Reckless (The Powerless Trilogy Book 2)

We sit in a bed of red, the type that’s sweet and soft, not sickening and sticky like I’m so used to.

I stretch out my sore legs in front of me, feeling petals tickling my skin. We walked much farther across the field after finishing our dance, Kai’s toes likely numb in his boots. I keep my back to the castle that is now very near, choosing to ignore the inevitable.

“How the hell did you do that?”

Kai’s frustration seeps into his voice, something I’m sure he’s unaccustomed to allowing. He’s lying sideways, propped on an elbow as he wrestles with poppy stems. I snort at the sight of what is supposed to be a flower crown, watching it crumple in his hands.

He nods to the nearly completed crown in my lap. “How is yours not falling apart?”

“Maybe,” I say slowly, “because I’m doing it right.”

The dull look he gives me has a laugh bubbling from my throat. Petals slip between his fingers as he fumbles to wrap the stems together. His words are a mumble under his breath. “I can wield a sword in both hands, but I can’t get these damn flowers to stay together.”

“To be fair,” I say, twisting the final flower into place, “I’ve had a lot of practice. Adena and I used to make these all the time out of dandelions.”

The thought brings a sad smile to my face as I admire my handiwork. I plop the crown on his head, adjusting it atop his black waves. “There. Back to being a prince.”

He smiles, distracting me with his dimples. I lie on my side, mirroring him as I prop myself on an elbow and stare up at the crown. The bright flowers contrast with every one of his features, soft and dainty where the rest of him is anything but.

“Here.” He pulls a half-crushed flower from his hand. Fingers brush my hair as he tucks the stem behind my ear. “Pretend it’s a forget-me-not.”

That night of the last ball flashes in my mind, along with the memory of a kiss we almost shared. And to think we’ve shared more now, when we truly are meant to be enemies. “We are quite good at pretending,” I murmur, watching his face.

He opens his mouth, as if to free words he’s been trapping inside.

But his eyes drift down the length of my neck, following the curve of my exposed shoulder. The oversized shirt and tank strap now hang loosely down my arm from lying ungracefully on my side.

His eyes narrow, looking like chips of ice as a storm begins to brew within them.

The heart beating beneath his gaze stutters at the realization of what he sees. I sit up swiftly, yanking the shirt back over my shoulder. I press a hand to the fabric, ensuring that it’s covering the mutilated mess beneath.

“Gray.” His voice is cold. “What the hell was that?”

I shake my head at him, hating the way I’m shrinking away. “It’s nothing.”

“Then let me see,” he says, deceptively calm.

He reaches a hand toward me, and I don’t think before blocking it with my forearm.

His eyes fly up to mine. A heartbeat passes. “What was that?”

“That,” I say coolly, “was a block. Would you like me to demonstrate a punch?”

He chuckles humorlessly. “You can’t be serious.”

“Try me.”

He shakes his head, bewilderment painting his features. When he reaches again for the sleeve of my shirt, I push his hand down before sending my free fist flying toward his stomach.

He blocks it easily, slowly letting his eyes climb up to mine. “Are you really trying to fight me right now?”

“Depends on whether or not you’re going to keep your hands to yourself,” I say, hiking my sleeve up farther.

His eyes flick between mine, his words a whisper. “What did he do to you?”

That question has every bit of pent-up rage rushing to the surface in the form of a swift punch to his jaw. I barely manage to nick the side of his face with my knuckle before he dodges.

We are both on our knees now, breathing hard.

“Hey,” he pants. “I just want to know what happened—”

Another punch to his stomach, followed by one to his jaw that I manage to land. When I pull back for another, he grabs my wrist before I can do any more damage.

“I’m not going to fight you,” he says sternly. “I won’t.”

Frustration tears from my throat, sounding like a growl. I push his chest with my free hand, hard enough to have him tilting back on his knees. Slamming my body against his, I send us toppling over poppies and onto the ground.

I’m straddling him, panting down at the worry he’s wearing. “Why won’t you fight me?” My voice cracks, tears suddenly crowding my vision.

“Because the next time I lay a hand on you, I only ever want it to be in a caress,” he says softly.

I duck my head, squeezing my eyes shut against the flood of emotion there. I feel a calloused hand on my cheek and shake my head at the comfort I don’t deserve. “Please,” he whispers. “Show me.”

I let out a shaky breath, opening my eyes to the gray ones already looking at me. Then I slowly climb off him as he sits up, swallowing my pride to gently pull the layers of clothing from my shoulder.

A cool breeze kisses my collarbone, as if to offer its sympathy. I haven’t felt the sticky air on my skin since the king sliced me open outside the Bowl.

Kai’s expression doesn’t waver, as though he slipped on a blank mask. There’s a crack, though. There always is. I catch the muscle that twitches in his cheek, the flex of his hands. “How did he do it?”

I attempt to swallow the lump in my throat. “A sword.”

He sighs through his nose.

“After he dragged the blade down my neck,” I continue, lifting my chin so he can see the familiar scar in the pale light, “he told me he’d leave his mark on my heart, so I never forget who it was that broke it.”

He inches closer, eyes trained on the mangled skin beginning to scar. His voice is icy, sending a shiver down my spine. “It’s an O.”

I nod. “For—”

“Ordinary,” he finishes, disgusted. “He tortured you, and you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Would it have made a difference?” I say, throwing my hands in the air. “That doesn’t make me any less of a criminal.”

“It would have made you less of a murderer,” he says harshly. “Why did you hide this from me?”

“Because…,” I stammer. “Because I can barely stand to look at myself! Don’t you understand?” Tears sting my eyes, but I push on. “He ruined me. Marred me. For the rest of my life, I will look at this scar and think of the man I hated most. The man who had my father killed. The man who mercilessly killed Ordinaries like me. The man who tried to murder me himself.” I shake my head, looking anywhere but at him. “I couldn’t let anyone else see how he branded me. See the damage he did. I… I just couldn’t.”

The hurt held in his gaze is almost too much to bear. “Gray…”

“Say my name,” I whisper. “Please.”

I know he hasn’t said it since we escaped the prison. Since I told him he lost the privilege of calling me it. And he’s respected my rule ever since.

But I crave the sound of my name on his tongue. I want him to shout it from a rooftop, whisper it in my ear, trace it on my skin. I want my name to form a familiar shape in his mouth, tasting of my lips.

I want him to own my name and still beg when he says it.

Or maybe I just want him.

Surprise seeps through his crumbling mask before relief washes it all away. A hesitant smile lifts his lips, as though I’ve just uttered the most beautiful words he’s ever heard.

He says my name like it’s been on the tip of his tongue, whispered into every breath he’s taken. “Paedyn.”

Then he opens his arms.

A quiet sob slips past my lips as I crawl into his lap.

Strong arms fold around me before I bury my face in his bare chest. He runs a hand down my short hair, holding my neck as I shake against him. “He didn’t ruin you, Pae,” he murmurs against my ear. The nickname sends a tear rolling down my cheek to splatter his chest. “But you thinking so means that even in death, he wins. That scar is a testament of your strength. A testament of who you are, not what.”

I nod, curling closer against him. Flowers swallow us as we sit there in silence, creating a pretty wall of petals. His body is warm, his arms a heavy comfort around me.

We sit until darkness settles over us, his palm stroking my hair all the while. When the moon hangs low over us, and my eyelids grow heavy, he gently slides me from his lap to lay out a bedroll.

He all but lifts me onto it before lying down beside me, his shoulder brushing mine. I roll onto my side to face him despite the darkness. “Thank you.”

He turns his head with what I’m sure is a smirk on his lips. “That’s six times now.”

“And likely the last,” I say with a smile.

He looks back up at the stars winking down at us. “Scars.”

I blink. “What?”

“Scars,” he repeats. “Something else I’ve always had a thing for.”

Laughter seems to stutter in my throat, as if unsure whether it should come out of my mouth. He reaches over and gently flicks the tip of my nose, making me giggle in a way I didn’t know I could.

“Plagues, I love that sound,” he murmurs, making me fall silent. “I would tattoo it into my skin if it meant you’d laugh at me for doing it.”

“And I would,” I say quietly.

He chuckles before his lips press against my forehead, the kiss soft and sweet. Then he pulls me closer as I turn my back to him, allowing an arm to hook around my waist.

“Try not to dream of me, Pae,” he whispers against my ear.

“You first, Prince.”