Page 28

“W here in the hells is she?” I pace at the palace entrance. Elm and Jake got to the sandstone palace hours ago.

“She’ll be fine, Luke,” James says, stepping beside me. “You need to stop underestimating her. She can handle herself, clearly. She made a wyvern submit to her in less than a day—something that usually takes our soldiers months to do.”

Grunting in frustration, I continue pacing, my mind in shambles with every worst-case scenario running through it.

“Luke, you need to let her go, especially now that she won. You always knew what the winner of the trial must do. This doesn’t have a happy ending for either of you if you continue down this path.”

I close my eyes, letting the cold wind cool my searing temper. Inhaling deeply, I press my thumb and forefinger into my eyes, as if that could help the situation I find myself in.

“Luke, look at me.”

I hesitate. I don’t think I can hold a mask in place right now, and I don’t want to show my weakness. But I do… I look at the man who has been the father I needed all these years while still desperately seeking for my actual father’s approval.

“It’s going to be okay. You don’t have to say anything, not to me. Just know Kylo and I are here, and everything will be fine—If you listen to me.”

“Are we done here?” I snap.

James sighs. “You’re angry because I’m right. Cut her loose, or you’ll damn both of you. Think of her, Luke. You know the king will force you to marry soon. They’ll never accept her. Never. And we don’t know what will happen once she leaves for her task in Armadon.”

A heavy sigh escapes me as James claps me on the shoulder. Words elude me while I struggle to swallow the unfamiliar storm of emotions inside.

Then, with a rush of wind, the massive orange wyvern swoops down, landing in front of the palace. Reign sits astride the creature, her face glowing with a triumphant grin.

The wyvern curls its tail to help her dismount. She limps toward me, her smile still wide, and before I can react, she throws her arms around my neck, pulling me into a hug.

I freeze.

My arms stay at my sides, though every instinct screams to wrap them around her, to hold her tight and never let go. But I know if I embrace her now, I may not be able to let go at all. I just stand there.

She slowly takes a step back to look at me, sliding her hands down to my chest.

The feeling I instantly get is viscerally explosive. All the emotions I am not familiar with, coupled with ones I know too well, swell to the surface—the discomfort of having my chest touched, the heartache that I feel for knowing I need to let her go, the rage I feel for the situation, the angst gnawing in the pit of my stomach at what could happen when she goes to Armadon. Lastly, seeing the damn smile she gives to only me, and I am so undeserving of it. It all bubbles up and erupts, violently.

My hands snap to her wrists, gripping them like a vise. I wrench them off of me, holding them in front of us as if the distance will cleanse the heat between us. I shove her back—not enough to hurt her, but enough to create space. “Don’t ever… touch me like that again, Prisoner,” I growl, panting as I avert my eyes, unwilling to meet whatever emotions are surfacing in hers.

I turn on my heel, ready to walk away. “Luke…” She says my name like a question as her voice cracks with pain. The sound of it twists something inside me. James is right—this has to end now, before it begins. Her touch on my chest was the spark I needed to ignite the wall between us, and I can’t afford to falter.

I force myself to turn back around, the mask slipping back into place though it feels fragile, threatening to crack. “You will address me as Prince Lukene, Your Highness, or Majesty. See a healer and get some sleep. We leave before first light.”

I turn away, swift and precise, heading into the house with James watching me, his expression unreadable. My palms are slick with sweat, my heart fractured into pieces. Once inside, the walls press in around me, but going to my room feels impossible. I need to see what Reign does. I retreat to a dark corner, melting into the shadows where I can watch unseen.

Through the window, I see her limp toward the house, the weight of defeat pulling her down despite her victory in the trials. Before she can even get to James, he walks to her and hugs her tightly, in a comforting embrace. He lifts her into his arms without hesitation and carries her inside. I trail them with my gaze as he takes her down the hall to the healer’s chamber, where she disappears from sight.

Only once she’s gone do I allow myself to move. I retreat to my room, desperate to bury the feelings that claw at me, determined to become the Dark Prince once again—cold, unfeeling, and untouched by anything resembling emotion.

Sleep eludes me. Frustration claws at my insides, so I head to the training room. I throw punch after punch at the heavy swinging sacks of grain, trying to beat every emotion out of me. Fury fuels every blow. Each strike echoes with the fractures in my heart and the rage I’ve carried for far too long. Grain spills across the floor when one sack bursts under my fists, but it does nothing to calm the storm inside me.

Panting, knuckles bloodied, I stand there with fists clenched. My shadows stir, informing me that James is behind me.

I wipe the sweat from my brow and turn to face him.

“Is that helping?” he asks, his tone heavy with the knowledge that it isn’t.

“Spar with me.” I strip off my shirt, tossing it to the floor, wishing I could discard these emotions just as easily.

“It’s not going to help.”

“Enlighten me then.”

James exhales a long, weary sigh but removes his shirt. He begins circling me, slow and deliberate. His eyes are assessing every inch of me, calculating. I wait, tension winding tighter with every step he takes. His lack of aggression is setting my nerves on edge. He circles, silent and patient, offering no attack. I need him to fight. I need him to hit me.

I lash out, a flurry of strikes—left, right, left, and an uppercut. Only two connect. He doesn’t block, just shifts back and ducks to evade the others. Still, he doesn’t strike. The restraint twists in my gut like a knife. I need to see blood, to feel physical pain, to bleed.

“Fight back!” My voice cracks through the room like a whip, heavy with desperation. “Attack, James!” I need this. I need pain—something tangible to match the chaos inside me. He just keeps circling me and it’s infuriating.

“Well, come on then,” he says with a taunting smile. “Attack me if you want me to fight.”

I throw myself at him again, fists flying in a wild assault. This time, he absorbs every hit—no dodging, no backing away. My knuckles split against his face. Blood streams from his nose, his lip splits wide open, but still, he doesn’t raise a hand against me.

“Fight back!” I roar, panting hard, rage bubbling over.

“It won’t help, Luke. But if you need to draw blood, draw it.” His voice is calm, grounding in a way I hate. “If you need to beat the shit out of me, go ahead. I’ll take it. But I will not hit you when you’re down.”

His brown eyes are steady, filled with emotions I refuse to meet.

“Ah!” I let out a guttural scream of frustration, tearing away from him. I snatch up my tunic from the floor and pull it over my head, storming out toward my room.

I stand beside Wrath, waiting for the others to arrive so we can take flight. The morning air feels sharp against my skin, but it does nothing to soothe the ache gnawing at my chest.

James walks toward me, Reign and Elm at his side, with the guards and Jake following behind. Reign’s limp is gone, and she moves with a grace that twists my gut. She strides past me without a glance, her expression distant, her focus locked on her wyvern further out.

I stay silent as we mount our wyverns, keeping to the back of the group. I position myself behind Reign, watching her carefully as we take off. The sky opens around us, vast and cold, but my mind stays fixed on her. I need to make sure she’s alright during the long flight ahead.

But not once does she look back. Not once.

So, I sit on Wrath, my heart weighed down by thoughts of the life waiting for me in Umbrahdor—a life where duty will always come first, and happiness will remain just out of reach.

We make it to the palace in Umbrahdor rather quickly, considering the length of the flight. We land and dismount. The two remaining contestants will be dealt with later today. It’s a little past midday so we have some time.

I lead Reign toward the throne room, but she still refuses to look at me. Her fight seems extinguished, and the sight of it tears me apart. This is what I wanted, isn’t it? To push her away—protect her by breaking whatever fragile bond was forming between us. So why does it feel like I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life?

Entering the throne room, I bow alongside Reign. “Father… you have your champion.”

Vanna narrows her eyes at Reign, her disbelief evident. “There is no way you slew that wyvern.”

“No… No, I did not, Princess Vanna,” Reign replies, her voice sharp with defiance. “He submitted to me. I flew him here.”

Vanna scoffs, her lips parting in disbelief. “You? He submitted to you? A weak little Drifter?” She grips the armrest of her throne so hard her knuckles turn white.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I suppose us weak Drifters are good enough for some people—or creatures.” The venom in her words stings, each syllable cutting deep. She aims it at me, and I feel the weight of her resentment. Ouch .

“Well, congratulations,” Vanna sneers. “I am excited to have you do my bidding. I own you now.” Each word drips with malice, thick enough to choke on. The tension between them is so heavy, I could almost reach out and touch it.

Reign shifts, fidgeting slightly. “What is it I’ll be doing now? What task awaits me for winning?”

“Patience,” Vanna purrs, a wicked gleam in her eye. “Once we know you’ll follow orders without question, we’ll tell you.”

My father’s gaze lingers on Reign, cold and assessing. His expression is unsettling, and I fight the urge to surround her with shadows, to shield her from the weight of his scrutiny.

“What was your name again?” my father asks, his tone flat but laced with something that sets me on edge.

“Reign, Your Majesty.”

“Your full name,” he presses, the question hanging like a challenge.

“Lavender Reign Santerra… but I go by Reign. No one has called me Lavender since my father died.” That confession catches me off guard. She never revealed her full name. What else lies beneath the surface? Her gaze stays fixed on the ground, her thumb and pointer finger rolling her bottom lip thoughtfully.

“Santerra… Santerra… I know that name. What type of magic did your father possess? Was he a blood wielder?”

“No, just lesser magic. He worked with plants.”

“Hm, I see. Not who I thought, then. Very well. Rest up—you’ve had a long journey. We’ll summon you when an opportunity arises for you to prove yourself. You are dismissed.”

She bows and walks out, her gaze never once lifting to meet mine. I bow to my father and Vanna, following Reign closely.

Reign is a few paces away from me when she turns the corner, I hear Kylo’s voice.

“You did it! I knew you would!” Kylo’s cheers.

As I make it around the corner, I see her hugging Kylo tightly, smiling—showing her dazzling white teeth, and suddenly, I’m struck with jealousy. She won’t even look at me. I deserve that—pushing her away without explanation. Regret floods my veins—another first for me. I know James is right, but gods, this feels terrible—unbearable.

Clearing my throat, I catch Kylo’s attention. He beams at me. “Luke! How was the trip?”

“Bearable, I guess,” I mutter. Reign huffs and uses the moment to slip away, retreating to her room and shutting the door behind her—on us… on me.

Kylo tilts his head slightly, his expression shifts from curiosity to puzzlement. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Everything is fine. Did you take care of everything I asked you to handle?” I keep my face neutral, but Kylo knows me. He knows something is up but also knows when not to push me.

“Everything is taken care of. Ari sent a message that your item was ready, so I picked that up personally and put it in your room. I must head out to the new recruits. Do you want to come meet them?”

“I need to rest for now, but I’ll come see them later.” I attempt a smile, but it feels hollow. As Kylo departs, I knock on Reign’s door.

“Just a moment!” she shouts. The sound of shuffling reaches me before the door cracks open, and Reign peeks her head out, scowling when she realizes it’s me.

“May I come in?” I shift my weight, uneasy.

“I’m about to wash up. Can you come bac?—”

“I’ll wait inside,” I cut her off, unwilling to be turned away.

She opens the door fully, closing it behind me. Only a drying cloth covers her body.

“I guess just sit wherever makes you least comfortable, Prince Lukene,” she quips, giving me a sinister smile, walking back into the bathroom and shutting the door. I couldn’t help but notice the many scars on her back, peeking out from under her cloth.

Reckless. There it is—that spark I have been craving, that bite, that fire. I lay back on her bed, listening to the running water, wondering how she got those scars, wondering who I’m going to kill for giving them to her.

I try to keep my mind blank. I try. I let out a shuttered breath when the washroom door opens, and Reign comes back in. She sits in the chair, brushing her long, pale-lavender hair.

Reign is exquisite, a true vision of perfection. She embodies passion and unpredictability—a wild tempest I’d never dare to tame. She is everything I yearn for but can never possess, a divine jewel I am unworthy to hold.

When I look at Reign, I see the essence of everything I covet and the haunting reminder of my duties to my kingdom. She is the dream I chase and the reality that slips through my shadowy grasp—an unattainable beauty that sets my soul burning with desire and despair. She’s the promise of light in the darkness—the quietness in my chaos, an ember I can never touch without burning.

Reign sets the brush down and meets my gaze. “What can I help you with, Your Majesty?” she asks, her voice dripping with frustration. Her glassy eyes lock with mine, and the guilt gnaws at me. Hurting her was never my intention. Clearing my throat, I wonder whether I am the cause of her sadness—or if it’s something else entirely.

“I need you to come with me.” I rise to my feet.

“Prince Lukene… I don’t have it in me to?—”

“Now, Reign.”

She exhales sharply, her annoyance clear as she stands. I lead her to my bedchamber, closing the door behind us.

“Have a seat,” I gesture to one of the black leather chairs. She perches on it, her lavender eyes trailing over the dark expanse of my room, curiosity softening her features.

“This is your room?” she asks, her voice tinged with wonder.

“So it would seem,” I say plainly, fanning my hand out and panning my room as I sit across from her.

She shifts in her seat, rubbing her bottom lip between her thumb and pointer finger again. The movement is just as distracting as it is delightful. “It’s all… so… black.”

“Observant,” I reply, a hint of a smile playing on my lips.

“Why am I here?” she whispers, her voice sounding defeated, drained, and deflated.

“Why are your eyes glassy?” I lean back in my chair, crossing my ankle over my knee.

“I don’t even have the energy to argue with you. Not that it’s any of your concern, but I don’t want Elm to leave me. I don’t want him going back to the Hollows without me.” So, I wasn’t the cause of her tears after all.

“Reign.” I stand and walk over to the table where her wrapped gift waits. “Elm isn’t going to the Hollows.”

“No!” She jumps up, dropping to her knees before me, sobbing. “Please don’t execute him. Please. I’ll trade places with him. He can be your champion. I am sorry I upset you. Plea?—”

I played the part of the monster well, if this is how she truly thinks of me. “Reign.” I bend down, lightly grasping her arms and pulling her to her feet. “Look at me.”

She lifts her tear-filled eyes, lips trembling, and it hits me—I can never bear seeing her like this again. The weight of it presses hard on me, causing a pain unfamiliar to me. “I am not killing anyone. Before we left, I had Kylo arrange for him to return as a royal guard.”

“What?” she breathes, her mouth falling open.

I cup her face, brushing away her tears with my thumbs. “Yes, he’s training with Kylo now.”

“You did that for him?”

“No... I did that for you . I knew you would win, so I planned ahead.” Her gaze lowers to my lips before meeting my eyes again. “I got this for you before the third trial.”

I hand her the gift and watch as she unwraps the short dagger I designed for her and a leather thigh sheath. Its ornate steel gleams in the firelight. A black onyx stone glimmers in the pommel, and metal vines twist around a rose carved into the grip—an homage to the cursed roses. Ari’s craftsmanship is flawless.

“It’s beautiful… but I can’t accept this.” She tries handing it back.

I scoff, dismissing her reluctance. That just won’t do.

Taking the dagger back, I slide it into the sheath. Then, I kneel. “Lift your leg.”

“Prince Lukene…”

“Now, Reign.”

She lifts her foot, and I slide the leather sheath over it and slowly up her calf, tracing my fingers up her leg as I do. A small gasp escapes her, causing my heart to skip a beat. I continue up her leg, caressing her softly as I go, until I get to her upper thigh. I fasten it securely.

Her cheeks flush pink, and I rise. “You will accept it. That’s an order.”

Her eyes hold a question I can’t quite read. “Thank you,” she murmurs before turning to leave.

“Reign.”

She pauses with her hand on the door, glancing back at me.

“About yesterday, I?—”

“No need to explain. I don’t want an explanation, nor do I need it.”

And just like that, she walks out, leaving me behind. Why did that feel like a goodbye, like a permanent dismissal? The realization makes my mask slip, emotions clawing at the surface, unbidden and unwelcome.