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

the blade into her heart, watching her groan and a new puddle of blood drip from her fleshy lips.

All three of the Marcello's before me shuffle at the sound of her death. The potential for that to be one of them higher than it should be. I should have paid more attention. I should have.

"Team Riveria, Credence, please select your teammate."

Why couldn't Juilliard help more? What can't he say? My night with Jefferson comes rushing back. Not the way he fucked me, no. but what he'd said before. The Elves are all spellbound in one way or another. We couldn't tell you who the prince is even if we wanted to. Could Marcello be the prince? Did I discredit him too fast? It would explain why Juilliard could help so little. Why the words kept getting caught in his throat. Maybe whatever it was that he wanted to ask would have revealed too much.

No, no, no. I can't have fallen for the prince. It would ruin everything for me. I've come to The Oasis for the heart of the king. I've come to pull the beating organ right from his chest. I didn't come here to learn to love the heart of the prince.

The crowd lets out a breath in unison as Credence successfully unmasks Lux. Though it wouldn't have been so terrible if we lost her. I would have rather enjoyed that.

Now the question sits on the edge of my tongue with no way to ask it. No way to get the answer. Is Marcello really the prince? Would King Caspar have risked his heir in this game like that? Maybe. Maybe to help him prove that he'd picked a good team.

"Team Ashford, Jefferson please pick your teammate." Jefferson, with his black hair tied at the nape wastes no time in lifting a finger to point. He smiles easily as all three clowns in front of him grab for their masks in unison, pulling them away from their faces. Two of the bodies crumple to piles of ash, their masks clattering against the floor a couple times before they still in the piles of undone magic. Rake holds the mask in his hand, tossing it down to his hooded feet in an exaggerated sigh. The two men shake hands.

We're next. I'm next. Please, please, please. I pray up to the Saints. Please let me pick the right one. Unless he's the prince, then kill him now before I'm too attached. I fear I'm already too far gone for my own good, wrapped up in his 'good boy' charm and his damn hero complex. What a shame that if he has truly fallen, that he will have fallen for the villain of the story. I'm not good. I account for nearly half the bloodshed in The Bend itself.

"Team Windsor, Nilsa, please pick your teammate."

I don't have a redemption story. I'm not fighting to make the good better. That's what makes this all feel so suddenly terrible. The Oasis has its faults most certainly, faults that Marcello seems wildly aware of. Still, here I am under what feels like the brightest most terrible spotlight in all of the world and I know that if given the chance I'll dismantle what little good is in the world. Why should they have it all and I so little? And what of this tale that Marcello has spun me of Lily? Or his father dismissing him? If that were true then there's no way he could be the heir.

The weight of the world doesn't feel so suffocating with Marcello. Marcello is a promise, whether he knows it or not. He's a promise of reformation to take the good and make it better. To make the bad in this world better. And if he fixes it as he truly believes he can...then why should I tear it all down?

He has to live through this for that. I have to pick.

I have to pick correctly.

My hand remains in a fist as I raise my arm. I leave it hovering there between the two figures. Sweat runs down the back of my neck, creating a trail down my spine. The last version of Marcello, Hedda thinks... but what does she know? Even Julliard, Marcello's best friend, is uncertain. First he chose the last like Hedda, but a moment before the horn blared he'd changed the answer to the second.

It's not the mannerisms that are clearly identical that makes this so tricky, it's the way that even the clones of Marcello himself know so much about him. How would they know about Lily? How many people has he told this tale of woe? Am I just one in many? Don't think about that. Not now.

I can't help but think back on one thing that has been said tonight. The one thing that makes me think I know which one it might actually be. "I hate you every day. But I love you again by the time I fall asleep at night." There is no way, no fathomable realty where Marcello Torres loves me... Nilsa Windsor, the Ghost. The smallest, most hopeful, and idiot part of my brain sparkles at the idea. But what if he does? The announcer himself said that while spellbound they can tell no lie.

And there I go running away with my thoughts again. This very admittance is the one thing that will save his life. Marcello does not love me. Marcello is merely attracted to me. Attracted to my wit, which if I do say so myself is likely the only good thing I have to offer. Other than my ability to sneak around without notice, to climb impossible walls, and to effectively yield a dagger, okay so there are many great qualities, but none of which make me an eligible bride.

"Team Windsor, Nilsa, you must pick." The announcer repeats.

How long have I stood here