Vengeance (The Prince's Games Book 1)

by Rebecca Grey

  "Lux, female, Elf. Alastar, male, Dwarf. Amory, female, Orcs. Credence, male, Elf. Rumi, female, Orc. Bullie, female, Vampire."

  There is more cheering and far away clapping. I can feel my body sway where I stand. I look down at my bare hands. What can I do with these that will make a difference? My heart skips a beat. I swallow. Am I the sacrificial lamb? No. I refuse.

  The announcer takes a deep breath. "Team Ashford! Mavi, male, Elf." That name catches my attention, yanking me out of the heart pounding worry. Mavi takes a large step forward, smiling ear to ear as he gives a shallow bow. When he stands, he waves again. The fine attire of yesterday evening has long been replaced with his own thickly armored clothing. To me, he still looks like a cocky asshole parading as a warrior.

  I steal a glance at Marcello. His hands are clasped in front of him but the muscles in his forearms are tensed, his knuckles white, and his jaw is set so harshly that if I try, I might be able to hear his teeth slowly grinding inside his mouth. Marcello, he looks like a warrior. Perhaps he'd been a guardsman in the castle, or part of the king’s army?

  "Davison, male, Human." Davison steps around Mavi, giving him a wide berth. A red blush is creeping up his neck and onto his cheeks. Nothing about him is as boisterous as Mavi when he gives a bow and waves gingerly. The crowd continues to cheer, but their exuberance wanes.

  "Rake, male, Satyr." Rake steps up, his two curling horns glistening under the lights that shine down on us. If I wasn't already aware of how much of an asshat he really is, I might be inclined to be impressed by the amount of muscle stacked on top of those large hairy legs of his. He's traded his suit for a dark brown loincloth that nearly blends in with the thick brown hair on his legs. His hooves leave crescent shapes in the dirt underneath him.

  My attention starts to dwindle again. This time I can't even focus on the Criosphinx. This time I stare down at the dirt.

  "Calik, male, Vampire. Dakota, male, Werewolf. Jefferson, male, Elf."

  The crowd is wild for Mavi’s team, Team Ashford. All males, no females on this one. The only team of its kind. I can tell the bets on this team winning are high. Does that mean that everyone believes the prince to be on that team? Mavi certainly has the arrogance I'd expect, but not nearly the amount of charm needed. Then there's the other Elf, Jefferson. I look up at him and his ramrod straight posture. Jet black hair is slicked back from his face. His square jaw and large hunched nose look as though he's been offered a punch or two in his life. I glance up at the king. No resemblance. Though I don't think Mavi looks much like him either.

  "Team Windsor!" The announcer shouts and it rings in my ears for seconds following. My eyes open wide and my body becomes hot, then cold all at once. Team Windsor? I expected Team Torres not... not my name.

  "Marcello!" I snap.

  He smiles giving me a view of every single one of his teeth. There’s a sparkle of something dancing in his eyes as he looks at me, raising his hand to wave at the crowd with the rest of our team and says, "I just love a good surprise."

  "Why my name?" I whisper.

  "Don't make a scene, love." He shushes me with a wink, the announcer simultaneously calls out, "Marcello, male, Elf." And Marcello answers by stepping out of our group. He holds himself with the easy confidence I've known him for, grinning and waving like a Saints damned princess. I watch while his brown hair dips as he lowers into a bow before stepping back to my side. The crowd roars, jumping in a rhythmic beat to their cheers.

  "Couldn't you have used Juilliard's last name?" I say immediately when he is next to me again. "This is embarrassing. No one even likes me. I don't want these fuckers knowing anything more about me than they have to." What is Juilliard's last name?

  "Finnegan, male, Vampire."

  Marcello keeps his gaze forward but tilts his head toward me, talking out the side of his mouth. "Just easier to give them a name that no one would know."

  Is that supposed to make me feel better? My forehead creases with the painful ways I draw my brows together in annoyance.

  "Sloane, female, Vampire." The announcer shouts.

  Finnegan takes Sloane's hand in his, offering her his spot and spinning her dramatically. His arms pan down the length of her body offering her to the crowd like she's the prize to be won. The way he looks at her, the softness that is held in his gaze that he only offers his wife, makes it easy to believe him. Finnegan truly thinks his wife is the best reward he could ever win. He kneels down on one knee, kissing the back of her hand as she gives him half a grin before she waves gently to the crowd. Do they know who they are?

  I look at the king. His face is turned, giving me the view of his sharp profile and cutting jaw line as he whispers to the man next to him. He isn't even paying attention, I realize. This is nothing to him. Just some entertainment before his son is set to win. Does the prince, whoever he is, know what events will take place? Has he been trained specifically for them?

  "Nilsa, female, Human."

  My feet don't move at the sound of my name. My body is anchored to the spot I stand. Marcello blows out a long breath, he puts his hand between my shoulders and gives me a nudge forward. The toe of my boots drags in the dirt, but I move. Many in the crowd stop cheering as they watch me with smirks on their faces. I try to meet every single one of their eyes.

  Slowly, I raise one hand for an exaggerated wave. My mouth falls to a flat line. Cold air snakes into my sleeve, the scabs from yesterday’s bite are still visible. For the bow, the bow I'm supposed to give these horrible creatures, I turn to face the king. He isn't talking to the attendant any longer, his caramel gaze is fixed on me. The corner of his lips twitches up as he stares back. With a squeak, my boots touch as I lower into the slightest curtsey I can give. When I stand tall again, I greet him with my best eat-shit grin and an obscene gesture that sends a murmur of whispers across the crowd. If this was any other day... I'd be dead.

  King Caspar's mouth finally parts in a real, genuine smile. Maybe he knows I'm going to die today. Or maybe he knows that one day I'll come for him, and we can settle this between us then.

  The announcer coughs, choking on his next words. "Hedda, female, Orc."

  I slip back with my team, feeling the warmth around their bodies, still holding the king's gaze until Marcello bounces on his toes, hands clasped behind his back. "You have a death wish."

  "So does the king," I sing back.

  "What makes you think you could even get near enough to touch him?" Juilliard leans around Marcello, his lips puckered.

  "What makes you think I won't kill anyone in my path?"

  Both Elves roll their eyes but smile, amused by my statement. They're always underestimating me. Always assuming I can't do what I say I can.

  "Juilliard, male, Elf." Juilliard's leathers are brown, thick with the same sort of armored like material Marcello wears under the thick vest he dons. The straps that would normally hold daggers and the belt at his waist where he'd kept his long sword in are all empty, making him somehow look smaller than he is. Like every other Elf male, he moves with a fluid grace and an arrogance that can't be backed up.

  To my right, the last team waits. One last round of names and pathetic introductions. They'll forget our names as we pass away in their events. As if reminding us that the beast still waits, the Criosphinx at our entrance howls. The audience dances with excitement. I look from our beast to the others. The others snarl and drool but remain much more... docile than ours. The king’s way of ensuring I die quickly? Giving us a more rabid monster to deal with bare handed?

  "Team Cuttington! Bekke, female, Elf."

  I ignore their introductions, instead, tilting into Marcello. "Do you see what I see?"

  "Isla, female, Vampire."

  Marcello stands still but nods curtly. "The king will not make this easy on us." His silver eyes slide to me, adding, "on you."

  "Orchid, female, Vampire."

  "And how do you think we are going to get by it?" I push.

  "Would you l
ike to jump on its back and break its neck, or shall I?"

  "Winona, female, Dryad."

  Juilliard chuckles lightly. "Are you the only two who are allowed to get all the glory?"

  "Sorry," I laugh, "Would you like to be the one potentially bucked off it's back and paralyzed?"

  "It's called a tuck and roll, Nils."

  The announcer’s drawl continues. "Noor, female, Werewolf."

  "By all means, let Juilliard volunteer." I shrug.

  "No, no, don't let me be the reason you can't show off. I'd love to see you try and snap that thing’s neck. It's fucking thick. Can your thin Human arms even manage that?"

  Yes. I'm stronger than I look.

  "I'll do it." I grit my teeth. At least if I'm launching myself onto it's back then I know they aren't feeding me to the gnashing claws and teeth. I'd rather hold the horns.

  The last name is called. "Washington, male, Elf."

  The minute it takes for the crowd to die down and the announcer to speak again feels like an entire year. Their clapping and shouting die to a low rumble of stomping feet.

  "The first event will be the serpentine maze. Competitors will have to first get by the Criosphinx located at the entrance before them. Then they will need to find their way through the maze where other obstacles await. Competitors, please remember, when you make your way to the end of the maze you'll be escorted into your first Safe Haven and will have a moment to let the crowd know you've completed the first task."

  Wave at the camera, he means. As if any of us will have the energy to do so. But sure, we can smile and wave again.

  "Competitors, count yourself ready!" The microphone lowers and he brings a long white horn to his lips. A loud sound trumpets from the horn, signaling the start of the very first game.

  Under me, my new boots gain purchase in the loose gravel faster than my old pair would have. My head pounds so loudly, I can't tell if the crowd has erupted with applause or if they're deadly silent all around us. Sloane and Finnegan move faster than the others, darting in front of us at blinding speeds.

  "What’s the plan Marcello?" Sloane screams as she passes.

  "Distract the beast, while Nilsa climbs it's back." He responds and Juilliard lets out a belting laugh beside him.

  "Can't wait to watch this!" Juilliard pokes fun.

  “Are you sure?” Finnegan yells even though he doesn’t slow.

  “Are you sure?” Marcello repeats the question to me.

  I’m sure I don’t want to be fed to its teeth and claws. I’m sure that I want some control in what I do and don’t do. I’m sure that I want to prove myself and all of humanity worthy of these fucking Games. I nod.

  Hedda keeps pace with me easily while I can tell that both Marcello and Juilliard are forcing themselves to move slower, only for my benefit. Neither Sloane or Finnegan wait for us to catch up as they start to taunt the growling monster ahead.

  Chains scrape against the ground, its large hairy knuckles slashing out with sharpened nails. We edge as close as we are willing and the Criosphinx puffs its chest, moving in a large arching circle to rumble a fierce snarl. Droplets of hot saliva splatter against my pant legs, soaking through to my skin.

  Finnegan rushes forward, throwing a punch into the animal’s ribs, moving in a flash back outside of its reach. The Criosphinx whips around, making the closest chain taunt me. I grab a hold of Juilliard's shoulder, yelling over the animal’s roar that blows back Sloane’s ponytail.

  "Hoist me up!"

  Juilliard shakes his head but interlocks his finger and crouches. "You want me to toss you onto it's back?"

  A shriek cuts the air. Not the sound of an injury, but the sound of death. Red rains down, beads of blood dot against my face, against Juilliard, and the ground. My attention snaps to Finnegan and Sloane who ignore the sound and keep darting in and out of the creature’s reach, trying to tire it with every slashing fist.

  Juilliard breathes in my ear. "Bloody hell Nilsa, don't look."

  It's too late for that. My eyes land on the Criosphinx two entrances down where Mavi’s team is skittering behind the animal and into the green maze. Between its teeth, between its two front paws, it turns Davison to pulp, shaking its head wildly like a dog with a toy. The motion sends a new wave of blood over the arena. Even with a whole team between us, the blood splatter of the only other Human in the Games still reaches us where we stand.

  "Nilsa!" Marcello grabs my chin and pulls my vision away. My eyes are wide, every ounce of blood rushing out of my face. How easily this monster could turn me into a bag of bones. "You got this?"

  "Yes," I rasp. Davison's fate is not my own. Davison's fate is not my own. I repeat the thought again and again, turning to look at Juilliard with a nod. Had Davison known he was meant to be the sacrifice? Did he care? "Toss me."

  My weight presses against his fingers. His hold dips before he grinds out a grunt and throws his arms up toward the monster. I push off his interlaced fingers, stretching in the air. His momentum carries through my entire body, making me weightless—until I'm not. Air is pushed from my lungs and my hands scramble against surprisingly silky fur as I smack against the creature’s back.

  It lifts its head, trying to reach where I slink up its back. Every inhale and exhale presses its ribcage against my thighs. With its horns within reach, I dig my heel into its side to gain some sort of footing to push myself forward. Hurriedly, I wrap my fingers around each curve.

  "Atta girl!!" Marcello screams. "Break its neck!!"

  My teeth grate against each other. Sweat gathers along my forehead. I yank, forcing its head to the side. But the animal fights me.

  "Fuck!" I scream, putting all my strength into the movement, even as the animal bucks, trying to toss me from its back. It pulls its head in the opposite direction I try to force it. Oh no, no, no, no. Realization hits far too late. "I can’t, it’s too strong!" I holler.

  "I'm coming." Marcello moves to Juilliard.

  "No! You don't have to." Juilliard waves him off. "Look!"

  I can't follow the point of his finger, but I know Hedda stands in that general direction, disappearing where my vision does not reach. Did Hedda just enter the maze?

  "Nilsa. Keep doing what you're doing. We can sneak in around it while it's distracted," Marcello calls, already heading behind the animal.

  Hard muscle and bone smack against my body. My hands hold tightly, but every roll of the feline body below bruises me all the way down to my knees. Hair is already coming loose from the braid I'd worked it back into, my head thrown in wild circles of whiplash.

  "Don't you leave me up here, Torres!" All I have to cling to, other than the horns that are quickly becoming coated in the perspiration from my hands, is the trust between him and I. It doesn't feel strong enough. In fact, I'm certain it's not, and I'll have to find my own way down from this animal.

  "We go in alive together, I'm going to make sure we all come out alive too!" He shouts, but he's already over the long chains and sprinting into the long hall of the maze. In a moment's notice, my heart seems to drop from my chest.

  He won’t leave me. He won’t leave me. I try to convince myself.

  My neck aches from the stark angle to which I twist to see them, while also being tossed about like a rag doll. I curl my leg up into my torso, holding onto the horns with just my upper body where my strength is starting to dissolve, only narrowly avoiding the sharp canines that nip at where my leg had been. I don't have long. I can't hold this position forever.

  "Nils, slide down its back and run!" Juilliard shouts.

  "That's not a fucking plan you jackass!" I half scream half cry the words. I can't die ten minutes into the game. I can't give fucking King Caspar the satisfaction of winning any money on me whatsoever. There is a buzzing in my ears or maybe that's just the screaming of the spectators.

  "I'm going to distract it. But move fast, because I'll be pissed if I get bitten this early in the game." Marcello darts to one of the chains behind
the beast without waiting for me to confirm the proposal. I hardly even hear the plan he presents around the shrieks coming from every direction. He pulls the chain. Hard. The Criosphinx stumbles to the side becoming aware of Marcello's presence, jerking me along with it.

  The moment its snapping jaws are no longer focused on me and its head is zeroed in on Marcello, no longer thrashing, I let go of its horns. My body arches around the curve of its spine until my feet hit the floor. I don't wait for it to realize what I've done before I'm sprinting toward my team.

  Hedda's eyes go wide and she holds out her hands, waving me forward. "Move faster!!" she yells.

  I will my legs to stretch farther, to complete every rotation of my steps quicker. I'm already moving as fast as my body can go. Hot breath fans against the back of my neck, a long line of drool dripping down the back of my shirt.

  Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.

  I'm only a hair’s length away before I know the chains will hold. Juilliard is gaping, his mouth opening and closing while he watches my life flash before his eyes. I push off the ground, lunging forward. A current of wind rushes by my feet. Gnashing fangs missing my toes by mere centimeters. Hedda hooks her arms under mine and pulls me back.

  "Marcello!" I call. "I thought you were going to distract the damn thing."

  "I tried!" He balances his hands on his hips watching the beast as it watches us. "Most of the other teams either sacrificed a team member or killed the thing. We're all in one piece. It's fine. This is fine." He repeats the last part, most likely trying to convince himself.

  Brushing the dirt that clings to me off, Hedda helps me to stand. "Humans move like Orcs. With rocks in our feet." At least she is learning something about the dying Human race, even if it is just that we don't run as fast as most of the Immortal bloodlines.

  With the monster at our back, my gaze bounces from one face to the other. Mildly dirty or a tad bit scuffed, but otherwise everyone is fine. The blood that's splattered over us is Davison's, and already dried. It takes a minute, while air pillages my chest, before I notice the swirl of movement and the hissing I've mistaken for the crowd.