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

It travels up over the rows of shouting creatures only stopping when it gets to a ledge that's empty except for two pointy eared Elves sitting on their oversized thrones. I turn to get a better look, my hand wrapping around Marcello's thick forearm to hold me steady as I walk backward.

King Caspar and his queen look down upon the group with little excitement, a picture of royal composure and calculated curiosity. The king's eyes search through the crowd, only stopping here or there on faces he may or may not recognize. He doesn't hint at a smile. His keen cruel gaze stops for a moment on me. Or at least, I think it's me, it's so hard to tell from the height at which he sits.

Most of the other players in the Games are smiling out to the crowd. Not me. No, I watch King Caspar, knowing that when this is all over I'll still only be successful when his heart is held inside my hand. Thick blonde dreadlocks hang around his face. When he moves to murmur to his wife, his hair catches ever so slightly against the scruff of his beard. I look to the queen. Her long oval face is made pointed by a sleek ponytail of blue-black hair. Her eyes, as narrow as her lips, watching only the king with some sort of innocent adoration.

Marcello moves, pulling his arm out of my grip. His hands find my shoulders as he spins me about. "Don't stare, it's rude."

"Do you think I give a rat’s ass if I appear rude? It's rude how they’ve forgotten about everyone on the other side of the wall." I don't bother to keep my voice quiet, I speak as if it's just Marcello and I. That alone earns me more than one angry glance.

This arena is more than the size of my entire apartment building. When I peer up to the seats that stretch on with impossible height, it puts my one frail Human body in perspective compared to the size of my surroundings. Hybrids in the crowd are still hollering, their bodies shaking in their expensive clothes with their rouge colored lips and perfectly placed hair. And tonight, I look like one of them. Will that grant me any favors? Doubtful.

Each team finds their own spot to huddle. Dirt clings to my heels and the hem of my dress. Many try to dust away the filth. I think I'll let mine stay. Large white lights hang from the ceiling far above casting down beams that spotlight each of our groups. I squint as the brilliant glow falls over my shoulders and casts my shadow behind me.

The announcer’s voice comes over the speaker once again, bringing a hush to the crowd and my fellow competitors. I can feel Juilliard shift to watch the man speak next to me but I keep my attention zeroed in on all the gazes that press against my skin like hot coals. Sweat builds under my hair at the base of my neck and I know my palms have gone clammy. My daggers are hot against my skin under the long length of the skirt. They are my only small reassurance.

"Betting will begin with the first row and make its way all the way through the last. We ask that you do not touch the competitors but you may get as close as you need otherwise. You may speak to the competitors and we do ask that competitors you speak back if prompted. All bets can be reported to your row’s teller. And may Luck be on your side tonight. Open the gates!"

Like a wave, the first row rises to their feet. Hybrids seep out of the seating and down slender metal staircases onto the soil covered floor with us. My hand twitches and both Juilliard and Marcello step beside me. Sloane and Finnegan giggle, as if this is the most amusing thing that's ever happened to them. Hedda is no doubt looking around, totally dumbfounded by it all.

"Don't reach for that knife," Juilliard tisks.

"I'm not." I swallow, then add, "yet." The incoming onlookers grow closer and the words the announcer has spoken up to this point repeat inside of my head again and again. "They're going to bet on us?"

"It's half the fun of the Games," Juilliard says.

"There is no way in hell I can stand here and be subjected to this." I whip my head to the side to look at Marcello.

He rolls his eyes and gives me a smirk. "This is what you've signed up for, love. This is how you get your chance at crossing that wall."

"Fuck me," I say through clenched teeth and I point my face to the ground.

"Gladly. All you have to do is ask." Marcello runs a hand through his hair before he straightens and clasps his hands in front of him.

"Disgusting," Juilliard sighs, but he too straightens as if this betting will help us along the way.

Maybe they know something that I don't. Hell, I didn't know I was going to have to stand here while Hybrids judged how quickly I'd die. I force myself to lift my chin, to pull my shoulders back. My hands still itch at my sides, my grip opening and closing without something to keep them busy. For a moment I balance them on my hips waiting to hear the worst, but I shift and settle with clasping my hands together behind my back.

Just as we are dressed in our impressive evening attire so are the Hybrids that circle us now. I stare into every pair of eyes that meets mine, but their faces remain a blur as they weave between our group.

"A Human," a woman gasps, leaning in to take a deep breath of my scent. "I thought they'd be extinct by now."

"And there's another Human just over there." Someone