Page 67 of Reign of Betrayal

Leaning my head back against the carriage wall, I clasp my hands in front of me, trying to get comfortable for the long journey. Her leg starts that nervous little bounce she does, and I can’t help but ask, “What’s going through that pretty little head of yours?” I watch as she rolls her bottom lip between her fingers.

She huffs and slams herself back against the seat. “Nothing, Prince. Nothing.” Her head tilts back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, but her leg keeps bouncing. I can’t look away from her. I take in the long, thin column of her throat and sensual curve of her lips that I so desperately want to taste again. She notices me watching her and sits up. “Why are you looking at me like that, Lukene?”

I smile slightly. “Like what? Am I not allowed to look at something I find beautiful?”

“Is this about the kiss? Do you want to sleep with me? If that’s what this is about, don’t even think about it. My answer is no. Definitely no.” Her eyes widen, and it’s adorable.

I chuckle, the sound deep and loud. “I don’t think about it, but it’s obvious you do.” Her cheeks flush red, proving my point. “I find the cursed roses to be beautiful too, but you don’t see me trying to prick my dick with the thorns, do you?”

Grunting in irritation, she sits up straight. “Such a vulgar tongue you have, Prince.”

“Oh Reckless, you couldn’t even imagine in your wildest dreams what I can do with this tongue.” I give her a sinister one-sided smile. The blush on her cheeks deepens, traveling down her neck to her chest, disappearing under the cloak I had Sasha bring to her bedchambers. I inhale slowly, taking in the very scent that is her. It’s intoxicating and overwhelming. It only fuels my desire and need for this purple-headed prisoner, causing the strain in my pants to become almost unbearable.

She glances up, her gaze lingering on the hunger she finds on my face, then trails down the column of my throat to the obvious bulge in my pants. Her eyes linger for a second before she sits up straighter, clears her throat, and turns to the window.

“I’ve never seen a wyvern. I’m a bit nervous to ride one, and I’m anxious about the trial’s outcome.”

Changing the subject and admitting her vulnerability is new for her. I feel like there is something more. “During the trial, just follow your heart. It has led you to where you’re at today. Fearing the unknown is useless and a waste of energy. What is meant to be will be. Do what feels right to you in the moment. Never fear, never falter, never fumble. Oh, and Reign, don’t be reckless.”

I feel like my words were meant for both of us, and maybe a slight explanation of my behavior earlier. “Rest Reign. The trip to Wemdrah is draining.”

Leaning her head back once again, she closes her eyes. Within minutes, I hear her adorable little breaths of slumber. Her arms are wrapped tightly around her chest as if she’s cold. I remove my cloak and drape it over her. She has her hair down, a piece falling in her face. Instinctively, I lean up, push it off her face, and behind her ear. I’d like to say I did it for her comfort, but I did it selfishly.

I want to be able to see her face clearly. I so badly wish I had mind magic. I want to explore that lavender head of hers to know her thoughts, her secrets, her past, her wants, her desires. I wonder if she wants me as badly as I do her. Do I plague her every moment like she does mine? She is a torment, a beautiful chaos I don’t mind enduring. But more importantly, when I look at her…she calms the constant chaos in my mind.

The carriage goes around a bend. Her head comes off the wall and leans to the side. She looks uncomfortable. Well, that just won’t do. Moving from my bench to hers, I sit next to her. Leaning her head on my shoulder, I drape an arm over her. I do this purely for her comfort, not my own. Well, maybe for my own. She nuzzles against my shoulder, and this feels right. She feels right. I want to hold her fully, something I’ve never wanted with any other woman.

She is so beautiful, and I feel so undeserving of holding this beautifully, formidable little prisoner. She is so tiny compared to me. She is something to be treasured, to be protected. I want to get to know all the layers of Reign. I want to know what she likes and what she doesn’t. I want to know her thoughts. Most importantly, I want to know if it’s possible for the demon to get the goddess. Probably not.

Her head slides slightly off my shoulder, to the top of my chest. Instantly, I break out in a sweat. Then it dawns on me. What if she lays back on my chest when we ride the wyvern? Maybe it won’t be so bad because it would be the back of her head. I don’t think I can handle that, or can I? Maybe I’ll have her ride with James instead. The possessiveness in me doesn’t like the idea of that. She inches down more on my chest, so I gently lower her, so her head is in my lap instead. Gently, I glide lazy strokes with my hand up and down her back.

Snuggling into my lap, I realize I could get used to this. But I need to sleep, not think about her mouth or how she tastes. No, I can’t go there. I need to sleep. Gods, this woman will be the death of me. I shut my eyes and pray to Mother to make me fall asleep, so I don’t have to torture myself any longer.

The carriage hits a bump, jolting me awake. I open my eyes to find I am lying in Prince Lukene’s lap. One of his arms is draped over my back and side while the other cradles my head like something precious. How do I end up in his lap? Why am I lying on him? Why is he allowing it?

I turn to face his body instead of the other bench. This is a bad idea. I should sit up and move to the other bench; however, he is warm, comfortable, and his scent is soothing. Looking up, I notice his head rests against the carriage wall as he sleeps. He is disgustingly handsome. I want to touch his face, but I won’t. I want to lick up the strong column of his throat, but I also won’t.

I have never thought I could desire a man the way I desire him—not after what I experienced with my late husband and at the Hollows. But I do. I want him. Badly. I want to kiss him again and feel his hands on me. But he’s dangerous; I don’t trust him or his motives. His possessiveness terrifies me, yet it awakens something deep within—a craving for his protection, even as I yearn for my freedom and vengeance.

What happens when I kill Vanna? I won’t give up my revenge regardless of the consequences. Besides, he would never want a Drifter from the Hollows. I can offer nothing but my body and my heart; that’s all I have. I’m sure he would take the former and smash the latter. But maybe not. Maybe another kiss in the future wouldn’t hurt, would it?

Realizing how horrible of an idea that would be, I sit upright and move to the other bench. I just watch him sleep. The Dark Prince looks so innocent, so at peace. He is the embodiment of dangerous and powerful—a man cloaked in shadows and secrets. Those transient glimpses are what I hold onto, the hope that there is more to him than the darkness he wears so well. Suddenly, he opens his eyes, catching me in my heated gaze. He smiles widely.

“Like what you see, Prisoner?” he murmurs, his voice playful yet husky.

“Meh, not my type.” I shrug, mimicking the words he said to me once before. To that, he lets loose a joyous laugh, and I couldn’t help but chuckle along. Lukene’s eyes fill with devilish delight, and I wish we could stay in this moment just for a little while longer; however, the carriage stops, and Lukene opens the door, ready to take me to the final trial.

* * *

The chilly nightair whips my hair around. Lukene and the other riders whistle as the wyverns approach in the distance. My stomach churns with anticipation. Lukene steps up behind me and gently grabs my hair. I turn to look at him, but he redirects my head.

“What are you doing, Prince?”

“It’s windy on the wyvern. I’m putting your hair up.” And he does. He puts my hair up into a ponytail and twists the ends into a bun on the top of my head, securing it with a piece of leather.

“How do you know how to do hair? Do you often do women’s hair—or just those you kiss?” I can’t help the sting of jealousy I feel for no reason at all. He isn’t mine and will never be mine. He would never want anything more than a few tumbles in the sheets—a quick lay to get his fix. I have no reason to feel this way, yet I can’t shake it. “The dark Prince and a stylist… who knew.” I say, trying to play it off and tone down my true feelings.

“Jealous, are we?” He chuckles. “I used to put my mother’s hair up in a bun for her when she got too sick to. Then, I learned to braid hair for Lilyana.”

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