Vengeance (The Prince's Games Book 1) by Rebecca Grey (electric book reader TXT) 📕

again so soon. You'll be mad too, because the flesh is still very raw and it'll hurt like a motherfucker." Using the bottom of his shirt to wipe at the top of the vial in his hands he reveals the gray image of some sort of fish across his stomach.

"What's with the tattoos?" I ask, taking the open bottle. "Do they mean something?'

"Nope." He smacks his lips. "I just like the way they look."

"I'm sure all those haughty folks in the castle just fucking love that." I chuckle and so does he.

"Yeah. I get asked that question a lot. 'Do they mean something?' It doesn't have to mean something for me to appreciate the art. To like the way they decorate my body. Plus," he adds with a shrug. "girls secretly love it."

Yeah. Girls with daddy issues, I think to myself. But even I don't hate his tattoos, and they do suit him. Oh Saints, do I have daddy issues? Probably.

Impatient, Juilliard takes a finger and tips the tonic to my lips, forcing me to open my mouth and drink quickly. The same tart taste fills my mouth no matter how quickly I drink it down. But I'm rewarded with the buzzing feeling that takes the edge off the pain. I hand him the glass and a loud siren rings out. Lights flash outside the tent.

"Challengers, please make your way to the arena entrance!"

The announcer's booming voice vibrates throughout the room, traveling up through the concrete floor and into the soles of my new boots. Both Juilliard and I scurry from the tent. Other players are blurs of movement toward the large metal gate.

The same man, with his small stature and colorful suits, waits for everyone. All conversations are quiet as the anticipation of what is to come builds. Nervous whispers spread, guessing at what we'll do next. But how could anyone really know?

Juilliard holds his sword at his hip, keeping it from jostling out of the belt that keeps it propped on his side. Hedda, Sloane, Finnegan and Marcello all stand ready, giving us tense smiles as we follow them. Sloane's axe pats against her leg. Still, I can't quite picture her using it. She's much too sophisticated. Shouldn't her specialty be poison or something? Not as if that would help us during the Games.

Straightening his tie, the announcer looks all of us over. "I see no one has taken the temptations from yesterday evening? This is your last chance. Anyone?" His voice carries across the room. No one moves. His eyes tick to me. "Not even you?"

"Especially not me." I cross my arms over my chest, ignoring how uncomfortable it makes my side feel. Many pairs of eyes land on me. All of them expect me to, especially after what happened with Davison. All the more reason that I can't give up.

"Fair enough." Muscles in his jaw cord. He motions to the door. "When the gate rises, each team will find their positions on their own platform. I'll explain the event further once everyone has taken their places. Good luck teams!" He snaps his fingers and the gate starts to rise.

Streaming like a river, we ebb and flow into the narrow walkway, bumping shoulders and averting gazes as we're met with the sounds of the waiting, cheering crowd. Every step matches the rhythm of my heartbeat. Something changes in the atmosphere as we get ready for battle. Because that's exactly what this is. War.

I hold my chin high while walking by the announcer. He watches me disappear into the long dark tunnel. His stare lingers between my shoulders. It's not his waiting glare that I'm looking for, though. It's not him that I actively care to search out when I emerge on the other side.

The golden platform hums as it rises to its position next to the king. I find King Caspar and smile. A brilliant snarky smile that takes up the entirety of my face, showing off every single one of my very Human teeth. King Caspar leans forward in his seat, his hands sprawled and curled over the edge of his throne. His eyes are searching. Searching until they find me. When he sees me he smiles back and curls into his seat. His large hands fold over his lap. And if that means anything, I don't have any fucking clue what. So I turn forward to today's event.

Floating cameras bob along with us as each team moves to a flight of stairs that lead up. The arena, practically never-ending in the rows of spectators, is set up for today with five checkered platforms made of six alternating black and white squares. Across from the platforms, three impossibly small hoops are set in a line at a great distance.

I take the steps carefully, watching as the gap between us and the ground becomes greater and greater. Hedda's steps behind me are loud as she lifts her hefty weight up the flight of stairs, her breath already rough in her chest.

Marcello and Juilliard at the lead make room for us. Sloane and Finnegan sweep up the back as we gather on the already far too small platform. Each of us takes up our own tile and the one tile left collects a small pile of pointed oversized throwing darts.

I check the space between our platform and the hoops. My heart sinks. And I know exactly why King Caspar looked so smug today. Yet again, we have a challenge that isn't made for a Human to win, and he knows it.

Around me, my teammates all seem calm. On the outside I probably look calm too. Marcello and Juilliard stand proudly at the front, letting the crowd cheer for them. One of them could be the prince, but the crowd doesn't know them like I do. They're betting on the wrong men. Hedda plants her hands on her