Page 57 of Reign of Betrayal

“It’s tail! Watch out for its tail!” I scream at Elm, but the warning comes too late. The serpent’s tail lashes out, winding around Elm’s body and squeezing tight as both heads snap at the rest of us.

James’s words echo in my mind—burn its eyes. Panic swells, settling like a stone in my gut. I refuse to lose Elm. Not today.

Desperation fuels my magic. I pull the fear from my core and channel it into my hand, conjuring the largest fireball I’ve ever created. It hovers above my palm, blazing hot and searing the air around me.

I hurl the fireball at the nearest head, but it dodges, moving faster than I anticipated. Elm’s face darkens to a dangerous shade of purple. My heart slams against my ribs, every beat deafening. Sweat slicks my skin, and my thoughts scatter, lost in the chaos.

I have to be faster. I summon three smaller fireballs, each pulsing with heat, and whip them at the serpent. One of the heads dives and snaps a prisoner clean in half just as my fire strikes the other head squarely between its eyes.

Both heads rear back, hissing in unison. The sound vibrates through my spine, making my teeth clatter painfully. The serpent releases Elm, its massive body slithering beneath the sand and vanishing into the depths.

Elm gasps for air, his face still tinged with purple when I reach him. I glance around—only Marshalla, Jake, Elm, and I remain.

I wonder if any of us will survive long enough to make it back.

“That was the Sunsplit Serpent,” Marshalla says, her breaths ragged. “We need to leave. Now.”

Once Elm’s color returns to normal, we set off toward the border, the cursed book heavy in tow. The sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the sand. Exhaustion gnaws at all of us, but stopping to rest isn’t an option. Not out here. Not with beasts like that serpent lurking beneath the surface.

I’d rather take my chances back in the palace—with a green-eyed monster I am familiar with.

The sun is lazily rising as I step back into the palace. Another day starts with blood on my hands—literally. I am covered in it. The magic wielder fought hard, stubborn to the end.

He wasn’t stirring an uprising, but he had been experimenting with cursed roses. Thorns and infected petals littered his workstation. He and his wife claimed they found the roses along the border of Umbrahdor and Skalhar, near the coast. He said he was working on a cure. I don’t trust anyone’s word anymore. For all I know, he could have been spreading the infection himself.

He said they lost one of their children to a grove of cursed roses and wanted to protect their other child. That much, at least, made sense. But then he crossed the line—he threatened Vanna, calling her a traitor to the crown and the kingdom. He had plenty to say about her, though none of it seemed useful.

When he and his wife started rambling about blood curses and conspiracies involving the crown, I ended them. But not before the wielder laughed and said, “Never trust the flower. Don’t pick it, Prince. Just watch it bloom.”

The words left me unsettled—a cryptic riddle from a madman. But I killed him anyway.

Anyone who hides a cursed grove or fails to report one, for any reason, is a traitor to the crown. The punishment is death.

I knew I wouldn’t get any more valuable information. So, after I killed them, I searched the house but found nothing of consequence. Nothing indicating an uprising.

I understood their desire to find a cure after losing a child. That much was human. But my role is clear. I am the enforcer, the executioner. If I show mercy, even once, the kingdom will rot under the weight of Necrums.

I did what the law demands—what Vanna and my father expect of me. I killed them, without mercy, without remorse, and without guilt.

Vanna mentioned two children, but one has already died. I carry their remaining son with me. He’s so small I’m not even sure if he can walk yet. He cries for a few minutes after we left the house, but he settles quickly. I cover his eyes, so he won’t have to see his parents the way I left them. He stayed in his room while I ‘spoke’ with them. Now, he sleeps soundly in my arms, soft, adorable snores filling the quiet halls as I make my way to the throne room.

I’m grateful he’s too young to remember any of this. Vanna will make sure he finds a new home, one with parents who love him. She’s found homes for many children over the years—her one redeeming quality. Beneath all her cruelty, maybe there’s a heart after all.

I enter the throne room and find Vanna, my father, and the queen waiting for me.

“It’s done,” I say, handing the boy over to Vanna. She takes him without hesitation, cradling him gently. His small body shifts against her, still deep in sleep. Blood stains his clothes, smeared from my hands, and the sight makes something uncomfortable stir in my chest.

“Ensure you change him immediately. Don’t let him sit in clothes that are soiled from the blood of his parents,” I tell her.

Vanna cocks her head to the side in an assessing manner, looking at me oddly. Like what I said didn’t make any sense. Or maybe she is angry that I gave her a command. Either way I don’t care.

“Did you find out anything about the uprising?” my father asks.

I roll my head back and forth, exhaustion starting to set in from being away all night. “No, no signs of an uprising.” I fill them in, in detail about what I discovered and what I have done about it.

My father dismisses me, and I leave the throne room without another word, heading straight to my bedchamber for a shower and some sleep.

I turnthe shower as hot as it will go, waiting for steam to fill the washroom before stepping under the scalding water. The black stone walls around me glisten as the heat washes away the blood and tainted memories of what I have just done.

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