Page 65 of Reign of Betrayal

“H-h-his right. Right hand,” she gets out.

I pull my blade out and hack off his right hand in one furious whack. Blood splatters across my face and clothes. Once it is detached, I throw it down on the ground, easing the burning under my skin and in my chest just a bit.

“Was anyone with him?”

“The guard next to him, but he didn’t touch me.” Her entire body is shaking now. I glance at the dead guard beside him—also one of Vanna’s, of course.

“Did he say anything to you?” She tilts her head, confused by my question. “Reign! Did he say anything?”

“No! He just laughed.”

I crouch down and rip his bottom jaw open, breaking it. I reach in and cut out his tongue, dropping it to the ground.

“Let this be a lesson to all of you! Do not touch the contestants. No one, and I mean no one, touches Reign! Is that understood?” My voice sounds out like a thunderous boom.

“Yes, Your Highness,” the guards respond in unison, terror etched on their faces.

“Clean this mess up. Burn the hand and tongue separately. They will go to one of the double hells without them.” I point to the dead guards. “Dismissed.” They scramble to obey, dragging the corpses away.

I grip Reign’s upper arm and march her into the palace. Still looking baffled, Reign doesn’t resist and lets me guide her.

My grip on Reign’s arm is iron strong as I drag her down the corridor. The stone walls echo with the sharp clicks of our footsteps. My fury is palpable. Reign’s face shows her growing confusion and frustration with each footstep.

Suddenly, she plants her feet, yanking against my grip. “Lukene, stop.” Her voice cuts through the tense silence. I stop abruptly, my breath coming in harsh bursts. For a moment, I still, thoughts running rampant. My muscles feel taut in my shoulder and back with an effort to dampen my ravenous rage.

When I finally turn to face her, the storm brewing within, anger, confusion, rage… All seem to mix with something else, something daunting… desire. Desire for her. Desire to protect her. Desire to be near her. Desire to be with her—to taste her. The feeling becomes overpowering. I drop her arm as she speaks.

“What in the hells was that?” she demands, her voice shaking yet still defiant. Reckless.

Without warning or thought, I step forward, cradling her face between my hands. For a heartbeat, time freezes, my gaze searching hers, a silent clash of will and want. No longer able to restrain myself, I crash my lips to hers—a violent claiming that speaks of desperation, need, and fury. Her hands rise, grasping my wrists.

Reign melts into me, her tongue meeting mine in a dangerous dance. Kissing her with raw intensity, she moans into my mouth, the sound wrapping around me, making me harden. My pulse races, matching the fevered rhythm of our mouths, each kiss a collision of passion and pent-up longing.

She tastes of forbidden honey from the heavens that the devil isn’t supposed to touch, and yet I can’t get enough of her sinful sweetness.

Consequences be damned. It’s addicting. She’s addicting. Like a moth drawn to the flame—I’m burning. The moment is laced with a storm of emotions, a moment of vulnerability shared between our two desperately scorned, yearning souls, aching for something we can’t quite name.

Reign breaks the kiss abruptly. Her breaths are ragged as she steps back, hands trembling. Without hesitation, she slaps me across the face—hard. The loud sound echoes through the hall. “Don’t ever kiss me without my permission again, Prince,” she demands breathlessly, her eyes blazing with a mix of frustration, unspoken desire, and something I can’t place.

I bring my hand up against my cheek. A slow, seductively sinister smile spreads across my lips—one that Reign seems to track. “I won’t kiss you again unless you beg me, Prisoner. And trust me, you will.”

Reign scoffs, her flustered face is adorable. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, mirroring my own.

“Come. Let’s get to the healers.” I turn, continuing to walk. I savor the lingering sting in my cheek. The pain is a tantalizing reminder of Reign’s reckless ways and fiery spirit. I am delighted by the challenge she poses. Her defiance and trepidation ignite something primal within me. My fierce determination and desire are fully fueled by her actions—dangerous. She’s dangerous. The game we are playing is dangerous.

Once in Dola’s chamber, Reign sits at the large round table.

“Ah, Prince, what can I do for you?” Dola asks, as she enters.

“Reign needs her cheek healed,” I reply. Dola picks up a chalice and a small dagger, sitting in front of Reign.

“Wait, I thought you were a blood wielder?” Reign asks, confusion etched on her pretty face.

“I am,” Dola says, making a tiny cut in her palm and letting a few drops of blood fall into the chalice before adding various herbs. “Most blood wielders have a secondary power, and on rare occasions, a third. Our blood can mend wounds, but it’s not as potent as a true healer’s.”

Shock registers on Reign’s face. “I didn’t know that. What other powers do you have?”

Dola looks to me for permission, and I nod. “Blood wielders often don’t realize their true nature right away. Their other abilities surface first, and later, they discover they can wield blood when their seer abilities manifest. As for me, I can wield the mind.” Dola finishes preparing the concoction and hands it to Reign, who drinks it all in one go.

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