Page 29 of Reign of Betrayal

“Good,” she says, eyes gleaming. “Neither will I.” The second the words leave her lips, she launches herself at me.

She fights recklessly, wildly. Right, left, right, upper cut—I deflect them all. She backs up, bouncing on the balls of her feet, her hands up, ready for an attack. I circle her, toying with her, testing her defenses.

I move in—jab-jab-left. She dodges each strike, agile and alert. Hmm. I was holding back, but she’s ready for more, and I decide to push harder. The enemy outside these palace walls wouldn’t show mercy, so I can’t either—though I won’t go all out.

We continue to dance around each other, kicking up clouds of dirt as we do—making the dust dance dully on our tongues. She is going full force—punch for punch, blow for blow. I land one on her right side, driving into her ribs. She stumbles, barely, but recovers quickly.

Interesting. I remember her leaving that same side unguarded in the prison fight. It’s a vulnerability—an injury that hasn’t healed right..

I go to hit it again, and she jabs at my face with her right fist, which I see coming. I allow it to hit me in the face, the eye specifically. I love the pain. It feels good. I love that she gave it to me. But then, with that same arm, she pulls her fist back, elbowing me right in the nose, which I didnotexpect. Warm blood leaks out of my nose, over my lips, and down my chin. Her lips curl up but not enough to reach her eyes. I smile back, using my sleeve to wipe it away, tasting the familiar metallic taste.

I retaliate, jabbing her exposed side and then grabbing her waist, slamming her down onto the ground. The breath-stealing impact knocks the air from her lungs, and her eyes go wide in shock.

Taking the opportunity, I get fully on top of her—my hips pinning hers to the ground while I place my forearm at her throat. I apply pressure, but not enough to actually hurt her or restrict her breathing.

Both of us are heaving now. We just stare at each other for a second, sharing our mangled breaths. My face is mere inches from hers as I begin to drown in the very essence of her, losing myself in shades of purple.

“Looks like I win, prisoner,” I say with a toothy grin, sweat dripping from my brow. Her scent hits me—berries and vanilla—intoxicating, almost dizzying.

“Is that what you think, prince?” she taunts. A mischievous glint flickers in her eyes, and then I notice it—a little prick in my stomach. Leaning up a bit I see she has some sort of blade made of stone pointed into my abdomen. Reckless. It is utterly reckless to pull a blade in a hands-only sparring match with the prince. Where did she even get that from?

I am shocked—shocked yet intrigued. She is just as bold and brazen as she is beautiful and beguiling—reckless.

Grabbing her wrist, I bend it at an awkward angle, making her release the blade. She doesn’t even fight me on it. I pick up the blade, and inspect it. It is tiny, yet effective—deadly even—just like she is. Where in the kingdom did she get such a thing?

“Are you planning on getting off sometime today?” she snaps, reminding me that I’m still straddling her, still pinning her hips with my legs.

A wicked smile stretches across my face. “Well, actually, I did plan on getting off after my shower. It’s nice to know you care about my pleasure. Are you offering to help?”

“Never!” she growls, narrowing those lavender eyes at me again and grunting in frustration, bucking her hips to get me off her. I don’t budge. Her attempts are cute though. Laughing loudly and deeply, I stand up and offer a hand to her, which she refuses. However, I do observe her slightly guarding that right side.

“You need to protect that right side better, and you need to see a healer so it’s healed properly. You will see one as soon as we are done here.”

“I guard my right side just fine. Worry about making sure no one stabs a knife in your belly—or back for that matter… and I don’t need a healer.”

Stubborn. So stubborn. “Mhm,” I mutter. She rubs her right wrist—the same one I bent back to make her drop the dagger. I don’t remember bending it that hard.

Reaching out, I grab her wrist. She crinkles her face at me, trying to pull back, but I hold steady, and she gives in. No point in fighting me on it, I overpower her tenfold. My massive hand encompasses her thin little wrist, which I could snap with ease. There is a slight purplish discoloration already appearing on her wrist.

She will be fine, but she needs a healer, and even though she refuses, I will ensure she, in fact, gets healed—only because I need her at her best for training. At least, that is what I tell myself. I hand the blade back to her, even though I know I shouldn’t. She tucks it into her waist band. She is completely right. I do need to make sure she doesn’t stab me in the back. I laugh to myself at the thought. The mighty dark prince taken out by a small, feral prisoner. Wouldn’t that be funny?

Looking around, I observe everyone finishing up their sparring. “Go. Go find a group and practice with them.” I command. She doesn’t say a word, just turns and walks away, joining Elm and Larah. Each of her retreating footsteps pounds with defiance, that sparks an insatiable curiosity within me.

Looking over, I see Kylo and James heading my way. I need to work off thiscuriosityabout the prisoner, therefore, I decide to train with them.

After a few minutes of sparing them, I begin to sweat. The late-summer, early-fall weather is still warm, but add sparring to the mix, and I’m overheating.

Removing my black button-down shirt, I discard it on the ground, and continue sparring them. Each of us beats the double hells out of each other. It feels great. It’s freeing. I can fully unleash on them where I completely held back with the prisoner.

I am beaten to shit. James and Kylo do not look any better. I need more. I need more pain. I need to work off everything I am currently feeling and confused about. I don’t even know what it is I am feeling. All I know is I don’t want to feel it. This curiosity—this fascination with the prisoner… I just need it to stop.

“Add magic now!” I yell between pants. The three of us crash together—them against me—Kylo’s fire magic and James’s lightning against my shadows. I let my shadows, my darkness, flood my veins. I revel in the tainted twistedness of it. I allow it to fill me, clearing out everything else.

Homing in on Kylo, I fling my right hand out. My dark meets his bright light. I push him back just as James sends a bolt toward me. Flinging a shadow out, I knock it from its path and lasso a shadow around his legs, yanking him down to the ground simultaneously doing the same to Kylo. I flood them with shadows, pinning them down. They both unleash their magic into my darkness, trying to get back up. It’s no use.

My shadows are an extension of me—a black hole that takes and smothers everything until there is nothing left. It’s over. They can’t get up. I call to my shadows and suck them back in, letting them settle in my gut, comforting me in their disastrous embrace.

Reaching out a hand, I help them to their feet. James laughs, clapping me on my shoulder. I always have to switch things up with James. If not, he anticipates it and makes it a lot harder. I like the challenge; however, I love shocking him more. Unlike my father, I can actually impress James. Nothing I do ever impresses the king.

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