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Despite the king insisting that the killing of fellow Elites in the arena is frowned upon, it’s no secret that Death itself is a contestant in the Trials. Dying teenagers apparently make things exceptionally more entertaining, and if the Elites won’t do the killing, the king will pull the strings in the arena.
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He offers me a nod. “I look forward to seeing you at dinner, Paedyn.” I blink at him. “Strange,” I say slowly. “I don’t remember telling you my name.” “Oh, you didn’t need to.” That crooked grin is teasing his lips once again. “I make it my business to know all the pretty girls who save my little brother.”
Oh, but she’s no longer standing there stunned, still, and silent. In one swift movement, she grabs my wrist from under her chin and twists it outward with a jerk, sending a shooting pain up my arm. Then she’s gripping my shirt and shoving me against the wall. Her free hand finds the dagger strapped to my hip and slips it out, settling the sharp blade against my throat.
This time tomorrow, we’ll be showing off to the Kingdom of Ilya while trying to win their favor. From the little I’ve learned from Ellie, the interviews are how the people choose who they want to support in the Trials. It’s a time for the Elites to display their strength, talk themselves up, and try to earn the people’s votes.
“Thank you for walking with me.” I pause to give him a small smile over my shoulder. “Now I can say I’ve been escorted by the future king.” I’m stepping through the doorframe when words leave him in a rush. “Yes, and if you’ll let me, I’ll do it again.” I spin around, finding him suddenly right behind me. “What?” His face splits into a smile that seems almost too shy to be worn by a royal. “Miss Gray, will you be my partner to the balls?”
“Promise me you’ll stay alive long enough to stab me in the back?” I laugh loudly. “That’s been my goal all along, Prince.”
He holds my gaze, looking so hurt, so horrified, so full of hatred. His eyes are so cold that I nearly shiver under his stare. The boy glaring down at me is devoid of every bit of warmth, every bit of charm I’ve come to know. He is cold. He is callous. He is like this because of me. He is his father.

