“His Highness is right,” I say.
Her features harden, and she leans forward, filling the screen with her face. A spasm of terror quickens my heart, and my breaths turn shallow. This is where she’ll make a cryptic comment about vaccines or killing twins.
“You support the banishment of Vitelotte Solar?” she asks.
I turn to Prince Kevon, who is too busy scowling at his mother to notice me. My stomach tightens with trepidation as I ask, “You’re going to push Vitelotte out of the Great Wall?”
“Of course not,” the queen snaps. “She’ll be ejected from her Echelon and spend the rest of her life in the Barrens.”
When Prince Kevon doesn’t protest, the roiling of my stomach calms, and I exhale a relieved breath. Mom survived the Barrens and so did Firkin, until Ingrid shot him in the chest. Sending Vitelotte through the minor wall is kinder than executing her and it sends a message to people about the consequences of attacking the Prince.
I nod. “That seems a fair punishment.”
“This is your last pardon.” Queen Damascena turns to Prince Kevon. “If anyone else tries to kill you, I will broadcast their messy deaths and those of their families. Is that understood?”
Prince Kevon scowls. “With the added security staff, there will be no more attacks.”
The screen goes blank, and the Noble holding the computer retreats toward her colleagues. All twelve of them murmur their excuses and cram themselves into the elevator. I can tell from their faces that they’re worried Prince Kevon will be different from King Arias.
As soon as the doors close, I rush out from the sofa to the wooden bench and wrap my arms around Prince Kevon’s middle. “You’re going to make a wise and merciful king.”
He sighs. “If the monarchy was wise and merciful, this assassination attempt might never have taken place.”
I jerk my head back and meet his eyes. That comment is unexpected but not unwelcome. In one of our earlier conversations, he warned me about Gemini Pixel and was unsympathetic to her plight. After I urged him to investigate her case, he agreed that Queen Damascena had placed Gemini’s father in an impossible position that should never have warranted a death sentence.
With recording devices everywhere, I don’t want to imply anything negative about the Royals or the Nobles. Instead, I ask, “What do you mean?”
Prince Kevon smooths a strand of hair off my face with his fingers. “Everything we see in the media about Harvesters suggests that they live uncomplicated, idyllic lives.”
“And the farmer’s market makes us look like we’re swimming in good food,” I mutter.
His brows rise, implying he believed that the well-fed people selling gourmet produce were from my Echelon. He smooths out his features and asks, “Do you remember I told you about the project my father started when he turned eighteen?”
I nod.
“Instead of building something in the Oasis to honor Gaia, I asked the Minister of Harvester Resources to increase the water rations.”
All the air in my lungs escapes in a shocked breath. “What?”
“Having enough water to sustain lives is more important than the hanging gardens I originally planned,” he says with a shrug. “I came to your room to share the news, but—”
I wrap my arms around Prince Kevon’s neck and press a kiss on his cheek. “That’s going to make so much of a difference to Harvesters.”
“It’s just a six-month trial.”
My smile fades, and I draw back to meet his fading smile. “Why?”
“The Ministers claimed that it would result in widespread drought. It won’t, and they’re hoping for my father to overturn this reform.” His eyes gleam with confidence. “Did you know the water rations date back before the Great Wall extended into the mountains?”
I shake my head.
“The ecological scientists who calculated the rations didn’t factor the water we obtain from the mountain stores.”
“So, there’s enough water for everyone?” I whisper.
He nods. “In a few months, I’ll be able to commission an independent study on our water supply and override anything the Chamber of Ministers decide.”
My heart fills with warm gratitude. When Mom suggested I join the Princess Trials to make a difference, I laughed at the notion that someone so high up in our society would listen to the words of a Harvester girl. Now, Prince Kevon has done the unthinkable. With enough water flowing to each family, there’ll be plenty for us to thrive and to grow food at home. I won’t even need to tell Carolina about the underground river.
“Thank you for thinking about us.” My words seem insufficient in the light of the great gift he’s given the Harvesters. “You’re going to make a great king.”
Prince Kevon cups my cheeks and looks into my soul with an intensity that makes my heart flip. The pad of his thumb slides against my lip, and tingles spread across my skin.
“It’s your influence,” he murmurs. “Being with you makes me think anything is possible. Even returning from the brink of death.”
Heat rises to my cheeks, and I lower my lashes. “You saved me first, remember?”
“I’m aching to kiss you,” he murmurs.
Every bone in my body trembles with the force of my quickening heart, and my palms become damp. An unnamed force pushes us closer together until we’re pressed so tightly that our heartbeats fall into rapid sync.
Our gazes lock, and I slide my tongue over my dry lips. His dark eyes follow the movement. I want this just as much as Prince Kevon, but if I say yes, I might lose all sense of myself and forget the control his mother has over my family.
Prince Kevon’s lips are dark and full with a deep cupid’s bow. They turn up at the corners as though he’s always smiling, and I long to feel them against mine. The queen didn’t say I shouldn’t kiss him.
“I heard what you said as you struggled to save my life.” His voice resounds through my eardrums. “Those weren’t the words of a girl who considers me just a friend.”
The backs of my eyes sting with impending tears. It took nearly losing Prince Kevon to uncover the depth of my feelings.
I gulp. If he doesn’t kiss me right now, I think my heart will explode.
“Zea.” His voice curls around my senses and turns everything upside-down. His mouth is inches away from mine and his warm breath fans across my skin.
“Yes,” I murmur.
He leans into me and our lips touch. At first, the kiss is tentative as though he’s giving me the chance to draw back. But I curl my fingers around his bicep and pull him closer. With a moan, Prince Kevon wraps his arms around my back and deepens the kiss. A heartbeat later, the roof garden disappears, and it’s just me and Prince Kevon and his toe-curling lips.
When we part, I’m out of breath and eager for another kiss, but his beautiful lips curl into a sad smile.
“I don’t think it’s possible to love anyone more than I love you,” he whispers.
My breath hitches. My mind conjures up the image of identical blonde faces with identical missing teeth, and an ache spreads across my chest. I can’t tell him how I feel. What if those words reached Queen Damascena?
Prince Kevon’s hand drops to his side, and I raise my head, wondering if my refusal to admit my feelings has caused offense. His eyelids droop, and he offers me a tiny smile before falling into an exhausted sleep. I wrap my arms around his middle and stare past the edge of the roof.
Maybe there isn’t any hope for us, but with Prince Kevon soon inheriting the throne, there might be hope for Phangloria.
Chapter 12
Days pass and very little happens until early one morning, someone shakes me awake.
“Zea,” says Georgette. “They want everyone ready for the next challenge.”
I crack open an eye. Morning sunlight streams through the wall windows on the left. It’s so bright that it casts the other girl in shadow. I squint to focus on her features. “What’s happening?”
�
��The Royal Hospital just released Prince Kevon.”
The words hit like a jolt of caffeine, and I bolt upright. Cassiope stands at the foot of the bed, wearing a green jumpsuit and her usual camera glasses. I stretch out a palm, not wanting her to shoot me when I’m half-dead with my hair looking like corn silk left out in the sun.
On my right, Forelle sticks her head out of the walk-in wardrobe. “Your shower is ready, madam!”
With a groan, I swing my legs out of bed. My head still throbs from the time I spent in the detention center, and my muscles still ache. It’s been days since I last saw or heard from Prince Kevon, but Garrett tells me he was placed in a coma to remove the device that regulated the artificial tissues in his heart.
I shudder as I walk into the walk-in wardrobe. There’s nothing I can do but hope that this is the best course of treatment for Prince Kevon.
The lights over the dressing-table mirror make me squint, and my nostrils fill with the mingled scents of coffee and curling irons. I trudge past the display and step into the bathroom, where images from Rugosa’s cornfields play behind the bath on the back wall.
A pang of longing strikes my chest. I regret not asking Prince Kevon for help with my family and wonder if I could have turned to Garrett for intervention. After peeling off my nightgown, I step into the shower and let the hot jets of water massage away my tension. Sometimes the best way to deal with an opponent who holds all the power is to wait.
I scrub at my skin with a loofah and wash away the remnants of the detention center. If Prince Kevon is arriving today, then his mother will most likely accompany him to the palace. I’ve got to be on alert and act like I’m carrying out her orders.
This will be the first time I’ve left my room since returning from the hospital, and my nerve endings tremble with trepidation. I’ve spent the past days coming to terms with everything from watching Prince Kevon nearly die, being imprisoned with his attacker, discovering the increased Harvester water rations, to that incredible kiss.
Someone raps on the bathroom door, pulling me out of my musings. “Zea,” says Forelle. “We need you, now.”
I shut off the water, slip on a robe, and join my friends. Most of the other girls have a stylist, a makeup artist, and a lady’s maid, but Georgette carries out all those tasks with Forelle as her assistant. According to Forelle, Prince Kevon only wanted people around me he could trust.
Because Cassiope is recording this session for the Princess Trials, I sit in front of the mirror and keep the conversation light as Georgette dries my hair and arranges it into a high ponytail of long, mahogany waves. Cassiope asks if I’m excited to see Prince Kevon, happy the Trials are restarting, and I give her bland but enthusiastic answers.
The girls dress me in a khaki-colored jumpsuit with flapped pockets on the chest and at the hips. Each pocket is held down by a chocolate-brown button and belted just like the outfit Ambassador Pascale wore to the garden party. I stare at my thinner-than-usual reflection and frown. This is a peculiar choice for welcoming back the prince, but Georgette isn’t allowed to share the instructions she received.
Cassiope escorts me through the hallway, and a blonde-haired figure walks several feet ahead. A knot of worry forms in my stomach. This is the first time I’ve seen Emmera since the interrogation. I tried to visit her room, but her lady’s maid kept telling me Emmera was resting.
I give her space and continue down the hallway with Cassiope without calling after her. Now that Emmera has left her room, there’ll be time to speak in private.
When we reach the top of the palace’s grand staircase, the morning sun filters through arched windows and illuminates a set of chandeliers more elaborate than the ones that fell in the ballroom. I climb down, keeping my gaze on the light fitting, which consists of dagger-sharp tiers of crystal. Ten-inch-long prisms dangle from concentric rings of chrome, each layer descending until the entire display reaches five feet.
My throat dries, and I glance at the pair of camerawomen at the foot of the stairs filming my descent. Then my eyes dart back to the heavy chandelier. It’s been ages since someone made an attempt on my life.
Two rows of contestants stand at either side of the palace’s double doors. Six Amstraadi girls wait on the right, each clad in identical Harvester-beige jumpsuits. On the left are five Noble girls and an Artisan. I gulp, wondering if that means Paris Kanone, the final unaccounted-for Guardian, is still missing in the National Park.
Constance steps out of formation and places her hands on her hips. She wears a strapped-top with pockets at the front that exposes her chest and arms and scandalously short culottes that show her knees. Her dark hair is slicked back, with a ponytail of ringlets.
“Look, everyone,” she says. “It’s the agricultural assassins.”
I clench my teeth and curl my hands into fists. A hundred responses roll to the tip of my tongue, but I hold them back. The camerawomen are recording, and I won’t let them make me seem unsympathetic.
Emmera pauses at the foot of the steps and clutches her chest. The production assistant at her side places a hand on her shoulder, urging her to continue. I’m not sure if anyone offered her support since her release from the detention center. Without my friends and my visit with the prince, I might have gone mad from the ordeal.
I continue down the steps and stand at Emmera’s side. “Are you alright?”
She turns her wide, gray eyes to mine and blinks. “Zea?”
I lace my fingers through hers. “Let’s welcome Prince Kevon.”
“What if those people come back?” she asks.
“They wouldn’t have let us go if they thought we did something wrong.” I give her hand a gentle squeeze. “Come on.”
Emmera inhales several ragged breaths before nodding, and we walk hand-in-hand down the stairs. I ignore the voice in the back of my head that whispers that she will turn on me. Berta did, even though we had twice fought side-by-side. I might not trust Emmera, but I can’t leave her to fall apart in front of the cameras.
We cross the entrance hall, where a production assistant ushers Emmera to stand beside the Artisan girl on the left. Another guides me toward the Amstraadi girls. I purse my lips and wonder if this is a deliberate attempt to position me as an outsider.
My gaze turns to Ingrid, who stands at the end closest to the door. She is dressed in a fitted shirt and fitted pants with the same oversized, flap pockets. The three Nobles to her right wear jumpsuits, but Constance is the only contestant revealing her bare legs.
Someone clears their throat on the left, and I turn to the half landing, where Byron stands in a sand-colored suit. My stomach roils with anxiety as memories of the Detroit Depression tumble through my mind. They’re ignoring Prince Kevon’s demand for a safer Princess Trials and taking us somewhere equally as horrific. And I’ll be the one who suffers all the attacks.
“May I have your attention, ladies?” Byron waves and grins. “Thank you for your patience, and I hope you’re ready for this next exciting round of the Princess Trials.”
Constance stamps her foot. “Where’s His Highness?”
Byron raises his palms. “We’re just waiting for everyone to arrive before he makes his grand entrance.”
I glance down the rows of girls, wondering who might be this late arrival. The palace round started with eighteen girls, and now there are thirteen. Two Guardian girls are confirmed dead and one missing. With one Artisan dead, and Vitelotte banished, only the Nobles and the Amstraadi teams are intact.
With a rumbling on my left, everyone turns for the opening of the palaces’ double doors. Two guards in black helmets and armor escort Prunella Broadleaf past the cordon of girls and through the entrance hall. She wears a trouser suit made from brown sackcloth, and the collar around her neck is missing.
As the guards close the door, the girls opposite break into excited whispers. Maybe the viewers got sick of the lack of activities and petitioned for the return of Prunella, who at least organized dance classe
s and sessions at the gymnasium.
Prunella walks up the stairs and takes her place beside Byron. The guards who escorted her stand at the bottom of the stairs, and camerawomen point their lenses at the front door and toward specific girls such as Emmera, Constance, Ingrid, and me.
“Welcome back to the Princess Trials!” Prunella sweeps her arm to the side and curtseys. “I would like to thank the viewers at home for all your support during these difficult times—”
“And of course, the real purpose of today’s show, the arrival of Prince Kevon,” Byron drawls.
Prunella’s shoulders sag, but she steps forward and beams. “We have an exciting challenge for our remaining hopefuls. One that will broaden their horizons and take them outside the Oasis.”
My insides tighten, and this morning’s coffee rises from my stomach to the back of my throat. They must be taking us into the desert.
“Careful, Pru,” says Byron. “You’re going to spoil the surprise for everyone and upstage the prince!”
Prunella falls silent, and a pair of palace servants wearing white ruffles beneath their purple livery hurry to open the double doors and let in the morning breeze.
Prince Kevon stands on the doorstep with Garrett at his side. There’s no sign of Queen Damascena or Lady Circi, only a wall of guards in purple armor.
Sunlight shines through his dark hair, making its ends glow indigo. His skin looks vibrant against the pale green of his lightweight jacket, and excitement ripples up my spine and settles in my heart. He looks so much stronger than the convalescing prince I kissed on the hospital roof garden.
The epaulets on his jacket emphasize his broad shoulders, and the flap pockets over his muscular chest highlight his athletic frame. All the girls standing opposite let out wistful sighs.
The Princess Games: A young adult dystopian romance (The Princess Trials Book 2) Page 17
