“This is how the palace servants get to talk without the cameras picking up their sound.” Georgette pulls off my hood, dips a cloth into the cream, and rubs at my face.
“Is anything wrong?” I whisper.
“We’ve been switching between channels for most of the night.” She continues wiping off thick layers of pigment from my face and tells me the events of last night.
While Georgette watched the Chamber of Ministers Channel to learn how Prunella Broadleaf tried to explain how she murdered Rafaela van Eyck, Forelle watched live footage of me jumping off a cliff and trying to stay on the glider. Prince Kevon interrupted the Council with a demand to end the Princess Trials on the grounds that it was unsafe.
Montana refused to listen to his request as Queen Damascena wanted it to continue, but when the live camera feeds stopped, everybody took notice.
With hours of footage missing, the drones lost track of most of the girls, and the public became disgruntled about the running of the Trials. Reporters interviewed Dr. and General Ridgeback about Berta’s drowning and tried to get them to denounce the production people for not taking better care of their daughter.
“It’s all backfiring.” Georgette’s eyes sparkle, and she bounces up and down on her heels, the hands wiping off my face paint trembling with excitement. “My fiancé works for Vain Gloria. It’s an online gossip rag that comments on what’s really going on in Phangloria.”
I gulp. “What did he say about last night?”
“The editor told everyone to put pressure on the ministers and the Lifestyle Channel to back Prince Kevon. It’s part of the reason why the Ministers agreed to his demands for less danger.”
“Is there anything else?” I ask.
“They’re publishing footage of what the Lifestyle Network holds back.” When I don’t react, she adds. “The other group got to launch from a ten-foot drop, while the producers made the Harvesters and Artisans drop from hundreds of feet with one of the gliders malfunctioning.”
“Right.” I nod and wonder if journalists are Artisans offended by the mistreatment of their Echelon.
“And the new video clips show that you’re Prince Kevon’s favorite.”
I clap a hand over my mouth. “No.”
She flashes me a grin. “Isn’t that wonderful? Next time there’s a vote, they’ll know who to choose and help His Highness find true love.”
A wave of nausea crashes through my insides, and I step back. If Queen Damascena discovered I was in any way connected to this leaked information, her vengeance would strike where I was most vulnerable. Worst of all, I can’t risk my family’s lives on a second-hand assurance that no one can hear us through the sounds of running water.
I tell Georgette that I’m too hungry and tired to think about the gossip rags, and she offers to fetch me a snack.
“Are you alright?” she asks.
I shake my head. “It’s been ages since I last ate.”
Georgette places the cloth on the side and heads for the door. “I’ll order you something.”
I pick up the cloth and dip it into the cream. Each swipe of the cloth removes another layer of grime, but nothing can wash away the thoughts of the girls who will never get another chance to see their families.
One of them would have shot pellets into my eye, which would have gone straight to my brain and struck me dead. I can’t fault Vitelotte. She panicked, overcompensated for not siding with me against the Nobles, and was desperate to protect a fellow Harvester.
We might have avoided the second killing, but I didn’t believe that Minnie wouldn’t attack us the moment she got the opportunity.
I peel off my jumpsuit, step into the shower, and let the hot spray cleanse my mind of these roiling thoughts. If it wasn’t for Vitelotte, I would have died yesterday.
Ingrid and the Guardians hadn’t considered that anyone would come to my aid, so their assassination turned to my advantage. I should be celebrating my new ally, not wallowing in guilt and dread.
Colored water slides down my body, and the spray feels like tiny fists massaging my skin, tiny fists admonishing me to be grateful for my survival. Vitelotte won’t be like Berta, who saved me from being hung or thrown out of the window, only to try to kill me the following day. Red Runners or those who sympathize with our cause do not betray Harvesters.
As soon as the water runs clear, I dry off and change into a jumpsuit Georgette hung on the bathroom door. I squeeze my eyes shut and suck in several deep breaths. When I step out into my suite, I’ve got to look ready for a snack and for the next challenge of the Princess Trials.
But the suite is empty save for two covered dishes waiting on the table... and Prince Kevon. He wears the same navy jacket from his interview with Montana with matching pants. Instead of slicked back, tendrils of dark hair slide across his forehead, making him look heroic.
A tight fist clutches at my heart as he rises from his seat and strides across the room. What will Queen Damascena do when she discovers we’ve spent time alone?
“I wanted to apologize,” he says. “They told me you would go on a treasure hunt. By the time I saw the footage of you and the gliders—”
“It’s alright.” After hearing about how he tried to save us, interrupting him feels rude, but I couldn’t bear it if he repeated his offer to become engaged. “We saw you on the Lifestyle Channel, declaring that the trials become more about diplomacy than dangerous challenges. Thank you.”
His eyes soften, and the corner of his full lips rise into a smile. “It took a lot of wrangling with the Chamber of Ministers. They’re loath to forfeit Ambassador Pascale’s Amstraad health monitors, but you come first.”
My heart stutters, sending heat to my cheeks. I lower my gaze to the marble floor and I tell myself that Prince Kevon wasn’t talking about me in particular but all the contestants. When he places his large hand on the small of my back, tingles shoot up and down my spine. It takes a lot of steady breathing and concentration to walk in a straight line to the dining table.
He pulls out my seat, pushes it in as I sit, and removes the dome. My nostrils fill with scent of saffron accompanied by the rich aroma of seafood. A plate heaped with golden rice, whole shrimp, lobster tails, and mussels and clams still in their shells.
A surprised breath hisses through my teeth. “Is that—”
“Paella,” he says with a smile. “Your mother told me it was your favorite.”
“You spoke to her?” my voice cracks.
“Only via a guard who contacted the mayor’s wife.” He settles into his seat and frowns. “Was this the correct choice?”
I give him an eager nod, even though a dish like paella is something a Harvester would never get the chance to eat. Firstly, rice grows in shallow water, something that’s in very short supply in our region. And cooking the grains requires large quantities of water no Harvester can afford.
Dad and I know a patch of land outside Rugosa where we can find a handful of saffron tulips growing at the base of a gnarled olive tree that no longer produces fruit.
In the years when we catch the plant early enough to capture its crimson stigmas, we can barter small quantities for enough food and necessities to last for months. At times like this, Dad can even afford seafood, but never in such quantities or variety on my plate.
“This is such a rare treat.” I pick up my fork and try not to dribble. “Thank you.”
“Enjoy.” He places a forkful in his mouth and smiles.
My next few mouthfuls are an explosion of flavors. The rice is infused with garlic, paprika, cilantro, and pepper with a hint of wine. Underneath the paella are thick slices of spicy sausage, which is one of my favorite meats. I’m supposed to make genteel conversation, but it’s impossible in the face of such a delicious feast.
“I thought your mother might enjoy the chef’s recipe,” he murmurs.
I meet his smiling eyes. “You sent her the instructions?”
“There’s a car on its way to Rugosa
with a large pot.”
Warmth spreads across my chest. Gestures like this are why it’s so hard to shield my heart from Prince Kevon. “This is very thoughtful.” I meet his searching, dark eyes that seem to memorize my every expression. “I can’t stop thanking you.”
He shakes his head. “It’s me who should be thanking you.”
Unease settles over my shoulders like an itchy cloak, and I shift in my seat. Days ago, I might have dug further to understand why he lavishes me with so much attention, but I can’t afford the luxury of basking in Prince Kevon’s affection.
I push away thoughts of Queen Damascena’s guards stationed outside the family home, continue my meal, and try to forget he’s watching me eat.
When my stomach bulges, I make the mistake of raising my head and reaching across the table for my water glass.
Prince Kevon places his hand on mine. “Zea.”
“Yes?” I raise my eyes to his face.
He holds my gaze for several heartbeats longer than normal, making my breath quicken. “When I offered you a long engagement, it wasn’t to force a relationship before you were ready.”
Words shrivel in the back of my throat, and I can only respond with a nod. I should turn my head, pull my fingers from his gentle hold, but his touch feels like the only thing keeping me from splintering. I can’t tell if I’m thrilled with his attention or terrified of its consequences.
Queen Damascena is probably listening to us speak or she has handed the work to one of her henchmen. Either way, I’m failing her demands. She wants me to sway Prince Kevon, but she didn’t specify which of the Noble girls she prefers.
Prince Kevon tilts his head to the side, and his brows draw together with an unasked question. I can’t help thinking that he brought up his suggestion to get engaged because he wants me to reconsider his offer.
I’ve got to say something to derail this conversation so that I at least sound like I’m taking notice of the queen’s threat. “All the violence and attempts on my life started because of your special attention.”
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “That’s true.”
“You need to give the other girls a chance.” The words burn my throat, and I drop my gaze to the half-eaten plate of paella.
Prince Kevon doesn’t reply for several moments. Maybe he’s waiting for me to look into his eyes, but I can’t. The pad of his thumb runs over my knuckle. It’s the gentlest of touches but he might as well scream his intentions into the hidden camera.
“What if I’ve already made my decision?” he murmurs.
Jerking my hand away, I rise off my seat and head toward the door. “Nothing has changed since I said no.”
The wood of his chair leg slides against the marble floor, and his footsteps approach from behind. Prince Kevon stops me with a hand on my shoulder. “Is this too much pressure?”
My head turns to the side. While I can’t see his entire face, his warm, spicy scent fills my nostrils. “I’ve never wanted to be the Queen of Phangloria.”
He flinches. “But you said—”
“They were just words,” I say with a sigh.
When I opened my heart to Sergeant Silver, I imagined myself at the side of Ryce Wintergreen leading the new democracy. It was a fitting ending to our bittersweet story. A boy and girl united by a terrible injustice and then fell in love fighting their oppressors. A boy and girl who turned tragedy into triumph. They were the idealistic dreams of a girl who hadn’t experienced anything outside the life of a Harvester.
“If I had known you were the prince, I would never have said them.”
He releases my shoulder and steps back. “Can you ever see yourself opening your heart to me?”
A lump forms in my throat at the amounts of times I have lied. Lied about my intentions for joining the Princess Trials. Lied about not despising the Noble Echelon for holding all the wealth and water, lied about my heart. Prince Kevon occupies so much of my affection, there’s hardly space for anyone new. But to save the people I love, I’ve got to tell one more lie.
Fighting off the sting of oncoming tears, I turn around and face the prince.
My hand drifts to his chest, and he stiffens. I place my palm over a heart that accelerates under my touch, and my insides twist. There’s no way to have the love of Prince Kevon and keep my family alive. Whatever I say next needs to carry enough conviction to convince everyone listening.
“Your Highness.”
His lips tighten. We’ve had this conversation already, and he knows my use of his title is deliberate. “Tell me,” he says through clenched teeth. “Look me in the eye and tell me how you feel.”
“I’ve never met a kinder person or a more noble soul.” My gaze rises to his cheekbones. “I know you’ll be a wonderful king.”
His face hardens. It’s the expression people make when bracing themselves for something painful. Despite this, Prince Kevon manages to nod.
A cruel voice in the back of my head gives me the exact words to say that will shatter his heart. It starts off as Carolina’s voice but morphs into Queen Damascena’s. If I start with a bold statement that I could never love him—ever, he would look elsewhere for his future partner. If I said that the words I’d once told him were about someone else, he would leave. I can’t do either of those to Prince Kevon.
“I’m grateful for your kindness and generosity, and you’ll always be my dearest friend.”
“Friend?” he says this like it’s his last breath.
“You’re sure to make someone extremely happy, but that girl will never be me.”
Prince Kevon lowers his thick lashes, steps away from my touch, and heads for the door. My heart pounds so hard that I think it’s going to burst.
When he opens the door and is about to step out, a silent sob catches in the back of my throat. There’s no turning back after words like that. I’ve lost him forever.
He closes the door and pauses. My hand covers my heart. Now it’s my turn to brace myself to hear some cutting words.
“Thank you for being honest.” His voice is thick with emotion, but his voice never wavers.
My throat convulses, and I hold my breath, hoping he won’t try to change my mind.
“I will speak to my mother and tell her that under current circumstances, it’s no longer appropriate for you to participate in the Trials.”
Chapter 7
Prince Kevon steps out of my room, leaving me with the gut-wrenching feeling that I’ve made a horrific mistake. My pulse flutters in my throat like a trapped butterfly, and my fingers won’t stop trembling. I’ve never spoken so harshly to someone who occupies such a large space of my heart, and each word slices through my consciousness like tractor blades.
When the door clicks shut and all that lingers of him is his cologne, my leg muscles turn to water, and I collapse onto my knees.
Spasms of pain grip my lungs, forcing out harsh, wracking sobs. I didn’t know it was possible to mourn a relationship that hadn’t even started, but my insides feel as parched and as cracked as dry earth.
Somewhere on the edge of my awareness, the door creaks open and footsteps hurry toward me. A gentle arm wraps around my shoulder and on the other side, a second arm slides around my waist. Forelle and Georgette walk me to the sofa and whisper words of comfort that barely penetrate my grief.
As I sink into the soft velvet, Cassiope appears and places a box of paper handkerchiefs in front of me on the table.
I raise my head and meet her wide, brown eyes. “Is this going on the Lifestyle Channel?”
“They only told me to record the task.” She hooks her thumb toward the walk-in closet. “I’ll just be in the bathroom for the next ten minutes.”
I nod my thanks, and she leaves. Even though I’m fully aware that Cassiope has no power over what the producers broadcast, I appreciate that she’s risking her job to guard my privacy.
“What happened?” Forelle smoothes a lock of damp hair off my face. “Did you and Kevon fight?
”
“I can’t…” I shake my head.
Georgette rubs my back. “He’s probably under pressure to spend more time with the other contestants. Prince Kevon knows what he wants, and when he fulfills his duty to the Trials, he’ll be back.”
Guilt thickens my throat. They all think he did something to me when it’s the opposite.
“Zea.” Forelle squeezes my hand. “Garrett’s meeting me tonight. I’m sure I can—”
“No.” The word comes out like a panicked scream. I twist around and meet her gray eyes. “Please leave it alone. It’s my fault.”
Her lips form a perfect O. I’m sure she’s thinking about the conversation we had in the guesthouse’s bathroom, where Forelle accused me of pulling a face whenever she mentioned Prince Kevon.
Back then, Forelle sensed that I wasn’t in the Princess Trials for a chance to become the queen. But now, I wonder if she suspects that I’m not even in the Trials for a break from the drudgery of being a Harvester.
She reminds me so much of Mom. When Forelle found Garrett charming, I disliked him for being an annoying guard. Forelle is falling for Prince Kevon’s cousin, and I’m happy for her. But I’m so skeptical and twisted from past trauma that it took seeing Prince Kevon gunned down and then having him save me from a knife in the back to consider him as more than just his Echelon.
Before Forelle can admonish me for wasting an opportunity for love, I wrap my free hand over hers. “Don’t interfere. This is for the best.”
Forelle’s nod is hesitant, but it’s enough to console me that she won’t play matchmaker and jeopardize my standing with Queen Damascena. Georgette pats my shoulder and rises, while Forelle encases me in a hug tight enough to expel half my misery.
Later, Georgette returns with a gel that will reduce my puffy eyes and remove the red blotches on my face. I close my eyes as she slides the cool substance onto my skin. The scent of cucumbers and chamomile fills my nostrils, and I take several calming breaths.
The Princess Games: A young adult dystopian romance (The Princess Trials Book 2) Page 9
