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

with each swell. Every time I hear the crashing of the waves, all I can think about is Balander's body washing up on the rocks below the docks.

It'd be a miracle if no one else saw us. If we ever return to The Bend, I don’t doubt that someone will recognize the ship and hold us accountable for the lost life. I'm not sure why they bother. They don't uphold any other laws. No one cares. But they always try.

Marcello finally strips himself of that god-awful coat, leaving it hanging on the back of the chair pushed up to the desk. He runs his fingers over the waiting papers, many of which look like ledgers. Is he prepared to take over the entire business? Or is this simply his method to get us to the games?

"Next stop is Kaprisha," he tisks.

I've heard that name. "The pirate island?"

I've never heard anything good about the place, though. Like I've never heard anything good about Elven pirates. Nothing that exists in or around The Bend is good. But a place just for the pirates to stop for whatever sort of rowdy fun they enjoy... that has to be worse.

"Kaprisha isn't just 'the pirate island'. It's home to our next team member. We should be there by evening."

I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to remember the rules of the Games. I've never put much thought or research into the topic because I never imagined that I'd be entering. With my other hand I tug at the ribbons that hold my cloak to my neck. The bow quickly slips away and the fabric floats down to the floor behind my feet. I kick my cloak toward my trunk and sit on its edge.

"How many people can we have on our team?" I look up.

"Six."

I look around the room at Marcello and Juilliard. "So I'm looking at half of our team?"

"What a marvelous half at that."

Marcello's voice carries such a lovely tune that if I perhaps didn't have such a serious grudge against his kind I might actually like the sound of it. With a tone like that I bet the man can sing, too. Saints, I hope he isn't one for singing.

Shifting in my seat, I turn and point to Juilliard. "And what does he have to offer? Other than a compromised lung capacity?"

Juilliard gives me a mocking frown. "I'm glad to hear that you think so highly of me already. But you'll find that I'm a man of many talents... many skills that have proven to make me worthy of competing in The Oasis Games."

"What my friend here is trying to say is that he's a fucking genius." Marcello eases back into the conversation. "Though he might not look like it, he's wicked smart. Great with riddles and turn of phrases. Memory of an elephant, this man." He points at his friend. "Wins every card game he plays."

"Not all card games require skill. Not if you have Luck." Which these Elves seem to have in vast supply. If anything, maybe that's what will carry us through the games.

"You don't need Luck if you know how to count cards." Juilliard winks.

Such blasphemy. I both admire and despise it.

"How do you two know each other?" I ask, unable to contain the curiosity. "You’re both clearly from The Oasis. But maybe this one," I motion to Juilliard's spot on the bed. "has just cleaned up rather nicely, since he seems to know so much about The Bend."

"Tell me more, detective." Marcello props his head on top of his fist.

Sometimes, only if the mood strikes me, do I get the sudden burst of energy to tempt my fate in ways that I should know better than to do. The way Marcello watches me like I've become his very own fortune teller makes lightning crack underneath my skin. I stand. Each step I make toward him is silent, a feline grace that had taken me years to master.

I keep my fingernails long, nearly as sharp as my own knives. Pressing the tip of my pointer finger into his leather vest, I make a crease in the material. Marcello looks down at his torso with a half grin. I press a little harder at that.

"Your clothes," I start, "are expensive. You can't find leathers as fine as this in The Bend if you try. Even if you trade in the darkest part of the Merchant Market, you won't find anything so perfect."

"She thinks I'm perfect." Marcello smirks toward his friend, the supposed 'genius'.

"I said your clothes are perfect." I flick a golden buckle, making it ting against my nail. "Don't get it twisted." My gaze roams up over his wide shoulders, the muscles concealed but still apparent under the long sleeves, and eventually find myself staring into the never-ending pools of his eyes. My mouth goes dry, my tongue heavy and numb. I open my mouth to continue, but no words come out.

Marcello's smile grows wider. "Have I left you speechless, Nilsa Windsor?"

And just like that, whatever concoction of emotions was keeping my body hostage releases its hold. I grab his forearm, ignoring the way my skin tingles where it brushes his. "Your hands."

"What about them?" He leans closer, letting his breath fan against my cheeks. He smells of licorice and peppermint candies.

"Too smooth. No... scars." My attention flicks to his mouth. "Your attitude is too flippant." I drop his hand and take a step back. "I don't think you're charming enough to be the prince, but you seem educated enough. Obviously lacking in general street smarts." I tilt my head toward Juilliard. "Smartass over here must have studied up on The Bend before you ventured this way. I'd peg him as an Oasis Hybrid too. Friend of yours," I add "since you have so much chemistry yourselves."

Juilliard's