6. Lukene
I sit there, watching these barbaric fights unfold, in this dank hellhole of a prison. Thank the goddesses we are finally on the last one. It has been a long day. All I want is go home, eat, and sleep.
A short, undernourished-looking woman steps onto the stage. Her hair is the palest lavender color. I have never seen someone with that color of hair before—odd. Her opponent stands like a warrior, built for violence. If things go well, maybe I can recruit her for my royal guard—if she doesn’t win the trials. This will no doubt be a quick and easy fight for her.
Gong.
The lavender-haired girl immediately attacks. She charges like a demon from the double hells. Her ferocity catches me off guard, and I find myself equally shocked and impressed—intrigued even. She is utterly feral and formidable. I did not see that coming.
The opponent lands a few blows, busting her nose and splitting her lip, causing blood to flow down her chin.
I am on the edge of my seat with this fight. The lavender-haired girl wipes the blood away from her face and then smiles.
She smiles at her opponent.
I can’t help but smirk.
She is a reckless little thing.
They exchange brutal punches and kicks until the lavender-haired girl crashes to the ground. The warrior-looking prisoner is straddling her and hammering down with relentless punches. She may actually lose. Damn, I was rooting for the little reckless prisoner.
The next thing I know, the lavender-haired prisoner digs her heels into the stage and bucks the other prisoner off her. Now, she is on top. Now… it’s her turn. She is landing punch after punch. Blood splatters from the warrior prisoner on the bottom. I rise to my feet, sweat dripping down my face, watching—waiting to see what happens next.
With both hands raised together, high above her head, she slams them down in a crushing blow. Her opponent is knocked unconscious. She wins, but she doesn’t stop.
She continues beating her. Blood is leaking everywhere, splattering all around until a tall male prisoner who called to her during the fight, jumps up, and rips her off the other prisoner.
She rises, her chest heaving up and down. Blood is splattered across her face and clothes. Her lavender hair is now stained deep red. Turning toward us, she smiles, but there is nothing kind about it. She looks completely feral. What a dangerous, yet fascinating little creature.
The warden strides over to us, irritation radiating off him with each step. Kylo shifts beside me.
The warden bows to me. “Prince Lukene, your contestants.” He extends his hand to the prisoners that have now lined up before us. I pull out a large, heavy sack of coppers, and hand it to him. It’s more than enough to compensate him for his lost wages he will lose by giving up these prisoners, his best fighters for the ring. With a few threats and some coin, we have the prisoners we need.
I start at the right side of the line facing the prisoners, while one of my guards walks behind them. I start to walk the line slowly, assessing. They smell like shit, but I guess that is to be expected. They will need to beef up a bit too. Each one I pass slightly bows until I get to her .
Interesting.
I stop and take a step back, turning to face her. My eyes settle on hers. I find that I am transfixed by the defiance burning within her lavender eyes. I glimpse a fierce determination and a hint of vulnerability. It intrigues me. For a fleeting moment, we lock our gazes in a silent battle, each refusing to yield.
In her light purple depths, I sense a dark kindred spirit. There’s a spark of rebellion that ignites a dangerous curiosity deep within me. I raise the corners of my lips.
She narrows her eyes at me, clearly knowing I am toying with her, and spits on the ground at my feet.
My royal guard reacts immediately, kicking the back of her leg. She drops to her knees in front of me.
“You will bow to your Royal Highness when he greets you. Disrespect him again, and you will get a backhand,” my guard growls.
I shoot him an irritated look. I can handle my subjects. I don’t need anyone to do it for me. I don’t need anyone for anything, as a matter of fact. I will have words with him later about this.
“Now, that’s quite enough. I am sure this prisoner was just spitting the blood out of her mouth, and I am sure she was about to bow for me. Isn’t that right, prisoner?” I ask, smoothly.
She isn’t looking at me now. She is staring straight ahead, refusing to meet my eyes. That just won’t do.
I take a step closer to her kneeling body. I place my fingers under her bloody chin and raise her blazing gaze to meet mine. She looks at me with such hatred. I smile widely at her fierceness, her boldness, and her recklessness when faced with someone like me. “Right, prisoner?” I ask again, raising an eyebrow.
She jerks her chin out of my hand. “Yes.” Her tone is as cold as shards of ice as she remains there on her knees.
“You can stand now, if you want—unless you like being on your knees in front of me,” I tease. “But if that’s the case, let’s make this more interesting.” I toy with my belt buckle, mockingly.
She scoffs in irritation at me. I swear I see the faintest blush rise onto her cheeks as she stands quickly. Kylo chuckles, and I join him with a low laugh.
I continue down the line, inspecting the rest of the prisoners.
“Alright prisoners, wrists out,” I command. “My guards will be placing marcanite shackles on you. We don’t need you getting any ideas while we head to the palace.”
One by one, my guards fasten the marcanite manacles around their wrists, neutralizing any magic they might possess. Then, we march them out of the underground prison.
The ride to the castle is long, quiet, and thankfully, uneventful. The prisoners behave surprisingly well, and thank the gods and goddesses, we have not encountered any beasts or any Necrums on our journey.
After a tiring ride, we finally reach the palace. As the carriage halts, Kylo and I jump out. The moon hangs high in the night sky, shrouded by feathery clouds that mute its light. It casts an eerie, dimmed glow on our surroundings.
I step up to one of the carriages and unlock the door, releasing the four prisoners. Extending my hand, I help three of them down. The fourth and final prisoner comes into my view, and it’s her . She looks at my hand and scoffs. She doesn’t take it as she exits on her own. I can’t help but grin, amused by her stubbornness.
Once all the prisoners are out of the carriages, I face them.
“You will now be brought before your king. Be on your best behavior. If you are not, you will be sent back to the Hollows to live out the rest of your miserable lives in that hellhole.”
I spin on my heel and head toward the palace. The prisoners trail behind me like lost pups.
Suddenly, cold metal presses against my neck. “This is for killing my brother! You are all corrupt! Death to the royals! Death to you all!” The female prisoner’s scream cuts through the night as I realize that it’s her shackles around my neck.
I immediately duck, shifting my weight back, and flip her over my shoulder onto the dirt. Before the woman even has a chance to get off the ground, my sword is in my hand, and I bring the blade’s side against her throat. It slices through flesh and bone in one swift, clean motion, severing her head from her body. Blood spurts all over my face from the impact of the sword to her neck, while her body thuds to the ground. My breath comes heavy and fast—she caught me off guard. I am never caught off guard, and I don’t know what to think of that. I turn to the rest of the prisoners, all of whom look at me, wide-eyed, jaws on the ground.
“Let’s not get any ideas, prisoners,” I warn, wiping the blood from my eyes. “Or your fate will be worse than hers.”
I leave the body where it lies, blood pooling across the ground, and head toward the palace. Each thud of my boots against the cobblestone pathway is a reminder of the past sins I have committed, while the wind whispers of who I’ve committed them for.
After following the path for a moment, we walk through the heavy wrought iron gate until we approach the front doors of the palace.
The towering structure looms monstrously against the dark horizon. Its sheer size intimidates newcomers almost as much as the magical power, we royals, wield. The white, haunted stones and sky-reaching pillars gleam under the eerie moon, giving it an ominous feel—an unwelcoming hello to the prisoners at my back. The palace is adorned with gold and red accents, which are a stark contrast to the white, hinting to the nefarious secrets hidden behind the thick front doors.
Inside, I lead the prisoners through the halls until we reach the throne room. My father, the king, sits on the throne. His wife and my two sisters are nowhere to be found.
I signal the prisoners to come in and line up before my father. They all bow before standing upright—even her. I take my place, standing next to my father’s throne.
He stands to address the prisoners. His golden crown sits proudly on his head, giving him the illusion that he is almost my height. His shoulder length black hair sways with his movements.
“You have been chosen to compete in the Royal Trials. Only my inner circle and palace court know about it.” My father clasps his hands, and strides toward the prisoners. “I need a single champion.”
He walks the line of prisoners, his sharp gaze assessing each one.
“There will be several rounds. The person who wins the trials will be my champion. I need someone that is reliable, deadly, cunning, and most importantly… someone who can follow commands without question.”
Once he reaches the end of the prisoners, he abruptly turns – making his way back to his throne to sit.
“There can be only one champion, he continues. “If you do happen to survive these trials, but are not my chosen one, then you will be sent back to the Hollows. During your stay here, you will abide by my rules and will not take out an opponent unless I tell you that you can. There will be times during the trial that I do not care if you kill each other off. Remember, you are disposable. If you all die like the last group from the prison, then I will just grab a new set of contestants. So, mark my words. If you are a nuisance for me, I will end you. Is that understood?”
The prisoners respond in unison. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Good. Tomorrow you will meet with a seer, a blood magic wielder. She will tell us what type of magic you possess—if you even possess any at all.”
Suddenly, a royal guard walks into the throne room. He bows. “Your Majesty the queen is requesting your presence. She said it’s urgent.”
My father scowls, irritation flashing across his face. He doesn’t like to be interrupted, yet in the many years he has been with my stepmother, I have never seen him truly angry with her. “Very well. Lukene take over,” he says, standing up.
Without another word, my father, their king, leaves the throne room.
I sigh, just wanting to get this over with. “Prisoners, you will be shown your rooms tonight. There you can shower and sleep in an actual bed. Your accommodations here are far better than you have had at the Hollows, and probably far better than any of you deserve.” I leave my place alongside the throne and walk down the dais to stand in front of the prisoners. Fatigue leeches to every fiber in my body—exhaustion clinging to my every word.
“You will have guards stationed outside of your rooms. Please take this time to bathe—you all desperately need it. Clothes await you, but if they do not fit, let a servant know in the morning, and we will get you clothing more fitting. Rest up tonight. In the morning, you will be taken to the seer, as my father has mentioned. We need to know for sure what power you possess, if any at all, so we know how to train you. Now, any questions?” I look over the line of prisoners. My eyes stop on the prisoner with a head full of lavender hair, and a hardened grimace plastered on her face.
I walk over to her, and stand right in front of her. “Something on your mind, prisoner?” I ask, taking in the features of her face.
“What is the champion required to do once trials are won?” she asks, her eyes now innocent—the fight has left them as tiredness sweeps in, leaving evidence in the form of dark circles under her eyes.
“Ahh. Well one will have to win the trials to find out.”
And there it is—the spark is back in her eyes—the hatred, the wildness. These next few weeks are going to be interesting to say the least—fun even. I curl my lips up at her, knowing she doesn’t like my answer.
“Alright, follow the guards. They will show you to your rooms.”
I watch the prisoners make their way out of the throne room, and head to their bed chambers.
I watch her.
She pauses at the threshold, glancing back, as if she can sense me watching her. Her lavender eyes lock onto mine, narrowing in defiance.
I can’t help the laugh that slips from my lips.
Then, she turns back, exiting with the other prisoners.
She is going to be a wild one. I know it in my bones. I look forward to it.