Page 100 of Remi's War (Four Dark Horsemen 2)

What is this game?

Then the third one pushes the blond and faces the pirate one, holding his own sword up. “No one touches the prince.”

“He betrayed his people,” the boy says, lifting his chin. “In this kingdom, it means death.”

The guard one replies, “Not while I’m alive.” And their swords clack as they fight one another, taking several steps backward and then forward, while the blond guy cheers them on.

Then he rushes to the blanket, picks up his own sword, and stands by the one playing the guard, threatening the pirate. “You will be the one to die today, pirate.” He motions at the house. “I shall win this war!” And with a war cry, I assume, he lunges after the pirate, each one of them moving their swords in different directions until the dark-haired boy falls on the ground and the two end up above him, everyone erupting in uncontrollable laughter.

In this moment, I wish I could have friends who played with me like this and enjoyed my company. I’d be less lonely in the nightmares and my head that consumes information but has no one to share it with.

My heart pangs painfully, and that’s when my eyes clash with the single blue one, so intense I want the ground to open up under me.

His friends frown and then shift their attention to me, all of them just staring at me as they get up and dust off their knees.

Nervousness washes over me. I play with the end of my shirt, painfully aware of how my washed out, slightly small clothes and scuffed shoes must stand out to them.

They are all wearing dark blue jeans, colorful T-shirts, and their shoes glisten in the sunlight, and even without much experience, I know they must be very expensive.

Rich kids on the playground who always had toys and ice cream would have looked bad compared to them. I’m probably trash by all standards to them.

My hands fist when they slowly start to walk to me, studying me with interest, and I mentally prepare to hear another rejection, and hopefully then I can hide in the car.

These boys, with all they have, don’t have to be kind.

And besides, people are never kind to me, even when they have to be.

“Hola,” the pirate one greets me, removing the patch and putting it in his pocket. “Quién eress tú?” I have no idea what he says, but I’m too afraid to admit anything. “Cuál es tu nombre?” He frowns at my silence and crosses his arms, growing frustrated with me. “Respóndeme!”

He must be Lucian’s son; he has his mother’s eyes.

Panic envelops me, tremors shaking me, as I don’t wish to anger their son. My parents would really kill me if my behavior cost them this job.

“Santiago, he doesn’t understand you.” The blond boy rolls his eyes and grins at me, which makes me tense even more. The last group of boys smiled while pouring orange juice over my head because I asked for a sip. Sometimes smiles are more hurtful than frowns. “Hi! Who are you? What’s your name?” He fires the questions. “This is what my friend said before he ordered you to respond.” He waves at me. “My name is Florian and this”—he points with his thumb at the third boy, who just watches us silently, seeming miles away, yet his gaze flickers between us—“is Octavius.”

“Hi.” I relax a little bit, still guarded though. “My name is Remi. My father is the new gardener here. He just got the job.”

They all blink and then look at one another, musing on this information, and I sigh inwardly, anticipating their mean words.

They are basically princes, and I’m what?

A dirty, poor, starved little kid.

“So you will live here.” Santiago frowns even more. “You don’t speak Spanish?” I shake my head. “Everyone at our home speaks Spanish.”

Before anyone can comment, though, my stomach grumbles loudly, and my cheeks heat up in humiliation, terrified about them teasing me now.

“Oh no. You’re hungry,” Octavius says and then, to my surprise, grabs me by the elbow and pulls me after him as he marches to the blanket and orders, “Sit.” I do as he says, and then he opens the basket, takes out a hamburger, and my mouth waters at the sight. “Eat.” He practically shoves it at me, and I grab it. “We need strength.”

Not sure what to make of that, I bite the bread and whimper at the first food in such a long while, carefully chewing every bite as they continue to watch me.

Who knows?

This might be some trick to hurt me later, but I’m too hungry to care right now and take food when it’s offered. Strangers never fed me before. I once begged someone on the playground to give me a carrot stick, and their mother told me I should be ashamed of myself.

Not sure how to be ashamed when hunger consumes you, but I learned never to beg for anything again.

“Would you like to play with us?” Florian asks, lying beside me and splaying his arms wide as he gazes at the sky. “We need a fourth boy.” He sighs. “Santiago always loses otherwise.”

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