Vanquish (The Prince's Games Book 2) by Rebecca Grey

Author:Rebecca Grey [Grey, Rebecca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-04-08T16:00:00+00:00

Morning comes even after I've laid in my bed all night trying to will it away. Sunlight creeps across the floors as the sun rises through my parted curtains. Marcello isn't with me any longer and when he kissed me goodnight it was as if we may never kiss again. It's possible we won't.

Since staying in the castle, I've gotten used to the perfect cushion of the mattress and the warmth the thick blankets provide. It makes my experience in The Bend feel drastically more pathetic. I don't miss the flimsy bed and threadbare blanket. I don't miss how moisture always snuck into the room at night making everything damp. The crumbling building I'd called home is nothing in comparison to this place, this castle. Here I'm well fed. Here I sleep without fear. No one can touch me, I'm the prince's teammate—and that matters more than the fact that I am a living being.

Still, there are things that I do miss. The regular routine of my days. The jobs I took that allowed me to slip in and out undetected in the unruly chaos that are the businesses downtown. I even miss the joyous freedom the kids had that ran about our block. I miss how no one in The Bend pretends to be anything other than what they are. Sure, there are secrets to be kept and business deals to be made but everyone knows who exactly they should fear.

In the castle there seem to be more secrets than sense. Or perhaps that's just my experience. One thing is certain, no one is actually who they say they are. No one. It's horrifying to think about really and it's thoughts like that which keep me tossing and turning under the covers.

The lock on my door clicks, the hinges whistling as it opens to reveal the two guards with the ugly mugs I can no longer stand to look at any longer. I sit up to glare at them.

"It's just you two." I roll my eyes.

"Don't sound so excited to see us." The one who had taken me to Marcello the night I'd found him drunk—Saints that feels like centuries ago not just days—walks forward and holds out a large white box. "This was dropped off for you from Prince Jefferson. He's advised us that you'll need to be ready within the hour."

I wave a hand at him, snag the blankets, and tug them up over my head with a muffled groan. Something light bounces off my back and hits the bed. The heavy stomp of boots recedes toward the door.

"Dia will be in with breakfast," he says, locking me back in.

And that's it. No wishes of good luck on my upcoming challenge. No clues or context to what I might see when I finally get there. Not. A. Thing.

"Happy Games Day, Nilsa. Good luck in the event, Nilsa. You got this, Nilsa. Don't worry, you're too good to die today, Nilsa," I say to myself mocking my thoughts. Flinging the blankets away, I sit back up.

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