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

sure. Metal groans against metal, the large doors to the arena rising. The dark hallway awaits with no announcer to explain what sort of event we're headed in to. They gave us nothing. They took everything.

Conversations fall stagnant. Hands brush against weapons. No one dares to move or breathe or turn their attention from the soul crushing feeling of impending doom that lingers just beyond that weathered metal-frame door.

"Let's hear it for our teams as we enter the third event!" The voice of the announcer and the ring of the crowd carries down the long hall between us and them. And that's what it suddenly feels like. There's us... the competitors on one side of the wall waiting to fight and entertain. Then there is them... the crowd cheering for us all to die.

Mavi's team takes the lead, charging forward into the arena. Fearless because they don't care. They can lose Rake and still feel content with their team. One less member to split the monetary prize with.

Sloane and Finnegan seem the most indifferent out of our group. Still, I know that if they're willing to fight for me... for the lowly Human... they'll fight twice as hard for Marcello, the fearless leader of our team. The start of the event pulls us all forward in a nearly mechanical march.

He's different.

In a good way.

Those stupid words chase each other in circles inside of my mind. Those fucking stupid words give me the slightest sliver of hope that maybe if I chose to spare Marcello's life everything would work out in the end. If I win the Games, would I really need the bounty on Marcello's head? I can still kill the king and the prince to help The Bend rise up into power. I can still come into power.

Maybe I feel like I'm different now too. Though if it's in a good way or not is still up for debate.

I look down at Hedda as the Safe Haven fades behind us. So much has changed and I haven't even noticed it. Like my relationship with Hedda. We're...friends. Or at least I think we are.

But the bigger more obvious change.... is that I don't hate all Hybrids. Sloane... Finnegan... Hedda... they'd fight for me. They've shown that. Even Juilliard is more tolerable now than ever before. We might not like each other, but our tolerance has grown. Is this all Marcello's doing? With his small acts of kindness and his flirty remarks?

The hate I give was learned by the hate I received. My team doesn't hate me. They need me.

"Teams, please find your way to your assigned positions."

A bright spotlight ignites as we step into the large arena. The bright light momentarily blinds me, leaving the layout of the arena a mystery. With each event we walk into the unknown, hardly prepared, hardly certain we'll live through the day. Today is no different except, for once, I'm not nervous just for myself.

My eyes don't seek out the throne. My body is too riddled with tension to do anything but take a step forward, and then another and another. The drone of a lowering camera whizzes by me. It slows as it passes by, hovering in the air. Without a gesture to offer it or the king, it flies away.

The farther we walk into the arena the more Juilliard forces himself not to limp, to hide the way his injury from the day before has still not totally healed. A Hybrid, especially an Elf, won't lose face in front of the king, not with a crowd. Especially so close to the end.

Five signs, beaten into the dirt, wait for us. Spotlights remain the only things making the team names scribbled in dripping red paint across the wooden boards visible. Windsor. I see my name. I see our name. And nothing else. Five signs, but no waiting teammates. There's no snarling beasts or platforms meant to fall from the sky, nor is there an obstacle for us to make our way through. There's nothing. Somehow that makes this even more terrifying.

The eyes of thousands of Hybrids stare down at the expanse of dirt and rock and the competitors who remain, making the scorching heat of the spotlights above burn like fire on my skin. My attention scans the crowd, moving up and past them. I squint into the lights, looking for any sign of the missing teammates.

Nothing. No one.

I stop when Juilliard does. The rest of our team, feeling much smaller without loud mouthed Marcello, gathers around the sign. The spectators go quiet as a slow melancholy lullaby begins to play. I'm not the only one that shuffles about at the eerie sound, looking for a band that does not exist. The music greets my ears as if it's played a foot before me. Goosebumps form up my arms under the long sleeve top that keeps me covered.

The golden platform where the announcer always waits is empty, but his voice booms out all around us, echoing off the walls. "Challengers, meet your next task!"

With an audible groan the wall between this room and the ballroom rises. It feels like years, not days since I've seen that massive room. The Nilsa that had turned away from Davison and instead chose to hide with Marcello feels like a different person now. Maybe I'm not so different though. I chose Marcello then, and I keep choosing Marcello now. Even when I try not to… I do.

The music picks up the base of the sound thrumming through the open space, the heartbeat of the beast that is The Oasis Games. Five figures shadowed in the lights that burst out from behind them start forward for us. Another row of five behind them and another after that.

Royal guards in their red uniforms escort three wobbling figures across the dirt. Stumbling feet, bound hands, wide shoulders,