Page 44 of Reign of Betrayal

Reign, dazed and broken, struggles to her feet. Her voice, usually sharp and unyielding, trembles as she asks, “Did... did I pass?”

I don’t answer. I can’t risk her knowing I’m here. Instead, I raise a hand, pointing toward the exit.

She stares for a moment, lost and spent, before limping toward the cavern’s mouth. Dola will keep my secret, just as I keep hers. I made sure she was assigned to Reign from the beginning. Vanna’s blood wielder, Sehgrid, is dangerous. I won’t let him get near her.

Once Reign disappears from view, I melt into the shadows, slipping out the back entrance. With a sharp whistle, Wrath swoops down from the skies. I climb onto her powerful back, and we fly toward Wemdrah.

I tell myself I’ll leave Reign behind, along with her brokenness and her haunted eyes. But her image lingers—those lavender eyes, filled with both fury and fear—burrowing into my thoughts like a curse.

I need to forget her. I need to smother whatever this is before it consumes me.

But something tells me... it’s already too late.

We reachWemdrah faster than usual. The wind is heavily in our favor, thank the gods and goddesses. But I can smell the storm brewing, rolling in from the ocean.

I left one of my most trusted guards, Christolyn, in charge of Wemdrah since I have taken over the island. She’s as fierce as any soldier in my ranks, a force to be reckoned with. As an Infinity—a rare magic wielder with the power of teleportation—her abilities, though limited in range, have proven invaluable in combat. She can’t go far distances or move objects far but it’s helpful during battle and she was pivotal to our success in overthrowing Wemdrah for the King and Vanna.

Wemdrah is an island where opposites coexist—towering mountains on one side, sandy beaches and lush vegetation on the other. It’s home to the largest population of wyverns. For years, we’ve brought select guards here to train them as riders for battle. A quarter of the islanders have spread to other kingdoms, but those who remain require constant oversight. Christolyn spends half her time keeping them in line.

Wrath flies me to the front of the grand palace. I see Christolyn’s fiery orange hair out front before I even land. She wears it in a thick braid, starting at the top of her head and going down her back. The sides of her head are shaved, and a sharp blade is tied into the braid’s end. The bright color of her hair contrasts beautifully with her ebony skin, while a deep scar runs across her left eye, cutting through her eyebrow and down her cheek.

I slide off Wrath and walk toward her. The moment her golden, sunset-colored eyes find me, she dismisses her attendants with a sharp nod.

“Prince Lukene,” she greets me, dipping into a slight bow. Worry flickers in her gaze.

“What news do you have for me?” I ask, my voice low. “Is it the islanders again? Or the Necrums?”

“Come with me,” she replies, gesturing for me to follow. “I’ll explain as we walk.”

We circle the massive pale sandstone palace, passing palm trees that offer little relief from the searing sun. As we enter the palace gardens, the air shifts, carrying the scent of ripened fruit and fresh greenery. My stomach grumbles, but I ignore it.

“There’s been another uprising,” Christolyn continues. “One of the captured men claims to be their leader. He marched into the market, killed civilians who refused to join them, and caused widespread panic.”

I frown. We thought we’d put an end to this the last time I was here. Clearly, I wasn’t harsh enough. I’ll need to make them truly fear me this time—burn my reputation into their hearts like a brand.

“Where is he now?” I ask, the irritation clear in my tone.

“In the dungeons, secured with three guards.”

“Good. Have him dragged to the market when we’re finished. I’ll make an example of him,” I say darkly. “They’ll finally believe all the stories about the Dark Prince.” Christolyn nods, and I glance sideways at her. “How are the new recruits faring?”

“One is doing well. The other is struggling but improving—slowly.”

“If the slow one hasn’t shown drastic improvement by my next visit, demote them. I’ll send a new recruit to replace them.”

She nods again, her expression impassive as the wind picks up, blowing sand across the path. My black capelet billows behind me, and my hair tickles my eyes in the rising breeze.

Six years ago, I hopped up on Wrath after saving her baby. We formed a sort of bond, she and I. We are both dark and menacing and feared. I tried to hide her from my father, but within six months, he found out. Since then, we have tried to work with the King of Wemdrah to gain knowledge of the beasts and access to more wyverns. He wasn’t in favor of us having them and using them for war if need be.

I found out some unsavory things about the king from Christolyn, who is native to this place. Apparently, he liked the youngest of courtesans and allowed children into the brothels for work. Well, that just wouldn’t do. I have never been one to allow harm to children. When my father and Vanna said we should take over, I didn’t hesitate, and I burned every brothel this island had.

We haven’t had a huge success with the wyvern. Only a handful of other guards can ride them, James included. Usually, I send one recruit at a time, and it takes months and months to teach them, train them. The king is getting impatient and is having two trainees learn and train now.

We reach the cliffs on the island’s far side, where the landscape shifts dramatically. Groves of cursed roses stretch across the sand dunes, their dark blooms swaying in the breeze, stark against the endless dark ocean beyond.

“Shit,” I mutter, scanning the expanse of roses. “Why haven’t these been dealt with?”

Christolyn’s expression tightens. “They sprang up over the last few days.”

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