Page 71 of Reign of Betrayal

Then, with a rush of wind, the massive orange wyvern swoops down, landing in front of the palace. Reign sits astride the creature, her face glowing with a triumphant grin.

The wyvern curls its tail to help her dismount. She limps toward me, her smile still wide, and before I can react, she throws her arms around my neck, pulling me into a hug.

I freeze.

My arms stay at my sides, though every instinct screams to wrap them around her, to hold her tight and never let go. But I know if I embrace her now, I may not be able to let go at all. I just stand there.

She slowly takes a step back to look at me, sliding her hands down to my chest.

The feeling I instantly get is viscerally explosive. All the emotions I am not familiar with, coupled with ones I know too well, swell to the surface—the discomfort of having my chest touched, the heartache that I feel for knowing I need to let her go, the rage I feel for the situation, the angst gnawing in the pit of my stomach at what could happen when she goes to Armadon. Lastly, seeing the damn smile she gives to only me, and I am so undeserving of it. It all bubbles up and erupts, violently.

My hands snap to her wrists, gripping them like a vise. I wrench them off of me, holding them in front of us as if the distance will cleanse the heat between us. I shove her back—not enough to hurt her, but enough to create space. “Don’t ever… touch me like that again, Prisoner,” I growl, panting as I avert my eyes, unwilling to meet whatever emotions are surfacing in hers.

I turn on my heel, ready to walk away. “Luke…” She says my name like a question as her voice cracks with pain. The sound of it twists something inside me. James is right—this has to end now, before it begins. Her touch on my chest was the spark I needed to ignite the wall between us, and I can’t afford to falter.

I force myself to turn back around, the mask slipping back into place though it feels fragile, threatening to crack. “You will address me as Prince Lukene, Your Highness, or Majesty. See a healer and get some sleep. We leave before first light.”

I turn away, swift and precise, heading into the house with James watching me, his expression unreadable. My palms are slick with sweat, my heart fractured into pieces. Once inside, the walls press in around me, but going to my room feels impossible. I need to see what Reign does. I retreat to a dark corner, melting into the shadows where I can watch unseen.

Through the window, I see her limp toward the house, the weight of defeat pulling her down despite her victory in the trials. Before she can even get to James, he walks to her and hugs her tightly, in a comforting embrace. He lifts her into his arms without hesitation and carries her inside. I trail them with my gaze as he takes her down the hall to the healer’s chamber, where she disappears from sight.

Only once she’s gone do I allow myself to move. I retreat to my room, desperate to bury the feelings that claw at me, determined to become the Dark Prince once again—cold, unfeeling, and untouched by anything resembling emotion.

Sleep eludes me.Frustration claws at my insides, so I head to the training room. I throw punch after punch at the heavy swinging sacks of grain, trying to beat every emotion out of me. Fury fuels every blow. Each strike echoes with the fractures in my heart and the rage I’ve carried for far too long. Grain spills across the floor when one sack bursts under my fists, but it does nothing to calm the storm inside me.

Panting, knuckles bloodied, I stand there with fists clenched. My shadows stir, informing me that James is behind me.

I wipe the sweat from my brow and turn to face him.

“Is that helping?” he asks, his tone heavy with the knowledge that it isn’t.

“Spar with me.” I strip off my shirt, tossing it to the floor, wishing I could discard these emotions just as easily.

“It’s not going to help.”

“Enlighten me then.”

James exhales a long, weary sigh but removes his shirt. He begins circling me, slow and deliberate. His eyes are assessing every inch of me, calculating. I wait, tension winding tighter with every step he takes. His lack of aggression is setting my nerves on edge. He circles, silent and patient, offering no attack. I need him to fight. I need him to hit me.

I lash out, a flurry of strikes—left, right, left, and an uppercut. Only two connect. He doesn’t block, just shifts back and ducks to evade the others. Still, he doesn’t strike. The restraint twists in my gut like a knife. I need to see blood, to feel physical pain, to bleed.

“Fight back!” My voice cracks through the room like a whip, heavy with desperation. “Attack, James!” I need this. I need pain—something tangible to match the chaos inside me. He just keeps circling me and it’s infuriating.

“Well, come on then,” he says with a taunting smile. “Attack me if you want me to fight.”

I throw myself at him again, fists flying in a wild assault. This time, he absorbs every hit—no dodging, no backing away. My knuckles split against his face. Blood streams from his nose, his lip splits wide open, but still, he doesn’t raise a hand against me.

“Fight back!” I roar, panting hard, rage bubbling over.

“It won’t help, Luke. But if you need to draw blood, draw it.” His voice is calm, grounding in a way I hate. “If you need to beat the shit out of me, go ahead. I’ll take it. But I will not hit you when you’re down.”

His brown eyes are steady, filled with emotions I refuse to meet.

“Ah!” I let out a guttural scream of frustration, tearing away from him. I snatch up my tunic from the floor and pull it over my head, storming out toward my room.

I stand beside Wrath,waiting for the others to arrive so we can take flight. The morning air feels sharp against my skin, but it does nothing to soothe the ache gnawing at my chest.

James walks toward me, Reign and Elm at his side, with the guards and Jake following behind. Reign’s limp is gone, and she moves with a grace that twists my gut. She strides past me without a glance, her expression distant, her focus locked on her wyvern further out.

---