8. Lukene
S weat drips down my face as the heat from Kylo’s fire magic billows into my shield of shadows. The deep depths of my darkness, my shadows, collide with his vibrant flames—cold against heat. Our magic always seems to reflect who we are: Kylo brings warmth and happiness, while I bring darkness, death, and a void that chills others to the bone. My magic mirrors the emptiness I often feel. Maybe that’s why we’ve stayed best friends for so long—we’re complete opposites.
We continue our dance, battling with our magic, pushing each other to our limits. We test each other’s strengths and learn our weaknesses until we find every frailty and train it into nonexistence.
I start advancing on him, step by step, my darkness taking over his light. But then I think of her . Did she see the seer yet? Does she have magic? Is she a Nomatrab? Why do I even care? Why does she fascinate me? She is just a prisoner—probably from the Drifts—and only the gods and goddesses know what she did to get into the Hollows. I bet I have done worse . But my goddess, those eyes—those lavender eyes—so full of fire. I need to bed someone. That’s what’s wrong with me. Maybe I’ll send for Cora?—
Suddenly, Kylo’s power suddenly slams into me, and I’m thrown to the ground, the impact stealing the breath from my lungs. That was unexpected.
I glare at Kylo, who stands there with an unreadable expression. Sweat glistens on his dark skin as he approaches and offers me a hand. “What’s going on with you? You’re distracted today. That’s not like you.”
I meet his gaze, scrambling for an excuse. “I didn’t sleep well last night. I’m fine.”
He squints his eyes, seeing straight through the flimsy lie I fed him. Well, it’s not truly a lie. I really didn’t sleep. “Well, please, by all means, continue to get less sleep. Knocking you on your ass is the highlight of my day,” he laughs, hauling me upright.
Kylo’s laugh is contagious, and soon I’m laughing with him.
“What is going on in here? This doesn’t look like training. If you’re laughing, you aren’t training hard enough.”
We turn to find James narrowing his eyes at us, though he has a hint of a smile on his lips. James is all about some serious training, but is surprisingly fun on occasion.
“We were just?—”
“Save it. The king wants you… Your Majesty.” James smirks, offering a mocking bow.
I leave the training room and head to the throne room, ever the dutiful soldier.
The throne room feels colder than usual. My father sits on the throne with Vanna beside him. They’re deep in conversation, which halts abruptly as I step inside. Their silence hangs heavy, as though I’ve intruded on something crucial.
“Father. Vanna,” I greet with a slight bow.
“Lukene, we need to discuss the contestants. We want this round to be successful,” my father says. “So, we…” He glances at Vanna. “We want you to oversee the contestants this time. Vanna will be occupied with other tasks.”
I nod my head, wondering what Vanna could possibly be doing. Nothing good, I’m sure.
Vanna’s eyes meet mine, almost as if she can read my thoughts. “And you cannot interfere. If they’re going to die, let them. They are disposable. However, you will train them. Prepare them for the trials. Help them with their magic. We need at least one survivor by the end. The curse is worsening—the groves and Necrums are spreading fast. We need someone soon.”
“So, I have total control this time? I can train them and handle them how I see fit?”
“Yes. Pair them up with someone that can train them, strengthen their abilities, and monitor them closely. The prisoner that escaped during the last trials is still missing. Do not disappoint me… again,” my father says.
It’s ironic that I’m blamed for the failure, considering I advised both him and Vanna on how to handle the contestants last time. They ignored my advice, and everyone died. Well, almost everyone—one escaped because they didn’t have a guard, as I had suggested.
I always knew they pulled prisoners from the Hollows, but I didn’t realize the prison held organized fights. It’s barbaric, but I can see the appeal. Apparently, Vanna knew. Once prisoners are sent to the Hollows, they’re no longer my concern. Not my problem.
“I understand… Your Majesty.” I bow and take my leave, not wanting to talk to them any longer. I don’t bother waiting to be dismissed—I never do anymore.
I walk across the training room to where my guards and Kylo have gathered the prisoners—or contestants, as I should call them now.
“Today, I want to see what you guys can do. You all have skills with fighting—that is what landed you here. However, let’s see what else you can do—what sets you apart. I also want to see if you can access your magic. Break off into groups and grab a weapon you are familiar with.” My eyes glide over the contestants until I see her. She’s not even listening, murmuring to Elm and a female prisoner with bright golden eyes. That just won’t do. I begin to walk over to her, and her eyes snap to mine, and that blazing stare now settles on me. That’s it.
“Prisoner, are you paying attention to what I am saying?” I ask.
“Of course, Your Majesty,” she seethes through her teeth.
“Since you paid attention so closely, please tell me what you are going to be doing.”
She hesitates, her eyes portraying an internal battle before replying. “I’m going to show everyone I’m the best with a blade. It sets me apart from the rest.” A smile, dripping with malice and deceptive sweetness, stretches across her face. She is cocky and bold.
I scoff, taken aback by her boldness. I scrunch my brows together. “Is that so?” A challenge is stitched into my words. “Then by all means,” I extend my hand in the direction of the targets. “Please give us a demonstration of your handy blade skills.” I chuckle at the rose color caressing the tops of her cheeks.
We walk over to the table with many different daggers, blades, and swords. I pick up a throwing blade, extend it to her, but pull it back just before she grabs it, flashing a lopsided grin. “Do you plan to stab me with this blade, prisoner?” I ask, my tone playfully sinister.
“Not at this moment, Prince.” She smiles widely and snatches the blade from me. Reckless, so reckless.
She strides to the line in front of the targets. As she readies the blade in her hand, she turns to look at me, the corners of her mouth curl up. The smile is vicious, anything but kind. Her lavender eyes never leave mine as she lets the blade fly, hitting the center of the target dead-on.
“Is that a good enough demonstration of my skills ?” She does a mocking bow, “your… Highness,” she questions. Her tone is sarcastic with a mischievous glint in her eye. She turns to her prison friends, and Elm slightly shakes his head side to side, like he doesn’t approve of her actions.
I glance between her and the target, then shrug. “I’ve seen better, but that was okay, I guess… for a prisoner. Now, all of you, get in your groups.”
The truth is, I am impressed. She barely even looked at the target before deciding to look into my eyes, those lavender depths that just suck you in, trapping you in her gaze. Then she threw the blade, hitting the bullseye. I watch her rejoin the other prisoners, who grab blades and start throwing, never missing.
Kylo catches my eye, his brows furrowed, as I approach him.
“Enjoying your time with the prisoners, Luke?” he teases.
“As much as a royal can, I guess. At least they don’t smell like pig shit anymore,” I joke, trying to change the subject.
“Mhm.” He glances at the prisoners and back at me. “Shall we see if we can get them to summon their magic?”
“Why don’t you do the honors?” I flash him a toothy grin and nod in their direction.
He sighs loudly, shooting me a playful yet annoyed look, and walks forward toward the prisoners. “Everyone listen up!” Kylo shouts, and all activity ceases as eyes turn toward him. “Who here doesn’t have magic?” Eleven prisoners raise their hands. “Alright, keep practicing. The rest, come with me.”
Kylo returns with the magic-wielding prisoners. “Who here has never used their magic?” he asks.
She raises her hand and another prisoner, a male. “Alright, you two are with Prince Lukene. He will explain how to summon your magic. You other prisoners, follow me. Let’s see the extent of your magic.” Kylo smirks at me, satisfied, and walks off with the others.
Bastard. I glare at him, then sigh, running a hand through my tousled hair. I turn to the short, red-haired man and then to her. “What are your names?” The male prisoner answers immediately. “Jaime… s-sir… Prince… Your Highness,” the man stammers.
Double burning hells, he’s trembling like a leaf in the wind. How did he win his fight in the Hollows? “Prince. Just call me Prince,” I say, then turn to her. “And you? What do they call you?”
“7296,” she replies dryly, while rolling her bottom lip between her thumb and pointer finger.
Pressing my hands to my temples, I scrunch my face, trying to keep my patience. “I don’t have time for games, prisoner. What are you called?”
“7296… Prince . That was the prisoner number given to me when I got to the Hollows. I have been called that for the last six years.” She holds out her arm, showing me the numbers tattooed on her wrist.
Six years… hells, that must be how long she was in the Hollows. “You aren’t in the Hollows anymore. What is your name, prisoner. Now. I am running out of patience,” I huff, irritation flaring.
“Reign.”
I clap her on the shoulder, and I can feel her recoil from my touch—like she is repulsed by me. “See that wasn’t so hard now was it Reign ?” I smirk, hoping it will piss her off. She rolls her eyes at me. Oh, gods and goddesses, this is either going to be fun, or a complete disaster.
“Close your eyes,” I say, trying to prepare them to access their magic.
Jaime immediately obeys; however, Reign’s eyes linger on me for a second before she finally complies. “Feel inside for your magic. It is there—like a burning feeling or a coldness. It’s a different feeling for everybody. It’s a sensation in your core that’s odd—feels separate from the rest of you. Feel for it and grab it. Once you do, you’ll feel it all over. Let it run over you like water, filling every space of you, and direct it to your palm.”
Almost instantly, Jaime had water in his hand. “Very good. Now, join Captain Kylo and the others. Practice and see what you can do. The first summoning is always the hardest.”
I step in front of Reign. Her eyes are still closed. She has her hands out in front of her, palms up. I slowly take in her appearance, looking at her from head to toe and slowly back up stopping on her face. She has her long, pale lavender hair tied back off her face. Her thick, long black lashes are fluttering as she concentrates. She has the faintest freckles splattered on her nose. My eyes drop to her lips which are scowling. I look back to her eyes and find that they’re now blazing, burning a hole through mine.
“Like what you see… Prince?” she seethes.
“Meh, not my type.” I shrug. She immediately squints her eyes, my words clearly stoking her internal fire. I love it. “So… about that magic.”
“I can’t summon it,” she sighs in annoyance.
“You need to try harder, prisoner,” I insist. Gods and goddesses, she can be irritating.
“I am!” she snaps, her voice rising.
“Emotions can bring it out. It will be laced in the strong feelings you have. How do you feel?”
“Like I want to stab you!” she exclaims. Her voice is full of irritation and defiance. She is recklessly bold. Who in their right mind tells a prince they want to stab them? I want to smile, but I remember how hard it was to summon my first time. But I have an idea.
“You do realize I am your Prince, right?” I stand to my fullest height in front of her very small frame, looking down at her as I cross my arms.
“You may be the Prince of Umbrahdor, but you will never be my anything.”
“Oh Reckless, don’t say those words. You are going to hurt my feelings. Besides, you don’t mean that. I’m sure you dream about being my everything. Most women do.” I raise one corner of my mouth into a side smile. If looks could kill, I’d be dead.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Prince,” she grunts out through gritted teeth.
“I don’t need to. I have others do it for me,” I retort, grinning wider. She scoffs, rolling her fiery purple eyes.
“Close your eyes,” I command, and she does—surprisingly. I circle behind her, placing a hand on her upper back, and she flinches. “I won’t hurt you,” I say, my voice gentler. Then, I slide my right arm under her arm, setting my hand on her stomach. She goes stiff. With her being so reckless, I am surprised she hasn’t struck me yet. “Try not to enjoy the feeling of my hands on you too much,” I add, my tone teasing.
“You are a royal pain in my a?—”
“Shh—feel that anger. It’s between my hands settled in your core. Feel for your magic and grab it.” She raises her hands out, palms up. A moment later, a flame flickers to life, hovering over both her hands. It’s small, but it’s there. I pull my hands away and move to face her. Her grin is wide and genuine. There is a twinkle in her lavender eyes, like the stars during twilight. It’s almost enchanting—mesmerizing even.
“I’m doing it!” she exclaims, her voice bright with excitement. The joy is infectious.
“You are,” I say, nodding. I catch myself smiling at her amusement. Then, I quickly wipe it away, irritation flaring at my vulnerability. I can’t afford to feel this way. I will just have to change that. Anger simmers at my own reaction.
“How did you know that would work?” she asks.
“Feeling for my magic in anger worked for me too. I won’t always be around to baby you. You have to learn to summon it without emotions. But now that you know what it feels like, it will be easier.” I keep my tone cold, no longer playful.
Her smile fades, and the flame dies. Frustration returns, shadowing her face. “Go. Go join the others,” I instruct, nodding toward Kylo and the magic wielders. She walks off without a backward glance.
Deciding I’ve had enough of the prisoners for one day, I head into the palace to find my father and discuss the takeovers.