by Karin Biggs
“This auto-taxi has been reserved. Please visit the call-kiosk to reserve an available vehicle for your travel,” said a feminine voice from the door handle.
My head swiveled to find an upright rectangular structure with a speaker box and a glowing white button.
After pressing the round button, a voice identical to the one from the door handle spoke to me. “An auto-taxi is approximately…four miles away. Would you like me to call it for you?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Your auto-taxi is traveling at a current speed of…fifty miles an hour and will arrive in…five minutes.”
I huffed. “Four minutes and forty-eight seconds is not five minutes.”
The door to the building opened to reveal two girls who looked to be about my sister’s age. Ducking behind a structural beam, I held my breath.
“You are so drunk, Claire!” shouted a voice.
“Am not! I’m just…a little uncoordinated.”
“Uh-huh. And your incoordination landed you in the middle of nowhere at an auto-taxi station. What was that?”
The box of Capalon coins slipped out of the burnt portion of my bag and thudded against the top of my boot. The sound of my heart beating through my ears was deafening as I waited for my brain to decide to stay or run.
“Is someone there?” asked one of the girls.
“Yeah, Prince Corbin, is that you?”
The other girl’s inquiry sent the two into a fit of laughter as they finally entered their vehicle. I didn’t exhale or reach for my box of coins until they were out of sight. The bright beams of an approaching vehicle made me wince. Nobody else exited the building to claim the car, so I waived my card over the handle.
To my relief, the door unlocked, and I plunked myself down on the back seat.
“Which kingdom serves as your destination?” asked the center console of the taxi.
“Mondaria.”
“Please scan your…Mondarian citizen ID or guest pass.”
I waved Paris Marigold’s identification card in front of a scanner.
“Hello, Paris Marigold of…Green Heights. What is your final destination in…Mondaria?”
“Take me to the king’s Mansion.”
“Do you mean…the Royal Grounds of Mount Greystone?”
“Um, sure.”
“I’m sorry, you do not have clearance to…the Royal Grounds of Mount Greystone. Would you like me to take you to your hometown of…Green Heights?”
“No.”
“Would you like me to take you to the neighboring town of…Badger River?”
I hit the scanner with my palm. “Take me to the king’s Mansion!”
“Okay. I’ll take you to…Badger River. Please sit back and enjoy the ride.”
I groaned. “Ancient tech.”
The autonomous vehicle bumped over the terrain as I tied the pieces of remaining fabric together on my backpack and pulled the leaves and twigs from my sweater and hair. The vehicle slowed as we approached a red gate that sat across the LVR.
My fingernails dug into my thighs, wishing I hadn’t lost the knife in the forest. I waited for Mondarian guards to swarm the vehicle, but to my delight the gate slowly opened, allowing me passage into the kingdom.
“Welcome to Mondaria,” said the vehicle.
My sore muscles relaxed. “We made it, Chip.” I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.
A service droid tapped on my door. “Chip, tell that droid to come back in an hour,” I said, not bothering to open my eyes.
“There are no droids in range, Princess.”
The tapping turned to pounding and my eyes flashed open to see an elderly man with long silver facial hair. “I’ve requested this taxi!” he shouted. “Get out or I’ll call the Guard on you, squatter!”
I screamed and jumped back from the window. What kind of nightmare was my brain projecting?
But then I remembered the auto-taxi’s misdirection—Badger River, Mondaria. I was in the kingdom of my enemies and one of them threatened me from the other side of an auto-taxi window.
I grabbed my bag and opened the door, catching an overpowering foul odor as I stepped past the man. He grumbled something to himself as he slid into the auto-taxi, leaving me in the middle of a cement walkway. Golden sun burned away the lingering traces of night, making me visible to the people of Mondaria. I watched a man with a bloated belly waddle by, wearing a bright green shirt. The sight was unlike anything I would have ever seen in Capalon, where our citizens were trim due to our controlled diets and issued clothing in only shades of grey.
I clutched my bag to my chest. “Chip, I’m in Mondaria. What do I do?” I whispered, unmoved from my spot on the walkway.
“Princess, you are forbidden to—”
“Chip,” I said through a clenched jaw, “what should visitors in Mondaria do upon arrival?”
“Visitors in Mondaria may visit exchange offices to exchange their kingdom’s currency.”
“Exchange office. Right.” I was happy to have a new goal to focus on, rather than the shock of my surroundings. I pulled my bag over my shoulders and picked a direction. The walkway sat beside a long stretch of red brick buildings, divided by varying storefronts with colored fabric awnings. I paused to stare at a large photograph that sat in the window of one of the stores, depicting a man and woman embraced in a passionate kiss. Both were completely naked, except for their private body parts, which were carefully covered by a sheet that looked as if it billowed in the wind.
“Are you a Drake and Daniella fan?” asked a woman emerging from the building. She set out a sign that said SALE TODAY AT MOUNTAINS OF BOOKS!
Unable to close my mouth, I shook my head.
“Not a romance reader, eh? Don’t blame you. It’s mostly smut, anyway. Anything I can help you find instead?”
My jaw twitched back to life. “Yes. The nearest currency exchange office.”
“Nearest one is eight miles south of here in Wisteria.”
“Do they accept Capalon currency at that office?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You serious? Everyone knows Mondaria doesn’t exchange Capalon currency.”
Everyone but Capalon princesses. “Oh. Right.”
I walked away before I revealed another ignorant comment to the woman. “Chip, why did you fail to mention that Capalon currency wasn’t exchangeable in Mondaria?”
“Princess Piper, I have no record of being asked if Capalon currency was exchangeable in Mondaria.”
Angry at Chip and myself for vagueness on the subject of monetary support, I sped up my pace, passing a man in soiled clothes begging for money. I also passed two women holding hands, a mother planting kisses on her smiling baby’s face and a restaurant emitting one of the most delicious sweet smells I had ever inhaled.
My stomach growled, but I only carried Capalon currency. I weaved in and out of the passersby, scanning every woman’s face for one that resembled my mother’s, but then my eyes landed on two uniformed Mondarian guards heading my direction.
Had the woman from the book shop called the guards on me?
I ducked behind a large board of brightly colored papers and held my breath. When I heard their boots pass, I exhaled and leaned my head against the board.
What was I doing?
I didn’t belong in Mondaria. The threat of death followed me with every step in a kingdom I knew nothing about. How was I supposed to gain clearance to the king’s Mansion? And how was I supposed to survive with no money? Would I be reduced to begging for it on the street like the man I had just witnessed?
The smart choice was to go back home and apologize to Evelyn for my brief lapse of logic, take the time to review my match’s details and be the princess that Capalon deserved—not a silly girl who thought she could resurrect her dead mother from the enemy kingdom.
I started to walk away and call for an auto-taxi when bold scarlet letters on a cream-colored paper pinned to the board caught my attention:
Ever dreamed
of living in the king’s Mansion?
Audition to be a court member of the King’s 100!
I pulled the paper off the board. “Chip, define ‘audition.’” My sleeves covered my glowing wrist, but I tucked it under my other arm just in case.
“Performing a talent in front of one or more people who judge the act based on skill.”
“Chip, what—”
I screamed as a canine barked and snapped at my ankles. My identity had been revealed and the Mondarian Guard sent ferocious animals to attack me. I would die at the jaws of an angry four-legged ball of fur. I backed up as a woman shouted, “Petunia, hush!” and pulled its neck with a jeweled rope. I turned to escape the terrifying situation when I collided with something soft and hard, feeling a warm liquid splash across my chest and arms.
Anger welled in my empty belly. “What did you do, you…ignoramus!” I shouted both at myself and my assailant. My eyes refused to look at anything other than my arms, soaked in brown liquid. I felt the familiar forbidden emotion creeping into my throat and stinging my eyeballs. Not only was I a failure, I was a failure drenched in some sort of Mondarian beverage.
“I’m so sorry! Um, here’s a napkin,” said a boy’s voice. I felt a palm touch the back of my hand and place a napkin across my fingers.
Touch. When was the last time I had been touched by another human?
I looked up at the boy just inches in front of me. He was slightly taller with brown eyes and black shaggy hair that reached his thick brows. He wore what I recently learned to be blue jeans and a long-sleeve red and black flannel shirt. He looked like a Mondarian male teenager who would have appeared above my wrist in my fashion search, only a bit more disheveled. My eyes trailed to a dent in the corner of his lip and a warm sensation other than the liquid crept up the back of my neck. The fear of having an emotional outburst subsided as I accepted his napkin and dabbed it over my arms.
I caught his eyes examining my chest and his mouth straighten into a line. My face flushed. Had I missed something about physical appearance in an area where I wasn’t necessarily considered voluptuous like the poster of Daniella?
“Wow, it’s really…on you,” said the boy. “I’m so sorry. Let me buy you something from the cafe to make up for it.”
I looked down to see brown splotches across my sweater. “No, it’s okay. I’m fine.” I pressed the napkin against my sweater, but the brown stains rested in the fibers of their new home, refusing to budge.
“Please, I feel really bad about the whole thing. I deserved to be called a what was it—an ignoramus? Come on, they just pulled some cinnamon rolls out of the oven down at Dan’s. They’re best when they’re hot. And I need a new hot chocolate anyway since mine is…” He tipped his cup upside down and shrugged.
My stomach rumbled at the boy’s offer. I didn’t have money, after all. And I needed to get my mind off hunger if I wanted to form a plan for my next steps—even if those steps were to walk to an auto-taxi station and leave Mondaria. “Okay.”
I followed the boy into a small cafe about the size of my room at the Compound. He placed an order with a woman behind a counter before handing me more napkins. “Are you auditioning?” he asked, pointing at the paper in my dry hand.
“I don’t know.”
He cocked his head to the side. “You might as well give it a try. The worst they can do is say no. I’m not really the type of guy to want to wear a tuxedo every night for the next four seasons, but with the monthly stipend, I can save up enough money for carpentry school. And I guess playing drums and living in the king’s house isn’t a bad perk. What’s your court talent? Oh, let me guess…magic?”
Not sure of how to respond, I stared at the boy’s face. I had looked at Capalon boys’ faces before out of necessity, but had I taken the time to notice the symmetry of their cheekbones? Or the edge of their lightly stubbled jaws?
“Singing?”
There was a beat between us until the boy asked again, “Are you a singer?”
I pulled my eyes from the gentle crease between his eyebrows and cleared my throat. I could technically sing. I was just forbidden to do it in my own kingdom. And if having a ‘court talent’ was a vital trait among Mondarians, then I needed to look like I belonged. “Yes,” I said. “I’m a singer.”
“Cool,” he said with a smile that deepened the dent in his lip. I looked at him in awe. I had never felt whatever it was I was feeling just from seeing the boy smile. He was like a joyful sun, pulling me into his orbit.
“Ari, your order’s ready,” said the woman at the counter. He turned to take his food, then his fingertips lightly brushed mine as he handed me a drink and a rolled piece of bread, sending the return of warmth to the back of my neck.
“The cinnamon rolls are great but the hot chocolate is the best in Mondaria. One taste and you’ll be hooked,” he said with another bright smile, and I couldn’t help but be drawn to the curve of his lips.
I had never wondered how another person’s lips tasted until that moment. “I look forward to tasting them. I mean it—the hot chocolate, that is. Thank you,” I said, feeling flames dance across my cheeks.
“It’s the least I could do for giving you a hot chocolate bath.” His eyes traveled to my sweater again and then he unbuttoned his flannel shirt, revealing a white t-shirt underneath.
I nearly dropped my cup of hot chocolate. “Wha…what are you doing?”
He placed the flannel shirt over my shoulder, then shrugged. “I owe you a shirt for ruining yours. Wait, can I see that?”
He reached for the paper about the audition and his eyes widened. “Ah, crap on the king! The boys’ bus leaves this morning. I got it mixed up with the girls’ time. I gotta go. It was nice meeting you.”
My fake name hit my tongue like a foreign taste. “Paris.”
“Paris,” he said with a nod.
The taste settled a bit after hearing the name from his mouth. “Ari, was it?”
“That’s me. See you around. And sorry again.” He waved goodbye and exited the cafe.
After letting out a long exhale, I took a seat at a tiny table near the cafe window and set down the contents from my hands before removing Ari’s shirt from my shoulder. It was too colorful to ever be an approved article of clothing in Capalon. I ran my fingers across the soft fabric, then inhaled a new smell that was more delicious than the scent of the baked goods in the cafe—a mix of pine, wood and soap. The liquid from the spilled drink had cooled against my skin, so the thought of slipping into Ari’s warm, dry shirt was too tempting of an idea to ignore.
After changing in the cafe’s bathroom, I sat back down at the table and stared at the hot chocolate and cinnamon roll. Citizens of Capalon ate a restricted diet to keep our brains at the highest functioning capacity. Nothing too salty, sweet, or fatty ever crossed our table. Alcohol, caffeine and tobacco were illegal, while peppermint tea was the most popular beverage of choice for keeping an alert mind.
I consumed sugar once when my mother gave Evelyn and me some candies from a foreign dignitary. I remembered the jolt of wild energy, followed by a sobering crash of fatigue, learning firsthand why such concentrated sugar was illegal in our kingdom.
But I needed to eat something for my survival in Mondaria.
I sipped the hot chocolate, feeling an intense burst of flavor coat my tongue. I cursed myself for loving the evil sugary drink. Sugar made concise thinking blurry and impossible.
But hadn’t I already committed to something blurry and impossible by being in the kingdom of my enemy and wearing one of their citizens’ shirts?
Ari was right about being hooked with one taste. I couldn’t set the cardboard cup back on the table for more than a few seconds before my tongue craved another sip. I read the audition paper as I continued to shamefully enjoy the forbidden drink.
Ever dreamed of living in the king’s Mansion?
Audition to be a court member of the King’s 100!
Comprised of talented young singer
s, drummers and magicians, the King’s 100 is an elite performance court that serves as hospitable hosts for the king and queen’s welcomed guests. Court members earn a monthly stipend and live in dormitories attached to the Mansion. Length of stay is four seasons but is contingent upon a season-to-season Showcase for His Majesty, King Orson Anders. Must be seventeen years old by December 31 to audition.
The bottom of the paper listed the details for auditioning, with the girls’ bus leaving from Badger River in the late afternoon. I moved on to the cinnamon roll and licked a drop of frosting off my finger as I considered my options—I could forget my whole plan to find my mother and go back home, I could beg for Mondarian money on the street or…I could audition for the King’s 100.
I wasn’t seventeen, but Paris Marigold would be by December 31.
The sugar increased my heart rate. I wanted Chip to speak up in my ear and tell me to stop—tell me I was consuming an evil food and its powers had infiltrated my frontal lobe, but my manual setting kept him quiet.
The final drop of hot chocolate hit my tongue and though my stomach craved more, my brain craved an answer to a hypothesis. And finding the answer to that hypothesis wasn’t possible without access to the king’s Mansion.
Research.
Auditioning would be part of the research needed to conduct the experiment. And besides, it wouldn’t be me, Piper Parish, Princess of Capalon auditioning to be a singer for the King’s 100—it would be Paris Marigold. And Paris Marigold had nothing to lose.
Conducting an experiment required planning and preparation. If I wanted to convince a panel of judges I was worthy of performing on the King’s 100, I had to prepare an audition piece. I mimicked the other customers inside Dan’s and cleared my table, then retreated to the bathroom and locked the door. I asked Chip to play songs typically sung for a Mondarian audition, but they were all too powerful for my ability. “Chip, play a song that works for my voice.”
