2. Lukene
“A gain!” I shout at the royal guards. There’s a troupe of them surrounding me in the expansive training room, a space lined with deadly weapons and training circuits.
The room stretches the length of the palace, adorned with every type of weapon and target imaginable. Vaulted ceilings soar to the heavens, leaving plenty of space to spar with magic without collapsing the roof. This room is my sanctuary. Some people find solace in prayers at temples, but I find it in the clash of steel and the rhythm of combat.
Wiping sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, I grip my sword tighter.
All four guards attack at once. I summon my powers—shadows, thick and menacing, spill from me, curling around two of the guards. I twist, clashing swords with the other two. They’re fast and strong, but not enough to beat me. A grin creeps across my face.
One of the captured guards, a wind wielder, blasts a gust of air toward me, trying to knock me off my feet. Predictable—too predictable. He has used that same move each round, and I notice everything. I calculate everything—every possible scenario, every move. It is my job to. I snuff it out before he even blinks.
The water wielder is trickier. As I spin toward him, a sphere of water splashes into my face, forcing me to stumble.
Clever .
He hasn’t used that move before, but I knew something was coming—he always draws a sharp breath before striking.
He doesn’t get another chance. Shadows coil around him, squeezing the air from his lungs until he slumps unconscious, joining the others who have fallen to my blade, fists, or shadows for the fourth time today.
The other two guards and I choose swords instead of powers. I like the mixture of magic and weapons. It keeps me strong, cunning, and on my toes, always thinking about what to expect next. I like—no, I love—a challenge, crave it even. I have always had the capacity for violence, a voracious appetite for it.
I knock the sword out of one guard’s hand with the hilt of my sword and spin around, connecting my elbow with his face. The satisfying crunch of bone fragments fills the air as he crumples to the mat, blood streaming down his face.
It’s a beautiful sight.
He attempts to tap out, but that just won’t do. I need my royal guards strong, up until the end.
His blood gushes out all over my elbow, down his face, and on the mat. I pity the servants that have to clean up after our sparring matches. I love the sight of it, the crimson red against the dull gray of the stone floor. The metallic tang of blood and sweat fills my nose in a cleansing way. Each lung full clears away feelings and thoughts that try to plague me.
I look at the last guard as we circle each other. I decide to make it interesting and toss my sword to the side. The guard does the same. I haven’t had a good hand-to-hand combat in a while, and James, the guard opposite of me, is the best. He was my teacher—my mentor, growing up. When my father became distant and cold, James was there to train me, redirect my rage, and take me under his wing.
We go blow for blow, beating the double burning hells out of each other until we are both a bloody mess, and he taps out.
I walk over to James and outstretch my hand to help him up.
“Getting better and better, your Majesty, but if I can make a suggestion…” James says, then grabs my hand and places his foot in my gut, flinging me up and over him until I hit the stone ground behind him.
Brillant .
“Not everyone who fights you is your enemy, and not everyone who has a helpful outstretched hand is your friend.” He stands with the grace of a fighter trained for decades, while smoothing back his brown hair. “And never leave a fight until you are certain it’s over.” He bows, a huge grin plastered across his face. “Your Majesty.”
Chuckling, I get to my feet. “Noted, James.”
I grab my discarded tunic and return it to my body, then inform my men to see a healer and get cleaned up. I will see a healer soon, but I need fresh air first, so I head to the tower.
I reach the top of the tower and open the door.
Sweat kisses every inch of me. My knuckles and mouth are bloody. I am sure I have a nice purple discoloration shining on my cheek thanks to James’ skillful punch. What a perfect look for the Prince of Umbrahdor.
My muscles are now sore, but it feels refreshing. Anytime I need to let loose, release some steam, I like to spar or do some sort of training. The pain my body usually endures is welcomed with open arms.
I prefer to feel pain physically. It distracts the mind. When I spar, I shut my mind down completely and concentrate on the art of fighting. There is an elegance to the dance of it. Pain drowns out all other feelings, emotions. The good thing is I have done this for so long, I don’t even know if I am capable of having feelings.
The night sky is open and dark, blanketing everything it touches as I walk out on the battlement. I drink in the cool breeze and the twinkling stars above that burn like flickering candle flames. The moment of peace is appreciated. I notice two guards on each corner of the battlement while two other guards are at opposite ends doing rotations around the perimeter up here.
I just need a few minutes to myself, to breathe, to just be—alone.
I had to deal with my oldest sister, Vanna’s, meltdown over me threatening one of the many men she was sleeping with. He is a married piece of shit from the Drifts, a Nomatrab—no magical abilities and a true waste of space. I told him to go back to his poor wife and leave my sister alone, or I’d kill him. I would do it too. I almost wish he didn’t heed my advice just so I could gut him. He pissed himself when I pulled my shadows out—many do. I chuckle just thinking of it.
He must have taken my advice because he broke it off, and I had to deal with my sister.
My oldest sister, well stepsister, Vanna, will rule the kingdom someday. My father and stepmother surely have a few decades of ruling left in them—maybe a century—but Vanna really needs to settle down and take a husband, especially at the age of thirty-six. She keeps tarnishing her name—our kingdom’s name—by the many men she sleeps with, and not discretely. I have taken my fair share of women, but no one would ever know that.
She has never been able to control herself—her urges—always taking what she wants, when she wants them. She never could keep her hands off… well… anyone. Regardless of how wrong it is, who it is, or how much damage it causes, and gods and goddesses above, she pitches fits when she doesn’t get her way.
My father has two true heirs: me and my little sister, Lilyana, who looks identical to our late mother. Me on the other hand, I resemble my father. When he looks at me, I know he sees a mistake, a disappointment.
I’ll never understand why my father decided to make Vanna his heir. After my mother died, he changed, changing Umbrahdor with him. He was respected, loved, and even adored once. Now he is a fierce ruler who spikes fear in everyone with his tyranny and greed for conquests and conquers.
Two moons ago, we had taken over one of the cities in the kingdom of Wemdrah—Vanna’s idea. She is following nicely in my father’s footsteps, making him proud, I’m sure—something I can never do.
Infinities hold the strongest, most potent type of power. Yet, despite me being an Infinity with rare shadow magic, my father still doesn’t act proud of me—he never has, not since my mother died, not since he made Vanna his heir. He wants me to be as cruel and dark as she is. Well, now some of my cruelty is worse, yet he still looks at me with the same disappointed eyes. I may no longer be heir to the throne, but I will show him I can be the darkest prince this continent has ever seen. My very name will strike fear.
As one of the strongest Infinities and captain of the royal army, it’s my duty to do my father’s—no, my king’s—biddings. That honor extends to my oldest sister as well, since she is the crowned heir. It bothered me once, when I found out she would be heir, but not anymore. I was twelve when I found out. Fourteen years later, and I’m over it. Mostly… I think…
My duty to my kingdom is my purpose. This is what I am meant to do—what I’m born to do: to be hidden under the disguise of night by my darkness, my shadows. I end the lives of Necrums, traitors, and whoever else my king sees fit, often without question. They all meet the same fate, either by the end of my sword or the death grip of my shadows.
Someone clears their throat, pulling me out of my spiraling mind. I turn to find Kylo, my closest friend and my second in command, behind me.
“Prince Lukene, the kingdom’s handsome, dark prince.” He does a mocking bow and smiles, his light brown hair flopping in his dark-complexioned face. “Saving the continent, and women’s undergarments all at one time. My true hero.”
I let loose a deep, heartfelt chuckle. What a free spirit Kylo is—always joking, always carefree, not yet touched by the darkness that I have endured. I hope he never is.
“It was one time—once, and she put them in my pocket. I had no idea they were there until I pulled out those coppers for the Nomatrab in the Drifts.”
We both laugh, reminiscing about the memory and my embarrassment. I look into his brown mischievous eyes, noticing worry hidden there.
“You need to see a healer. The black hair and green eyes aren’t going to work for you with bruises and cuts like that. You don’t want to ruin that handsome, princely face of yours. Spar with James again?”
I laugh deeply. “Yeah, I’ll see a healer in a moment. And you know James is the only person that can do this to me.” I point to my face. “Did you need something?”
“I came to inform you that we found a grove past The Hollows, at the base of the Serpent’s Reach.”
“Cursed?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“Damn it. Anyone infected by it?”
“Not that we are aware of.”
“That’s good news then. Well, at least we don’t have to climb Serpent’s Reach tonight.”
Kylo nods in agreement.
We finally reach the base at Serpent’s Reach. Jumping out of the carriage, I take it all in. The towering mountain looms above us, monstrous and mysterious, with the Shadowed Forest to our backs.
There is something so alluring to me about dark and dangerous things.
I look to the sky and close my eyes as the wind carries the sweet scent of the grove toward us. My black cape billows in the breeze as we walk to the grove. I had Kylo bring four guards along—just in case any Necrums, or something worse, decide to bother us tonight.
I watch as my royal guards, dressed in the vibrant red and gold of our house, march toward the grove—their cloaks flowing behind them like beacons in the dark.
When we reach the grove, I thank the gods and goddesses it’s only a few bushes—manageable. I wish they were ordinary rose bushes; they’re easier to deal with. But these cursed roses are different, taller than small trees, with thick stems and wicked thorns.
The cursed roses are still very beautiful. They have little black spidering veins that stretch throughout the petals, creating a stark contrast to their vibrant blood-red color. Alluring—alluring yet deadly.
“Alright, listen up, men.” I turn from the grove and face them. “Remember, do not touch the roses. If you get pricked, by a thorn, you know what we must do.”
“Yes, Prince Lukene,” they respond in unison.
The men stand there, nodding. They know—everyone knows—if you get pricked you become infected.
The infection from the cursed roses starts slowly as black spidery veins, like the ones on the infected rose petals. They stretch and grow, crawling up your skin. Once they reach your neck, it’s over. You turn into a Necrum—a hollow ghost of your former self, with grayed skin, haunting eyes, elongated teeth, claws like curved blades, and a ravenous hunger for blood—human blood.
One bite.
One scratch.
One prick of a thorn.
That is all it takes to become infected.
Decades have passed since the infection started, and we still have no idea how it started, how to cure it, or how to cleanse it from our kingdom.
“You two, stand guard. If anything shows up, deal with it. The rest of you are with Kylo and me. We’ll make this quick.”
Kylo, the guards, and I push deeper into the grove. Kylo glances at me. “Same as usual?”
I smile. He hates getting too close to the bushes. “Yeah.” I turn to the two guards. “Chop them down, and I’ll use my shadows to move the cuttings to Kylo for burning.”
Kylo’s fire magic is powerful—stronger than most. He’s an Infinity, like me. Our kind always has the strongest abilities, which is why we lead the royal guard. We accept others with regular magic, but never those with lesser magic—or Nomatrabs. They’d only slow us down and be a liability, putting the rest of us at risk.
I stroll over to the far end of the grove and admire the deadly roses. Exquisite. Beautifully menacing. Then we get to work.
“You look tired, Prince Lukene!” Kylo shouts with a grin.
Beads of sweat form on my brow from the heat of the fire. I wipe my forehead with the corner of my cape as I toss the last of the cursed bushes into the flames.
“Barely broke a sweat,” I say with a smirk. “But you look drenched. Need a break for those delicate hands?”
Kylo’s laugh echoes through the grove. I return his grin, but the moment is shattered by a guard’s sudden cry.
“No! No! No! No!” the guard shouts, clutching his arm.
Kylo and I rush to him. Damn it.
I grab the arm he’s holding. “Was it a thorn?” I ask, creasing my brows.
“I... I don’t know, Your Majesty. It might’ve been.”
I rip the sleeve of his tunic, revealing a scratch—and beneath it, black spidery veins already beginning to spread.
“Shit.”
I sigh, meeting the guard’s gaze. “We still have time. Would you like me to take you back so you can say goodbye to your family? You have a few days at best.”
He shakes his head. “No, Your Majesty. Just do it. I don’t want to drag this out. I don’t want to feel myself slipping away and turning into a Necrum.”
I hold his gaze for a moment. I hate this for him. He has a new wife and a baby on the way, but I understand. It’s better this way. I will do it for him. Killing doesn’t bother me, but I won’t enjoy it this time.
To save my men from going through the heinous transformation of becoming a literal monster, I offer them dignity in their death. With a swift swipe of my sharp blade, I spare them. They can cross over to the next life knowing they won’t infect any of their loved ones.
“Very well.” I nod. “Thank you for your service to the kingdom,” I say as I draw my sword from its sheath on my belt. The noise as it slides free seems to be amplified in the quiet of the moment. The moonlight glints off my cool, killing steel like an aura of death coming to claim its victim.
The guard gives me a nod. Fear shines bright in his eyes, yet his mouth never trembles.
I lean in close so only he can hear my words. “I will make sure your wife and babe are taken care of. I give my word,” I whisper.
He slowly sucks in a deep breath while he closes his eyes for a long moment. When he opens them, the fear is gone. My promise has given him the peace he needs to let go.
I step back and raise my sword. “May the Mother of gods and goddesses cradle you, comfort you, and welcome you home to the eternal land of milk and honey when you are veiled in the shadows.”
“May the Mother,” my guards echo solemnly.
And with that, I swing my sword at his neck in one clean swipe, removing his head. Warm, thick blood sprays across my cold face and chest. His head thuds to the ground and rolls to the side before his body crumples next to it.
We load his body into the carriage to return him to his family.
A piercing screech shatters the silence. Kylo and I freeze.
Far above Serpent’s Reach, wings beat against the night sky, disappearing behind jagged rocks.
Wyvern.
Shit.
“We need to leave. Now.” I lock eyes with Kylo. “They’ve probably nested at the summit.”
He nods, and we set off, vanishing into the night—back to my castle in Umbrahdor, back to my life as a dark prince, and back to serving the crown that was once promised to me.