Lukene’s eyes again, he cocks his head slightly, his mouth open just a bit, brows lifted in curious thought. Gods, I want to slap that assessing look off his face.

The king approaches the table, and we bow.

“Today, our contestants will compete in their first trial to become my champion,” the king announces. “Everyone be seated—except the contestants.”

I remain standing with the other eighteen contestants, watching the other guests at the table settle in their seats.

“Your first trial will take place in the Shadowed Forest,” the king continues. “You must navigate through the forest and reach the top of Serpent’s Reach. You have three days. You may eliminate any threat—including other contestants.”

The king turns to the dark prince. “Prince Lukene...”

Lukene rises. “Guards, join your matched contestants and place their bracelets on them. These bracelets are infused with blood magic to track your location. If you try to run, we will find you—and eliminate you.” His wicked smile sends a shiver down my spine.

Walking over to me, Lukene reaches his large hand out. “Your right wrist, prisoner…”

I give him my wrist. He tenderly rubs his thumb over my prisoner number: 7296. I shiver, as his calloused finger scrapes over my inked flesh. I notice Cora’s sharp gaze locked on us, her expression dark with jealousy.

Lukene snaps the bracelet onto my wrist. The metal is cold and heavy, snug against my skin.

“You won’t be able to get it off, so don’t even try. You will only hurt yourself,” Lukene says to the crowd. “Let us raise our glasses to the contestants.” Lukene picks up my glass and hands it to me.

“To the contestants!” he says with a handsome, smug smile.

“To the contestants!” the others echo.

I take a sip of the wine and grimace at the bitter taste. Across the table, Lilyana gives me a strange look—one tinged with guilt. Lukene leans close, his voice low.

“Don’t fight it,” he whispers, the words barely audible.

What does that mean? As the realization dawns, I feel panic start to bloom in my chest. We were the only ones to drink the wine during the toast.

I glance at Elm, who gives me a small, reassuring smile, mouthing, “It’s going to be okay. I’m with you.”

But it’s not okay. My head feels heavy, my vision blurs, and the room starts to spin. Damn it—they drugged us. I struggle to stay upright, but the darkness closes in fast. I feel something hard beneath me—am I on the floor?

Then I feel hands on me, hands on my pocket.

I hear Lukene’s voice. “It’s okay. Don’t fight it. Never fear, never falter, never fumble… Sleep easy, Reckless.”

Then I succumb to the complete darkness of the drugs.