Page 45 of Reign of Betrayal

“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 enterthe 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.

Aslight knock on my door startles me awake. I roll over, with hunger paining my stomach, and see Sasha walk in.

“Oh, you are finally awake,” she states, while walking to the bathroom to start bath water.

“How long have I been asleep?”

Sasha walks back in, picking an outfit out of my armoire. “Almost four days.”

“Four days?” I ask rhetorically. No wonder I feel so hungry.

“The king is requesting all contestants attend breakfast since you should all be waking now. Lilyana was here a few times, checking on you.”

When Sasha gestures toward the washroom, I push myself up and stumble over, legs unsteady. Stripping off the dirty, shredded, and bloodstained clothes from the trials, I shiver, feeling vulnerable. My heart pounds as I approach the tub. I can do this. I can sit in the water. I will overcome this fear.

Slowly, I lower myself into the warm bath, pressing my back against the wall, eyes scanning the room as if expecting someone to leap out and hold me under.

“You are okay, Reign. Get it together,” I say aloud, my voice wavering. With trembling hands, I lather the washcloth, scrubbing away the grime and blood, battling the dread that weighs on me like a suffocating cloak. Reminding myself that this is not the tub from the trial and that I am safe, I scrub until I feel clean. Finally, I rise and wash my hair, relieved that I managed to stay in the water. It’s a small victory, but it feels monumental.

Dressing in the tunic and pants Sasha set out, I step back into the bedchamber and sit in a chair. Sasha works through the knots in my hair, her company oddly comforting. Even though I don’t like being pampered, I know how much she enjoys doing my hair, and I’d hate to offend her. When she begins to braid, I blurt out a question I’ve been dying to ask.

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