The Princess Games: A young adult dystopian romance (The Princess Trials Book 2)

by Cordelia K Castel

  Mom’s brows draw together. I can tell she doesn’t understand, but she nods anyway and glances at Dad, who mirrors the expression. She turns back to me. “Did he send that rice?”

  “Did you eat it?” I ask.

  “We thought it might be poisoned,” says Dad.

  My shoulders sag. “Who knows what might have happened to it on the journey.”

  They exchange another glance and don’t look at all reassured. It’s because I haven’t told them why they’re in Fort Meeman-Shelby. “Lady Circi brought you here for your protection.”

  “Supposedly,” Dad mutters. “I don’t know anyone who ever returned after being snatched from their beds.”

  “Do you want to go back home?”

  “Of course,” says Mom.

  “But there was nearly a riot—”

  Dad crosses the room and places a large hand on my shoulder. The warmth of his touch melts my tense muscles. After everything I’ve endured these past weeks. I’ve forgotten how much I miss his comfort. “Whatever they say and whatever images they show us, you are still our daughter. I won’t hear anyone disparage you. Even when we believed our eyes, we knew there had to be a reason for your strange behavior.”

  “We brought you up better than that,” Mom murmurs.

  All the tension escapes me in a long exhale, and I collapse against Dad’s shoulders. Yoseph protests about being crushed, and Dad hoists him into his arms. Flint grabs my jacket sleeves, climbs me like a monkey, and clings to my neck. When Mom joins the hug, I finally feel like we’re complete.

  We stand together in a tight embrace for several heartbeats. I inhale the mingled scents of my family. It’s baking and cornsilk and home.

  “What should I do?” I whisper.

  Dad squeezes me extra tight. “If Prince Kevon makes you happy, you should follow your heart.”

  Mom draws back and nods. “Don’t worry about us.”

  My lips part. How could they say this after I told them about Queen Damascena? “But—”

  “Those guards want to intimidate you into dropping out of the Princess Trials,” says Dad.

  “You told me I should make a deal, like Lady Circi,” I said.

  Dad shakes his head. “She was the favorite, but I don’t think the king had fallen in love with Lady Circi around the time she paired up with Queen Damascena.”

  “This is more than the love between two people, Zea.” Mom squeezes my hand. “You could become the Queen of Phangloria. Think about the reforms you and Prince Kevon will make and don’t listen to idle threats.”

  “She’s serious,” I mutter. “The last time we spoke, she hinted at swapping the twins’ vaccinations for poison.”

  Mom shakes her head. “It makes no sense to act against the future queen. Not when you can so easily retaliate when you come into her power.”

  My arms drop to my sides. I thought they would discourage me and demand that I returned with them to Rugosa, but even Dad wants me to continue. A knock on the door makes us break away from our family hug. I hand Flint back to Mom, and usher everybody to the back of the room.

  I smooth down my borrowed jacket and pull back my shoulders. “Come in.”

  The door opens, and Prince Kevon walks inside, his features slack.

  Mom and Dad bow and curtsey, the twins offer him enthusiastic waves, but Prince Kevon returns their greetings with practiced politeness.

  I place a hand on his arm. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s my father,” Prince Kevon whispers. “He’s dead.”

  Chapter 17

  After arranging transportation to return my family home, Garrett, Prince Kevon, and I head for the Oasis. I don’t know much about King Arias except that he was one of many monarchs that supported the unfair Echelon system and that he married Queen Damascena, even when he preferred Lady Circi.

  I lace my fingers through Prince Kevon’s as we leave the fort and pause on its front steps. The sun hovers above the horizon, a ball of incandescent white that bleeds yellow and then red when the light touches the indigo sky.

  In this part of Phangloria, months before the rainy season, there are no clouds, and a cool breeze swirls through the full parking lot. Black jeeps stand in neat rows, and behind them are vans. Behind those are trucks large enough to hold dozens of guardians. How many towns in the Harvester District also had early roll-calls?

  We wait for his van to arrive. Prince Kevon stands on my right and on his right is Garrett, who places a supporting hand on the prince’s shoulder. My insides feel like an apron scrubbed against the washboard until its threads come loose and wrung dry.

  “Are you ready?” asks Garrett.

  “No,” replies Prince Kevon.

  “Ready for what?” I ask.

  Prince Kevon turns to me and swallows. His chest rises and falls with rapid breaths, making me worry about the artificial tissues in his heart. This has been the most intense few weeks of his life, and I can’t imagine what could be worse than facing the death of a parent.

  “After the funeral, I will become the Prince Regent until my official coronation.”

  I knew it was only a matter of weeks before he would become the king, but this is so sudden. “Will you rule the country?”

  He closes his eyes and nods. “There will be no Phanglorian higher in rank than me.”

  A black van pulls up at the steps, and the driver opens its doors. As we step into an interior about the size of Queen Damascena’s mobile dressing room, I inhale the warm scent of leather and polish and Prince Kevon’s cologne.

  A sofa runs down the vehicle’s left and next to it is an armchair. Along the wall that separates the back from the driver’s cab is the shelf of leather-bound tomes I saw in the clips of Prince Kevon’s dates. On the right is a writing desk with a leather surface, and next to it, a small dining table with two chairs.

  Prince Kevon guides me to the sofa and flops down. My heart clenches with concern, and I’m so glad when Garrett joins us and sits at his other side. The driver closes the door and pulls out.

  “I’m so sorry about the king.” I rest my head on Prince Kevon’s shoulder. “Were you close?”

  Prince Kevon rubs his chest over the black guard’s jacket. “My father never spent enough time for us to foster a relationship.”

  “Uncle Arias liked to wander outside the Oasis,” Garrett adds. “He always said there was more to Phangloria than Nobles.”

  “But you must have spent some time with him.” I squeeze Prince Kevon’s hand.

  He turns to me with a sad smile. “Apart from portraits and official events, I barely saw my father.”

  I gulp. Queen Damascena doesn’t seem the maternal type, either. I can’t imagine what it would be like to grow up without a real Mom and Dad. “I’m sorry.”

  “Perhaps it was for the best,” Prince Kevon squeezes back. “Because my father was absent, I spent a lot of time with the Devotees of Gaia, teachers, and nannies who gave me a rounded view of our world. I also had wonderful cousins who are more like siblings.”

  “Like Garrett,” I say.

  “When Forelle tells me about her childhood, it seems like another world,” says Garrett, his voice breathy with awe.

  I wrap my arms around Prince Kevon’s middle and hold him tight. When he was still disguised as Sergeant Silver, he talked about the beauty and peace of our region. Harvesters are usually too busy struggling to survive. We don’t occupy ourselves with petty ambitions like the people at the Oasis.

  If I had to choose, I would rather live with people I love than with riches. It’s terrible that Prince Kevon has lost a father, but I’m glad the country has gained a kind and compassionate regent.

  Garrett and Prince Kevon reminisce about the little contact they had with King Arias. They don’t exactly say the words, but the king sounds like he spent his time with various mistresses in different Echelons of Phangloria and particularly enjoyed spending time with the milkmaids of Bos.

  I shake away suspicions a
bout that town getting extra rations because the king favored their women. Even if it’s true, it’s not charitable to speak such scandalous thoughts about the dead.

  Garrett’s watch chimes, and he excuses himself to walk to the bookcase. He pulls a lever and steps into the driver’s cab, leaving us alone. My mouth dries, and the surface of my skin prickles with apprehension. Part of me knows Prince Kevon won’t retreat into himself as Ryce did after Mr. Wintergreen’s death, but those years I spent pining over Ryce have created an expectation that’s difficult to shake.

  With a sigh, Prince Kevon wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me further into his side. The muscles around my torso relax as I sink into his warm embrace. Then I remember that I’m the one who should be giving him comfort.

  I tilt my head up and meet his sad eyes. “How are you feeling, really?”

  “Bereft,” he says in a monotone.

  “What do you mean?” My hand slides over his jacket and settles on the space between his pectoral muscles. There’s no knife in his chest, but I can’t resist the urge to keep my hand there to hold back a torrent of grief.

  Prince Kevon bends his neck and kisses the tip of my ring finger. “He said he would guide me through the Princess Trials, but the tsunami happened, and he supposedly left with the navy…”

  I nod, understanding what he leaves unsaid. King Arias lied about his whereabouts, and Prince Kevon found him dying in a hospital room. “You were looking forward to spending time with him.”

  “The moments I had with my father was precious,” he murmurs. “Believe it or not, the king was a very warm and charming man.”

  “He produced you, so he must have had some good points.”

  Prince Kevon chuckles and places a kiss on my brow. I tilt my head up and meet his eyes. The longing in his gaze twists my heart. It’s as though he thinks I’ll one day slip beyond his reach. Maybe it’s because of my earlier rejections. Maybe he thinks I’m staying with him because he got stabbed and now because his father is dead, but it’s not.

  “I’ll be here for you as long as you need me,” I say.

  The corner of his lips curls into a smile. “What if that’s forever?”

  My fingers curl around the fabric of his jacket. “How about forever and a day?”

  Prince Kevon draws back a few inches. My breath catches. Doesn’t he believe me? He lowers thick, dark lashes, cups my jaw with his warm hand, brushes the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip. The touch traces a line of pleasure that makes my eyelids flutter closed.

  “May I kiss you?” His deep voice echoes through my senses and makes my nerves thrum.

  My heart skips several beats as though not knowing if it wants to rejoice or escape.

  I lick my lips in anticipation. “You never need to ask.”

  He leans close, engulfing me in his vanilla and nutmeg scent. The warmth of his breath against my skin feels like a hot caress, and my lips part for the kiss. After several frantic heartbeats, nothing happens.

  “What are you doing?” I peer at him through my lashes.

  “Drinking you in.” Prince Kevon’s eyes are mostly black with a tiny ring of denim-blue. “Even covered in an oversized man’s jacket, it’s impossible to suppress your beauty.” He trails his fingers over my jawline and down my neck with an intensity in his eyes that tells me he means every word.

  Swallowing, I glance away and fix my gaze to the leather tomes on the bookshelf. When I look in the mirror, I don’t see this… what did he call me at the ball? The radiance of Gaia, untainted by surgical enhancements.

  My throat dries. Even if Prince Kevon prefers dark-haired, willowy girls like me, I can’t match a beauty like Rafaela van Eyck. The silence between us continues, making my pulse race. Aren’t people supposed to say something eloquent at moments like this?

  Berta’s words return to haunt me like a vengeful wraith. Girls like me, unadorned Harvester girls who don’t know poetry or politics or what to say in the throes of passion, never get the handsome prince.

  “Zea?” Concern laces his voice. “Did I say something—”

  “Just kiss me,” I murmur.

  He turns my face towards his and descends his lips on mine with a touch that sends sparks racing along my nerve endings. His tongue swipes against the seam of my mouth, and I part my lips and yield.

  The kiss is exploring, devouring, as though he’s both consuming and committing me to memory. It’s nothing like the gentle, sweet embrace we shared in the hospital’s roof garden, and there’s an urgency to the kiss like he thinks it will be his last.

  Each caress of his lips, each nip of his teeth, each swipe of his tongue lights a fire within me that melts away my doubts and burns the events of the morning to ashes. I cling onto his broad shoulders, not thinking of anything but Prince Kevon and how I never want this kiss to end.

  His hands grip my waist and pull me onto his lap. It’s just like that time in my hospital room, but there’s no Lady Circi to interrupt us. He slides his fingers over my neck, threads them into my hair, and secures me in place.

  My head spins, and I’m glad he’s holding onto me because I’d collapse under the onslaught of pleasure. How could I have ever doubted Prince Kevon? I dig my fingers into the hard muscles of his back, but when one of his hands skims the top button of my jacket, my body goes rigid.

  Prince Kevon draws back. “Forgive me.”

  “It’s…” I place a palm over the jacket’s opening. “I couldn’t stand for you to see me in this dress.”

  His brow rises a fraction, and the strangest expression crosses his handsome features. Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I slide off his lap.

  “Sorry.” I dip my head and stare into my hands. “Everyone in Rugosa saw me dressed like this, and so did the people watching me on NetFace, but I had no choice then, and it’s not proper—”

  “Zea.” He takes a hand and places gentle kisses on each knuckle. “I understand.”

  Forelle would probably remind me that Prince Kevon would see me in less than a skimpy dress soon enough, but Queen Damascena would taunt me about keeping the prince amused until he decided which Noble to marry. I push those thoughts aside and grab his hand.

  Each kiss I place on his knuckles makes him laugh, and the awkwardness that clings to my skin recedes to the back of my mind.

  We sit together on the sofa for the next few hours, sleeping, talking, drinking, and picking at breakfast. Prince Kevon shares stories about King Arias and tells me that it had been the king’s suggestion that he disguise himself as a guard to escort the girls to the Princess Trials.

  From these anecdotes, it sounds like King Arias was deeply unsatisfied with life at court, or at least with his choice of wife. I wonder if Prince Kevon realizes this and has decided not to repeat his father’s mistake.

  Eventually, the van stops, and the doors open. The dim lights of an underground parking lot illuminate a row of vehicles, including Prince Kevon’s two-seater solar car. Lady Circi, still clad in her black catsuit but with four times as many guns, steps into view.

  Her brows rise when she sees me behind the prince, but there’s no disapproval on her features. “Move faster next time I send you an alarm.”

  A breath catches in the back of my throat as we step out of the van. Did Lady Circi just admit to telling Prince Kevon that I was at the Rugosa Square?

  Prince Kevon releases my hand and wraps his arms around Lady Circi. “Thank you.” He draws back and kisses her on the cheek before engulfing her in another embrace. “And I’m sorry.”

  She endures the hug and glares at me with an intensity that warns me not to delve into whatever’s going on between her and the prince. I glance away, giving them their privacy. Lady Circi might be the queen’s lady-at-arms, but she has known Prince Kevon since he was born. Something about the way they interact speaks of more than a grudging affection.

  When Prince Kevon finally releases Lady Circi, she strides around the van and talks to Garrett.

  “I’l
l walk you to your room.” The prince places a hand on the small of my back.

  “Tonight’s the full moon,” says Lady Circi from behind the van.

  Prince Kevon’s steps falter for a moment, but we walk past a fleet of cars and vans to a security door. It scans the prince’s retina and handprint before allowing us to enter a darkened stairwell.

  As soon as the door shuts, bright lights flare to life. I walk up the stairs with the prince and ask, “What happens on the full moon?”

  “Royal funerals take place when the moon’s light is at its maximum.” He places a hand on the rail as he guides me up the steps. “According to Gaia’s Bible, this is when the goddess Selene’s power is at its fullest.”

  Prince Kevon explains that Selene requires a full moon to carry the royal spirit across the sky to Gaia. If they don’t bury King Arias tonight, they’ll have to wait another month. During that time, Queen Damascena will reign over Phangloria and will have the power to decide his bride.

  A shudder runs down my spine at the thought of that woman ruling anything. She already abuses enough of her power and doesn’t need any more.

  When we reach the top of the stairs, Prince Kevon is breathing hard. I pause to ask if he’s alright, but he shakes his head and says it’s just nerves.

  As we continue through the hallways, the palace servants we pass wear white, which Prince Kevon explains is in celebration for King Arias ascending to the realm of Gaia. I want to ask what the Devotees of Gaia believe happens to the souls of those who aren’t royal but now is not the time.

  Prince Kevon stops outside my door and places a hand on my arm. “Will you come to the funeral?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you.” He leans down and presses a soft kiss on my lips. “I’ll make sure that the ushers seat you accordingly.”

  I lean my back against the wall and watch him stride down the hallway, already looking to me like the King of Phangloria. Apart from my promise to stay at his side forever, he hasn’t discussed the possibility of marriage. Maybe that’s because he doesn’t want to scare me away, but seeing Mom and Dad this morning has strengthened my resolve. If he still wants me as his wife, I’m going to say yes.