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

Other teams walk up and down the row of three, examining the players as if they can find some physical attribute to give it all away. They rattle questions, but all we can see is the way their lips move, the sound doesn't carry over the terrifying trumpet of music.

Panic clots inside of my throat. Time is ticking away and we have a fifty-fifty shot at saving his life or losing him.

"You told me to forgive and forget." The first clown straightens.

Juilliard and I don't bother to give that one a glance. Not when we're staring down the last two clowns. Hedda paces behind us, wearing a path into the gravel.

The second sighs. "You called me a masochist."

We shift our gaze to the third. "You told me to stop loving people who will never love me back."

"Well?" I shift to Juilliard.

"...both are true..." He lowers his gaze to his feet.

"Saints, Juilliard."

"Players. You have one minute remaining until you must make your selection."

A thousand questions come rushing to mind, too fast for me to grab a hold of a single one to ask. All of them are plain and unhelpful. I grip my dagger tightly into my hand. The cross on the hilt bites into my skin.

Words tumble from me. Words meant to be spoken only on someone's deathbed. Only on Marcello's deathbed. Because if he's going to die, I can't let it be without me getting it all out first. I can't let it be just like Arron’s death where he slowly wasted away and I never told him how much he meant to me, how much he helped me, or how he made me better. That shame has eaten me away, every moment of every day. I can't survive another decade with the weight of a new shame on my shoulders.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry Marcello. I'm sorry about what I said about Lily. I'm sorry you have a shitty father. I'm sorry that I'm such a bitch all the time. I'm sorry I fucked your brother. I'm sorry I didn't tell you that I feel it too. I'm scared. If you're using me as a pawn in this game and nothing more, then the more I feel the stupider I am. Thank you for caring enough to get me here. Thank you for not leaving me in the fucking Bend when you realized I was Human. Thank you for getting me out of that stupid party I didn't want to attend. Thank you for catching me. Thank you." I repeat again. "I'm sorry I was too stubborn to say it sooner."

The first clown chuckles. The music is so loud I can hardly hear his response when he speaks. "It's about time you said all that."

"Is this your attempt at killing me before they do? I'm afraid that it's working." The second shakes his head. "Are you telling the truth?"

I stare wide eyed, unable to answer as the crowd begins to count down the final seconds. The third clown leans forward. "I've already forgiven you." Is all he says.

Gravel skitters around me as I spin back to my team. "Which one? Which one?"

"Ten, Nine, Eight..."

"I think the last one." Hedda nods. "Sounds like him."

They all sound like him.

"It could be either of them. They both speak so damn near the truth. The last one? I don't know. The second?"

The horn blows. The music screeches to a stop. Even the crowd is silent, waiting to see who will live and who will die. Marcello's fate is in my hands. Why couldn't it have been me behind that mask? Why couldn't it be me?

Armor brushes against armor as the guards step forward, away from the three male figures before me. They move quickly, ushering the rest of my team back against the wall. Juilliard opens his mouth to speak but the guard’s hand strikes his face, sending spit flying into the dirt. Juilliard glares at the guard, backing away with everyone else.

"We'll start with team one. Team Marcrux, Thomos, please select your teammate."

Even from this distance I can hear Thomos cursing. So much weighs on this choice. And as the announcer had said earlier, we need as many players as we can get for the final event. That's probably where Thomos' stress stems from. My stress comes from the thought of losing Marcello. As much as I want to hate him, he's grown on me and I can't handle losing anyone else.

I don't watch the large muscular Orc step forward and point. My attention shifts between the second masked Marcello and the third. Which one is it? Which one are you?

A wicked scream erupts, drowned out only by the gasps and cheers of the crowd. Death, their entertainment has made its first appearance. Only then do I dare to look.

Two masks sit in a heap of dust. One mask, belonging to the Hybrid that Thomos did not claim, is stuck to Danisha's flickering hand. Her hair sparks like lightning as she cries and falls to her knees. The muscles in her face are visible under the flesh that stretches in long bloody strings between her body and the mask. Crimson stains her clothing, her blood pouring out of her face.

Thomos is pale, rightfully so. But he nods to his mistake and walks back to the rest of his group. He doesn't look back as the Dryad falls to the ground completely. Skin lays like wet noodles from her high cheekbones to where the mask finally falls as it slips from her fingers. Her screaming turns to a whimper.

With heavy stomping boots a guard leaves Team Marcrux and stops at the girl’s trembling body. His sword glimmers in the spotlight as he yanks it from his belt. "Team Marcrux, you did not select the correct player." Then he sinks