Page 75 of Reign of Betrayal

Stopping in front of the dilapidated structure, acid rises in my throat. My fingers tremble as the sands of Valrum pelt me and swirl like a shifting fog. It’s been nine years, and the house looks the same—just more worn. Wondering if anyone lives there, I walk to the front door and knock.

No one answers, so I walk in. My heart instantly sinks at the sight of it all—my mother and father’s things, aged with time. I had moved to my husband’s house after our marriage and was forbidden to return. I wasn’t allowed to bring my belongings, and I wasn’t given his last name—what a wonderful marriage for a seventeen-year-old. I had always hoped for a miracle, for my mother to return. Miracles don’t happen for people like me.

I approach the wooden table where we once ate. Its chipped wooden top has layers of dust upon it. I run a finger over the surface, the dust clinging to my skin. I can see the lavender plants painted on it, a painting my father did just for me. I walk to the back, where our bedrooms were, and step into my old room. The mattress I slept on still lies on the floor next to the tiny wooden dresser. Small trinkets from my childhood remain, scattered and untouched.

“This was your childhood home, wasn’t it?”

Startled, I turn to find the source of the voice. It’s Prince Lukene. He steps inside, taking in the room, though there isn’t much to see. He runs a hand over the dusty top of my dresser, pausing when he notices the small music notes etched into the wood. His gaze shifts to me, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

I lower my litham from my mouth. “My father…” My voice cracks. “He would take me to listen to the music outside the theater. We both loved it. We couldn’t afford to go in, so we’d sit outside, listening… and dancing.” I can’t help the faint smile that spreads across my face or the tears that now stain my cheeks, both tainted with memories that haunt my mind.

Lukene walks to my childhood bed, picking up the pillow wrapped in one of my father’s old tunics. His eyes are filled with a question, softened by a rare hesitancy.

I can’t help the sob that works its way up my throat at the sight of the old shirt that brought me so much comfort after he died. Reaching out slowly, I grab the pillow, ripping the tunic off it and hold it to me—his scent long gone from the fabric. “When my father passed, I slept with his shirt so the scent of him could lull me to sleep.” I drop the shirt onto the old mattress, my fingers lingering for a moment.

Lukene takes a step toward me. Reaching up gently, he places both hands on either side of my face and uses his thumbs to swipe away my tears. The tenderness from his touch comforts me, warming my soul just a bit. We stare at each other, no words exchanged, yet the moment still feels intimate, a moment of vulnerability. Just two people who lost their beloved parent. The pain is raw, never fully fleeting. It’s always there just under the surface, waiting for a chance to bubble up.

I pull away, stepping out of his grasp. Without a word, I turn and walk to my parents’ room.

The first thing I see is the ripped chair where my mother and father would sit me to read bedtime stories. My heart feels unbearably heavy. I approach the bookshelf, each worn spine a story from my childhood. Tears threaten to spill, but I notice a thick, brown leather-bound book of potions, elixirs, and poisons. I grab it and shove it into my satchel. It might prove useful later.

Wiping my face with my tunic sleeve, I make my way back to the main room. Lukene stands near the entrance, his expression unreadable. With a final, sorrowful glance around my childhood home, I step outside, leaving behind the echoes of what once was.

* * *

Standingat the edge of the city facing the massive sand dunes, we wait. You can hear the snarling and clamping of jaws getting closer and closer. The wind is howling—a dire warning that death is approaching. The gusts blow fiercely against my face, while the moon casts an eerie glow over the scene, stretching shadows into ominous forms.

“Stay here! Do not come to the front. I want you at the back,” Lukene insists.

“But I can—” I try to argue, but he cuts me off.

“No. Stay in the back,” he pleads. “Never fear, never falter, never fumble.” He whispers to me as he walks to the front line.

He addresses the assembled guards, his voice ringing out like a battle cry. “I stand with you!Weare the guardians for the kingdom. Fight fiercely and hold your ground. We don’t retreat from fear—we face it. And if the Mother calls you home today, know that your sacrifice will be honored, and your loss deeply mourned.” He raises his sword, its deadly steel catching the moonlight. “Remember: strike the heart or sever the head, then we will burn them. Paint the ground black!” His rallying cry is met with a roar from the guards, their weapons lifting in unison.

Lukene places himself in front of the two lines he divides us in. Ten soldiers on the front line and ten a few paces back. Lukene stands in front of them all, readying himself to be the first in action, the first to protect his guards, the first to protect his kingdom. He is noble deep down. This is the part of him that he forgets about. He isn’t the monster he always pretends to be.

The first Necrum crests over the dune, its white eyes devoid of color, staring menacingly at us. Its jagged teeth glint in the light of the moon. Another follows, then another, until a horde of at least eighty rushes forward, their talon-like claws ready to rip us open. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat reverberating like a war drum, as I thank the Mother for James giving me a bow to use instead a sword.

The battle begins, the air is filled with loud growling and grunts as the guards clash with the Necrums, trying to avoid scratches and bites. My palms are slick with sweat, as I eye my target and let an arrow loose. It strikes true, straight through the heart of a Necrum knocking it to the ground.

Reaching back for another arrow from my quiver, I notice Lukene has a swarm circling him. My heart races, blood thundering in my ears, drowning out the world.

“Lukene! Lukene!” I scream frantically, voice raw with fear. I stumble forward, clutching my bow, weaving through guards and lunging Necrums.

Lukene looks at me, yelling something, but I can’t hear over my bounding pulse. His shadows whip around him, dark and lethal, impaling half the Necrums by spearing their hearts.

The Necrums are terrifying, but Lukene’s power is even more so. The sheer force he radiates is palpable. Suddenly, one of his shadows flies past me, striking a Necrum that had closed in from behind. I freeze, glancing back to see the creature impaled through the eye and heart, black putrid blood seeping onto the ground. The phraseblack painting the groundfrom his war speech now makes sudden, grim sense.

A growl cuts through the chaos on my left, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up while sweat drips down the side of my face. I turn to see a Necrum charging. I dodge, dropping my bow and drawing the dagger strapped to my thigh. I slip behind the creature and in one swoop I ram my dagger into its back, through its heart. When I rip the dagger out, black blood sprays my face. I brace myself, panting, waiting for the next threat.

Time warps, both speeding and standing still, until the last Necrum falls. The guards begin piling the monster-like bodies and the mutilated corpses of our fallen into a funeral pyre. The air reeks of the metallic scent of blood, sweat, the acrid stench of Necrum ichor, and victory. Half our guards lie dead, their bodies gruesomely torn open, organs spilled onto the ground. Even in my darkest nightmares, I have never witnessed such horror.

My body protests with each step I take as I inhale deeply, trying to clear the bile working up my throat. Just as I do, a guard passes by, dragging a fallen comrade whose body is horrifically maimed—missing his lower half, intestines trailing in the bloody sand as he is being brought to the pyre. The deep breathing isn’t working. Dropping to my knees, one hand in the bloody sand, I empty the contents of my stomach.

Suddenly, I feel something on my back. Still reeling from the battle, I instinctually stand, while simultaneously pulling my dagger. I spin around ready to impale whatever is touching me.

Lukene catches my wrist, halting me.

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