Page 62 of Reign of Betrayal

“It will all work out. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. And don’t let those lavender eyes shed any more tears.” He lets his thumb travel up, gliding it across my bottom lip ever so lightly

He leans in further, so close we share the same breath. He looks at my lips for a long moment, like he is memorizing their very shape before returning his gaze to my eyes. His bright green eyes suck me in, like they always do, holding me captive in their smoldering gaze. My chest is moving rapidly in uneven pants, anticipating what is to come. His movements reflect mine, like we’re caught in the same current.

The heat from the fire presses down on me, suffocating. I can’t stop myself from licking the dryness off my lips. His eyes follow the motion of my tongue, and the look he gives me makes my stomach flutter. Lukene is a paradox. I feel safe, but also endangered in his presence, and I can’t get enough of either.

Then, without warning, his brows draw together. He pulls away sharply, slamming himself back into the chair. His hands and shadow retreat, leaving my skin cold where his touch had just been. He grips the armrests so tightly his knuckles turn white, his gaze locked on the fire.

I don’t know what is going on with him, or me, or between us both. Confusion sets in about what just happened—and why. I am suddenly irritated with his presence. “Prince Lukene why are you here?” I rub the back of my neck uncomfortably.

He continues to watch the flames dance across the log in the fireplace before slowly turning his head to look at me. “Why don’t you eat pork? I always see you push it away.”

His observation catches me off guard, and I narrow my eyes. It’s such an odd thing for him to notice.

“The reason isn’t important,” I reply with a scoff.

“Appease me, Prisoner.”

Glaring at him, I pull my now less-sore, legs onto the bed and cross my arms over my chest. “On my wedding night, my husband made me slaughter a pig to make him a meal. I had never done it before, and I wasn’t prepared for the copious amounts of blood that spilled out of it. It was gross and vile. Ever since then, I haven’t been able to eat it.”

The atmosphere shifts instantly. His entire demeanor changes as his eyes narrow. “So, you are married then?” He tilts his head, squinting slightly, his expression hard and curious. “You have a husband?”

I shake my head, unwilling to divulge every detail about my life. Why would it matter to him anyway? “Why are you here, Prince?”

He rests his hand under his chin while he assesses me, like he is looking for answers to questions he didn’t ask—as if by looking at me he could know the truths about me. He rubs his chin aggressively over his stubble, while so many things run through his soulless green eyes.

“I made a bet,” he finally says. “I placed a handsome wager on you to be the one to win the trials. Therefore, I came to make sure you eat up and rest. We train tomorrow.” He stands and heads toward the door. Before leaving, he pauses, glancing back at me. “Where is your husband now, Prisoner?” His voice is flat, edged with annoyance.

I sigh loudly, knowing he won’t let it go without an answer. “His bed is made of dirt. He’s either with the Mother or in the hells.”

Lukene’s mouth parts slightly, a flicker of regret crossing his face. He gives a brief nod and slips out of the room without another word.

* * *

The next morning,I take breakfast in my room, wanting to avoid the prince until I have to train with him. To my surprise, Lilyana arrives, bringing breakfast with her when I don’t show up in the dining room.

We spend the morning eating leisurely, talking about everything and nothing. I love that Lilyana shares the same guilty pleasure romance books that Sasha and I adore. Most of breakfast passes in laughter, discussing our love for plants and various other things.

After she leaves, I get dressed and head down the corridors toward the training yard. As I near the exit, two guards approach. I’ve only ever seen them near Vanna, and even before they reach me, my gut twists in warning—something feels off. Something is wrong.

“Prisoner,” one of the guards says, stopping in front of me.

My stomach churns. “Yes?”

“And where are you off to?” The other guard says, tucking a piece of my hair behind my ear. Recoiling from his touch, my palms become slick.

“I am running late to meet the prince in the training yard.” I step back, trying to put distance between us.

One of them grabs my arm, his grip iron-tight. “Well, let’s have a little fun before you go. You’re already late.”

“Yeah,” the other guard sneers. “What’s another ten minutes?” They both laugh.

I yank at my arm, but the guard’s hold doesn’t budge. “Let go of me!”

“Oh, she’s a fighter,” one of them mocks, their laughter booming down the corridor.

They shove me against the wall. Sweat breaks out on my hairline, while my heart beats at a rapid pace—a pace I should move my legs to get out of here before something happens. If I kill them or fight back, will I be sent back to the Hollows? Will I be killed?

“Come on prisoner. This will be the best you ever had.” He leans in to kiss my cheek, and I spit in his face.

---