Vengeance (The Prince's Games Book 1) Rebecca Grey (first e reader txt) 📖

and a brightly colored clown mask. The row of five stops only feet ahead. The guards stand at attention. My eyes stay focused on the three people hidden behind the mocking masks.

That broad build, that grace of an Immortal, that fucking swaggering walk, I know them all. Juilliard knows it too as he takes in a sharp breath. Hedda knows as she inches closer to me, her head tilted at an angle as she measures each person up. Sloane and Finnegan stretch on their toes at the back of the group, looking around the three of us. The moment they realize what we have, they go still.

Marcello. Or not?

All three bodies, one and the same. From the tip of their toes to their wide shoulders, each figure is Marcello through and through. But it can't be. It's not. At my sides my hands begin to tremble, so I force them into fists. He's alive. At least he's alive.

At least I can atone for my sins. Apologize for my insensitive nature.

"Which one?" I whisper to Juilliard.

"That's the question, isn't it?" He stands taller.

In the likeness of Marcello the figures move in unison, all of them struggling against the bindings at their wrists. They shimmy, as if to say 'Me! It's me! Pick me!' But maybe it's none of them. Maybe that's part of the game.

Two guards walk their row of clowns, matching the missing players to each team across the arena. When they've found their positions, one fine shadowed figure emerges from the bright light of the ballroom.

"Each team has had a single player picked from their team by none other than King Caspar and Queen Aradel themselves. The chosen player was plucked from the Safe Haven in the middle of the night and is now hidden within the three standing before each team. They look alike, they act alike, but they do not talk the same. Your challenge today, teams, will be to figure out which player belongs to you. You may leave with or without this player should you choose incorrectly. You'll have twenty minutes to question them. At the end of the twenty minutes, the horn will blow and then you must make your selection."

I hope you've paid attention, Nilsa. Juilliard's words run through my mind again. Have I? Have I learned enough about Marcello to know anything about him? Juilliard's his best friend, shouldn't he be the one to figure this out?

"A second player has been chosen by King Caspar and Queen Aradel. This player will be the opponent to unmask their teammate after twenty minutes with team discussion. The players who must unmask are as follows: Team Marcrux, Thomos. Team Riveria, Credence. Team Ashford, Jefferson. Team Windsor, Nilsa. Team Cuttingham, Bekke."

My head snaps to the side. Juilliard doesn't move, not even as I shoot angry darts with my vision into his pale skin. That's not all I want to do. I want to stab him right in the neck. His eyes flutter closed and he shakes his head ever so slightly.

"How?" I seethe. "How did you know it would be me?"

"Because of course it would be you. You're not King Caspar's favorite and if you choose wrong... I'll hate you. I'll sacrifice you to the next fucking beast in the next event." The same commanding tone Juilliard took with me in the tent when I'd fucked up with Marcello creeps back into his tone. He means it. And I feel it all the way into my bones.

Choose wrong and I'll die too.

"At the sound of the first horn the questioning will begin. Trust me, you'll want as many teammates as you can for the final event. Your masked teammate can only speak the truth, but is bound to not answer certain questions. Good luck teams!" The announcer finishes, stepping into the golden elevator and riding it to watch the games from above.

The horn bleats over the sound of the music. My eyes still remain on Juilliard’s side and he slowly turns to me. Red stains the tip of his pointed ears.

"I'll pick whoever we decide as a team. So if I choose wrong it won't just be my fault." All emotion leaves my voice. It might be the team’s choice, but it's my hands that will decide his fate.

"Anyone have a personal question they'd like to ask?" Hedda laughs dryly. "Can we just ask which one is Marcello?"

"Why don't you give that a try?" I settle my hands against my hips.

Her hourglass form steps closer to the clown masks. Cherry red lips, large blue eyes with larger black eyelashes, blushing cheeks, pointed nose, and a toothless smile are painted against the white mask. It's bright against his sun kissed skin.

"Which one of you is Marcello?" The Orc stops.

"Me!" The first leans forward.

"No, me!" The second shouts.

"It's me!" The third says.

Every voice has the same smooth sound of Marcello's musical tone. A heaviness fills my stomach, threatening to drop from my body like a lead weight. They're all the same. And this is going to be so much harder than Hedda's yes or no question.

"They are all the same, physically." I start, wondering out loud. More magic. "But do they all have the same conscious knowledge?"

"Who's your favorite teammate?" Hedda smiles waiting for an answer.

"Hedda, we need deeper questions than that." Juilliard waves her off.

The clowns must answer, and they do.

"My best friend, obviously." The first sits back into one hip.

"Not you, Orc." The second chuckles.

"Sure as hell isn't the Human either." The third taunts. I narrow my eyes on that figure. The third sure as hell is ready to push my buttons. But the second had said as much about Hedda, so I don't have much evidence to support a cause on that one.

"For fucks sake," Juilliard almost snarls. "These questions