Page 18

F rom the shadows, I watch. Concealed in the back of the room, I observe as Reign drinks the blood-tinged potion. Dola, my blood wielder, ensured everything was prepared for her trial, including disguising her voice.

I shouldn’t be here. I know that. But I needed to see for myself—what haunts her dreams? What torments her heart?

A royal guard, one under Vanna’s command, drags Reign into the chamber. She’s bloody and beaten, her body slack with exhaustion. A tick clenches in my jaw at the sight of her. Dola works quickly, mixing a potion that shimmers with dark intent. Once Reign drinks it, the guard guides her to the ground.

A puff of vapor trickles out of her mouth, forming above her head, appearing as a cloud with images. From the shadows, I watch—silent, concealed, and cloaked. Only Dola knows I’m here, and I intend to keep it that way.

The nightmare begins.

In the swirling mist, I see her stumble toward Elm and Larah, her expression contorted with pure terror. When she finds Elm’s lifeless body, the sound of her guttural scream shakes me. Something stirs—an ache I refuse to acknowledge. It’s not real. It’s just a nightmare, I remind myself. Yet, the agony on her face feels too raw.

The vision shifts, showing Larah, sprawled and lifeless. Reign collapses beside her, retching uncontrollably. Then she turns toward two more figures laid on stone slabs. Her parents, maybe. I am unsure. The way she clings to the male corpse tightens something in my chest. I grind my teeth as the woman beside him sits up, her corpse growing talons. When the man she embraces scratches down her back, Reign’s pain is palpable, her terror a blade against my senses.

She runs, desperate, until she encounters a familiar face—Big Al. He welcomes her with a whip and worse. My fists clench. I wonder if this is more than a nightmare.

Then Vanna appears in the mist, blood-soaked and grotesque, gnawing on a heart. Why would Reign dream of Vanna? What nightmare has she become in Reign’s mind?

The image shifts once more. And there, in the darkness, she sees me—my eyes glowing like soulless emeralds, watching from the shadows. Her fear crystallizes. In her nightmare, I am the one who kills her.

I actually terrify the girl. I am a nightmare for most people. I guess it’s better this way, that she sees me as the monster I am. Before my face was completely revealed, I signal Dola. She orders the guard to wake Reign. A bucket of water slams her back to reality, washing away the mist with brutal efficiency. I send Dola out of the back of the room so she isn’t discovered.

Reign gasps, coughing as the guard flips her onto her stomach. I hear his vile muttering as he grabs the waistband of her pants, ready to make her nightmare real.

Not today.

A shadow spear slices through the air, piercing the guard’s back and erupting through his chest. Blood bubbles from his lips as I lift his lifeless body and swallow it into the shadows.

Reign, dazed and broken, struggles to her feet. Her voice, usually sharp and unyielding, trembles as she asks, “Did... did I pass?”

I don’t answer. I can’t risk her knowing I’m here. Instead, I raise a hand, pointing toward the exit.

She stares for a moment, lost and spent, before limping toward the cavern’s mouth. Dola will keep my secret, just as I keep hers. I made sure she was assigned to Reign from the beginning. Vanna’s blood wielder, Sehgrid, is dangerous. I won’t let him get near her.

Once Reign disappears from view, I melt into the shadows, slipping out the back entrance. With a sharp whistle, Wrath swoops down from the skies. I climb onto her powerful back, and we fly toward Wemdrah.

I tell myself I’ll leave Reign behind, along with her brokenness and her haunted eyes. But her image lingers—those lavender eyes, filled with both fury and fear—burrowing into my thoughts like a curse.

I need to forget her. I need to smother whatever this is before it consumes me.

But something tells me... it’s already too late.

We reach Wemdrah faster than usual. The wind is heavily in our favor, thank the gods and goddesses. But I can smell the storm brewing, rolling in from the ocean.

I left one of my most trusted guards, Christolyn, in charge of Wemdrah since I have taken over the island. She’s as fierce as any soldier in my ranks, a force to be reckoned with. As an Infinity—a rare magic wielder with the power of teleportation—her abilities, though limited in range, have proven invaluable in combat. She can’t go far distances or move objects far but it’s helpful during battle and she was pivotal to our success in overthrowing Wemdrah for the King and Vanna.

Wemdrah is an island where opposites coexist—towering mountains on one side, sandy beaches and lush vegetation on the other. It’s home to the largest population of wyverns. For years, we’ve brought select guards here to train them as riders for battle. A quarter of the islanders have spread to other kingdoms, but those who remain require constant oversight. Christolyn spends half her time keeping them in line.

Wrath flies me to the front of the grand palace. I see Christolyn’s fiery orange hair out front before I even land. She wears it in a thick braid, starting at the top of her head and going down her back. The sides of her head are shaved, and a sharp blade is tied into the braid’s end. The bright color of her hair contrasts beautifully with her ebony skin, while a deep scar runs across her left eye, cutting through her eyebrow and down her cheek.

I slide off Wrath and walk toward her. The moment her golden, sunset-colored eyes find me, she dismisses her attendants with a sharp nod.

“Prince Lukene,” she greets me, dipping into a slight bow. Worry flickers in her gaze.

“What news do you have for me?” I ask, my voice low. “Is it the islanders again? Or the Necrums?”

“Come with me,” she replies, gesturing for me to follow. “I’ll explain as we walk.”

We circle the massive pale sandstone palace, passing palm trees that offer little relief from the searing sun. As we enter the palace gardens, the air shifts, carrying the scent of ripened fruit and fresh greenery. My stomach grumbles, but I ignore it.

“There’s been another uprising,” Christolyn continues. “One of the captured men claims to be their leader. He marched into the market, killed civilians who refused to join them, and caused widespread panic.”

I frown. We thought we’d put an end to this the last time I was here. Clearly, I wasn’t harsh enough. I’ll need to make them truly fear me this time—burn my reputation into their hearts like a brand.

“Where is he now?” I ask, the irritation clear in my tone.

“In the dungeons, secured with three guards.”

“Good. Have him dragged to the market when we’re finished. I’ll make an example of him,” I say darkly. “They’ll finally believe all the stories about the Dark Prince.” Christolyn nods, and I glance sideways at her. “How are the new recruits faring?”

“One is doing well. The other is struggling but improving—slowly.”

“If the slow one hasn’t shown drastic improvement by my next visit, demote them. I’ll send a new recruit to replace them.”

She nods again, her expression impassive as the wind picks up, blowing sand across the path. My black capelet billows behind me, and my hair tickles my eyes in the rising breeze.

Six years ago, I hopped up on Wrath after saving her baby. We formed a sort of bond, she and I. We are both dark and menacing and feared. I tried to hide her from my father, but within six months, he found out. Since then, we have tried to work with the King of Wemdrah to gain knowledge of the beasts and access to more wyverns. He wasn’t in favor of us having them and using them for war if need be.

I found out some unsavory things about the king from Christolyn, who is native to this place. Apparently, he liked the youngest of courtesans and allowed children into the brothels for work. Well, that just wouldn’t do. I have never been one to allow harm to children. When my father and Vanna said we should take over, I didn’t hesitate, and I burned every brothel this island had.

We haven’t had a huge success with the wyvern. Only a handful of other guards can ride them, James included. Usually, I send one recruit at a time, and it takes months and months to teach them, train them. The king is getting impatient and is having two trainees learn and train now.

We reach the cliffs on the island’s far side, where the landscape shifts dramatically. Groves of cursed roses stretch across the sand dunes, their dark blooms swaying in the breeze, stark against the endless dark ocean beyond.

“Shit,” I mutter, scanning the expanse of roses. “Why haven’t these been dealt with?”

Christolyn’s expression tightens. “They sprang up over the last few days.”

“Days?” I repeat, my disbelief obvious. This is one of the largest infestations I’ve ever seen. How the hell did they spread this fast?

“Yes, prince. Days.”

I curse under my breath, already calculating how much manpower we’ll need to contain it. “Form a perimeter. No one goes near these flowers until they’re destroyed. I want guards working around the clock.”

“As you wish.”

“And the Necrums?” I ask, my voice dropping.

“Controlled. For now.”

“Good,” I exhale, glancing out at the cursed landscape. “Let’s get to the market.”

We enter the middle of the marketplace. I have a black litham covering my mouth and nose to protect me from breathing in the sand that is whipping everywhere from the storm coming in.

The sand skitters around our feet as we walk. The clouds are gray and heavy, casting a gloomy illumination over our surroundings. Some of the carts and shops are already boarding up their windows in preparation for the storm to come.

I stand with the prisoner in front of me who is bound and gagged. “Attention everyone!”

The crowd turns, faces stiff with dread. They bow when they recognize who stands before them.

“This man is a traitor,” I announce, pacing deliberately. “An instigator. He killed civilians—your neighbors, your kin—just to force them into his rebellion.”

I look around, taking in the people gathered. I spot a few men I am suspicious of, weaving through the crowd. I look over to Christolyn, she already has her sight on them. This is exactly why I keep her here.

“This ends now. Have I not clothed you? Opened up schools for your children? Brought spices and cloth from my land? Provided you with guards to watch over the city? Have the murders and theft not decreased? And this is how you repay me!” I call upon my darkness, my sinister shadows. They burst out of me, and I send tendrils through the crowds scaring the islanders back.

Screams and gasps ring out. I raise my hand and a massive shadow hand appears with spiked fingers in front of my prisoner. “Let me remind you of who I am and what happens when you go against me!”

I raise it, punching the shadowy hand into the traitor’s chest, ripping out his heart. It is still beating as my shadows hold it, dripping blood onto the sand, staining it crimson. The man’s body falls face-first into the ground, kicking up bits of bloody particles mixed with sand.

Gasps and children’s wails ring out. Good. Let them fear me—fear the monster I am. I chuck the heart down on the ground. Right as I do I see one of the men I was tracking pull a bow string, arrow already notched. Christolyn blinks, then she is right behind him, knife to his throat. She looks at me for approval to which I nod. She slits the man’s throat, and he drops into the sand, like a heavy sack of grain, eyes still wide in shock.

The other man scurries down a sandy path in between shops. I let him go. He needs to talk about what he saw here today.

“This ends now!” My voice booms over the crowd and wind. “If I hear of any more uprisings, I will make sure the next death is so slow and torturous, that you’d wish to take this man’s place.” I point to the dead man on the ground, his heart lying next to him.

Without another word and with shadows trailing me like a dark cloak, I stride toward the sandstone palace, the storm building at my back.