The King's 100

by Karin Biggs

  The process of changing my hair color may have been painfully long, but I enjoyed munching on an endless amount of sugary breads and reading Mondarian magazines. They were full of color and articles that I found fascinating—Fall Trends this Season, Delectable Apple Desserts and What His Kiss Style Means. To think I spent my entire life learning code, memorizing the periodic table and crunching numbers for structural engineering exams when the citizens of Mondaria were studying seven different ways to coat apples with sugar was perplexing.

  Other New Members came in and out of the salon for hair trims as I waited for each round of my coloring process. I kept an eye out for a black-haired boy to enter the salon but he never showed. At one point I had to leave to be measured by the Mansion’s tailor and when I returned, Staci had left, leaving me as the lone court member to finish up in the salon.

  When the color change was finally completed, I entered the Mansion’s enormous ballroom. My mouth dropped at the sight of the sparkling crystal chandeliers covering the ceiling and the vastness of the room which was comparable in size to a small aviation hangar. A wide wooden stage sat in front of me, on what I determined to be the east wall based on the amount of sunlight pouring in through a tall arched window. And the walls on either side copied the same shape of windows, but smaller. So many windows. So much light. So opposite of any room in Capalon.

  “Oh Paris, I love your hair!” Genevieve’s fingers ran through my new brown locks, pulling my eyes off of the windows.

  Layla shot me a quick glance. “I hate it.”

  “You’re so rude, Layla!” Genevieve said.

  Layla shrugged. “I’m just being honest. She looked better as herself, not as a creation of the maestro’s obsession with hair balance.”

  “Don’t listen to her, Paris. You look great.” Genevieve smiled at me before dipping her head down to whisper something to Heather.

  “Look at this place, princess,” Layla said looking up at the sparkling ceiling. “It’s not like home is it?”

  “Far from it.” I was about to mention the amount of electricity it had taken to light up the whole room when Layla fell backward onto the polished wood floor of the ballroom, landing on her rear-end.

  A tall boy with light brown hair reached down to help her up but Layla brushed his hand away. “Thanks, but I can get myself up.”

  The boy’s face twisted. “Just thought I’d help since it was my foot you tripped over.”

  Layla pushed herself off the floor. “So, you tripped me with your big feet? Thanks.”

  “No, you tripped over my normal sized feet.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” shouted a boy from the stage.

  Our group responded with ‘yes, sir’ and moved to the foot of the stage.

  “I’m Eric Blackwell, Manager of the Court Men. Welcome to the Stardust Ballroom.” Agnes introduced herself too, then instructed us to find partners to learn the steps to a dance.

  The tall brown-haired boy turned to face Layla. “Let me prove to you that I’m not the clumsy one.”

  Layla sighed. “Fine.”

  I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see a dark-skinned boy with black-framed glasses. “May I have the pleasure of serving as your dance partner?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Oh, I mean yes, sir.”

  Agnes and Eric demonstrated how to introduce ourselves to our guests.

  My dance partner smiled and bowed. “Hello miss, my name is Darden McCray.”

  I curtsied. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. McCray. My name is Paris Marigold.” I felt like a complete and utter fool but it was the price I had to pay for residence inside the king’s Mansion.

  The managers led us through the steps of the Mondarian Waltz which was harder for me to learn than Darden.

  “Wait, what was that last count?” I asked.

  “You really should just pay attention to what our managers are saying.”

  “I’m trying, I just can’t get a hang of—”

  “Shh,” he said, pushing me in the right direction.

  Eric paused the music. “You’ll need to learn the dance well enough that you’re not thinking of the steps, and instead, focusing on the guest. When we start the music again, start from the top with your introductions, then try holding a conversation while dancing.”

  We repeated our introductions and Darden was the first to ask a question. “So, were you on Junior Court in Green Heights?”

  “No. I was homeschooled. But I saw some competitions,” I said, matching the lies Layla wrote on my application.

  “Were you at the Valley Spring Spectacular?”

  I nodded as my eyes focused on the sunny windows behind his head.

  “What did you think about the drama with the director from White Wood?”

  “Um…” Darden stared me down as we danced in a circle.

  Was he catching on to me?

  I had to say something—anything generic to move him off the subject. “He was out of line.”

  His face twisted. “He? The director from White Wood is a woman. The judge slapped her in the face!”

  What was it I had heard the Mondarians say? Crap on the king. I sucked in a breath. “Oh yeah, I remember. I was just really sick, so my memory is fuzzy.”

  “Well you certainly remember who won?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “My school should have won, but I’m obviously biased.”

  “No, Green Heights should have won. But of course, I’m biased too,” I said, proud of my answer.

  He laughed. “You’re funny, Miss Marigold. You must have been really sick if you don’t remember that your town did win!”

  “Oh, yeah.” I bit my lip, hoping not to let anymore false statements fall out of my mouth.

  “Well then, I’m guessing you don’t remember seeing me accept the award for Best Individual Performance by a Magician? I’m the only one to get it three years in a row.”

  “You must be a good magician.”

  “The best magician, actually.”

  Darden chuckled and I forced a laugh out, unsure if he was conceited or just awkward with humor.

  “Okay, switch!” shouted Agnes.

  Darden passed me off to the next New Man—a singer named Bradley Wafer who stepped on my toes multiple times.

  “Switch!”

  The dance partners following Bradley proved to be more coordinated, and I found myself smiling, enjoying the ease of the steps, no longer worrying about the counts or what to say to my partner. I even closed my eyes when my last partner spun me on to the next. But my heart stopped when I opened them to see a familiar pair of brown eyes the color of hot chocolate.

  The boy from Badger River bowed. “Hello miss, my name is Ari Novak.”

  I was supposed to curtsy and say my name but my whole body experienced a sudden bout of paralysis.

  “May I have this dance?” he asked, exposing an open palm.

  Somehow my hand knew to accept his, warming instantly at our connection. When Ari’s other hand dropped to my waist, my skin came alive under his touch—a sensation that had been absent with my other dance partners.

  “Are you enjoying your time in the King’s 100?” he asked.

  Did he not recognize me with my new brown hair?

  I forced words through a swollen throat. “Yes. It’s been intriguing to say the least.”

  We spun around the same path we had been following the entirety of the lesson, but I felt like I was performing the dance for the first time.

  He smiled and bent his mouth down to meet my ear, his warm breath caressing my skin. “And have you called anyone else an ignoramus?” He pulled his head back to reveal the sun-bursting smile I remembered from Badger River. “Didn’t think I’d recognize you?”

  “I…wasn’t sure,” I said with a nervous laugh.

  “It’s okay. I was worried you wouldn’t recognize me without my standard flannel. These jackets are super scratchy.”

  I smiled and was about to
tell Ari I intended to return his shirt when I caught him observing me with an intense gaze. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I like the real you better.”

  My lungs constricted. The real me? Piper Renée Parish, Princess of Capalon—me?

  “I mean, they did a nice job and all but I just have you in my head as a blonde.”

  I exhaled a sigh of relief. “Oh, you’re talking about my hair.”

  “Yeah, what else would I be talking about?”

  “Nothing, I…I like your hair too. I think it brings out your eyes.” I tucked my chin down to conceal my flushing cheeks.

  “You like it? My girlfriend’s been begging me to get a haircut for a while now. I hope she likes it when she’s here for Grape Stomp.”

  The other people in the Stardust Ballroom reappeared in my periphery. Ari was matched to another girl by choice. “What’s a Grape Stomp?” I asked to take my mind off his relationship-by-choice with another girl.

  “Some event we have to have dates for. My roommate was telling me about it. He seems to be the Court’s number one fan. And possibly the best magician I’ve ever met.”

  “Is your roommate Darden Mc—”

  “Switch!” shouted Eric.

  Ari stepped back to open the space between us. “I’m glad you decided to audition, Paris.” He squeezed my hands before dropping them and I spun on to the next boy.

  As I listened to my new partner talk about his family’s goat farm, I considered Ari’s matched status to be a positive observation for my data collection. As a Mondarian, he belonged with a Mondarian girl and as the Capalon princess, I belonged with the future prince of Capalon. Ari proved to be a surprising distraction, but I possessed the mental tools for preventing my mind to stray into unacceptable territory. Finding my mother was the goal, and I wasn’t about to let Ari’s kindness or brown eyes prevent me from proving a long-believed hypothesis.

  When our dance instruction ended, the magicians were called to a sectional with the maestro and the drummers followed Eric into another room for etiquette training. I left the Stardust Ballroom with the other singers for a tour of the Mansion. We revisited the Polaris Auditorium and climbed a narrow staircase behind the stage which led to a set of dressing rooms. Each table in the court ladies’ dressing room provided cushioned stools and mirrors framed in large bulbs for six girls. Our seats were assigned by roommate pairings but when Layla found her name, she switched the cards.

  “Layla, what are you doing?” I asked as Agnes talked to some girls on the other side of the table mirrors.

  She shushed me. “Will you keep it down? I’m just doing some rearranging. I won’t survive the Season if I have to sit next to Genevieve. Blondie will want to be next to her BFF, anyway.” Layla’s new order started with Heather on the far-left end of the table, followed by Genevieve, myself, Layla, Staci Ringer and Nicole Jordan. Layla’s change went unnoticed as we all filed out of the room to the next location.

  I expected Agnes to give a detailed history of the Mansion’s architecture but she only rattled off information about the King’s 100 during the rest of our tour. Performance time would be divided between the ballroom and the auditorium. Ballroom performances coincided with a seasonal or holiday event intended for invited guests only and required the court to host tables, dance with guests and perform our talent as predetermined by the maestro. Auditorium shows symbolized the strength, beauty and wisdom of the Mondarian people and were available to anyone willing to pay a steep price for a ticket. A King’s 100 Season ended with a private Showcase for the king who offered feedback of changes for the following Season, sometimes resulting in court member eliminations. I didn’t listen too closely to the details of the Winter Showcase for our Season since I was determined to be back in Capalon with my mother and sister long before then.

  As we walked one of the wide hallways to our final location on the tour, Layla strode up beside me. “Of course, Reese Olsen is a singer—one of the beautiful whores.”

  “Is he the boy who tripped you?”

  “Yeah. He kept leading me through the steps like I couldn’t figure it out on my own.”

  “Maybe he was just trying to be helpful,” I said.

  “No way, look at him.”

  I looked up ahead, where Heather and two other girls giggled at something Reese said.

  Layla groaned. “He’s so full of himself. And he says he plays guitar and writes his own music which is just so stereotypical.”

  Agnes led us into an arched room called the Hall of Memories where photos of the king and the royal family covered the walls. There were also numerous photos of the king with all rulers of The Lands, with one deliberate exclusion.

  I paused on a recent framed picture of the Royal Family—King Orson Anders with Queen Marisol and their two sons, Corbin and Taran.

  “Oh, the princes,” Heather said behind me. “Are the rumors true? Is Prince Corbin really a playboy?” she asked Agnes. But Agnes ignored her question to point out some historical event in one of the photos.

  “I’d take the playboy over Prince Taran,” said another New Lady in our group of singers. “I heard Corbin’s got a talent for magic in addition to being the future king.” The girl squinted her eyes as she examined the photo. “Taran always looks so serious and…boring.”

  Heather laughed. “But Taran’s our age. Maybe one of us will marry him and become a princess.”

  Layla approached the photo. “Why settle for princess when you could be queen and finally tie down the playboy?”

  Reese appeared beside Layla. “Is that your type? The playboys?” he asked with a cunning smile.

  “No,” Layla said, turning to face Reese. “The playboys are still boys and I need a man.”

  Reese and Layla argued about the definition of a ‘boy’ so I wandered back to the entrance of the room, lost in the photos of a royal family that lived a life so opposite from my own upbringing—attending lavish dinners, partaking in sporting events, dancing with—

  “Do you have any questions?” asked a guard at the door. He looked to be in his early twenties but had early signs of hair loss down the middle of his head.

  “No thank you,” I said, hoping to rid him of his strange stare. But I paused. “Actually, I do. I know this might be an odd question, but is there any sort of prison in the Mansion?”

  He smiled. “No prison. But if you’re into Mansion secrets, they’re all documented in the Records Room.”

  “And court members have access to the Records Room?”

  “No miss, you don’t. Gotta be royal or a guard to get in.” A twisted smile appeared across his pocked skin. “But now you know a guard,” he said jingling a key in front of my face. “Maybe you and I could…make an arrangement?”

  “Like what?” Excitement brewed in my belly. Maybe the Records Room was the key to locating my mother.

  “Get lost, creep,” Layla said from behind me.

  The guard’s face paled, and he moved away from the door.

  I clenched my fists. “Why did you have to interrupt, Layla? He was going to offer me an arrangement for…an additional tour of the Mansion.”

  “Yeah, but whatever you think he meant by ‘arrangement’ is absolutely not what he was thinking.”

  “Time for etiquette!” shouted Agnes.

  “Then what was he thinking?” I asked Layla, trying to calm the anger in my voice.

  Layla patted my shoulder. “Time for etiquette, princess.”

  After an agonizing hour of etiquette training, we headed to the court dining hall to eat lunch with the other New Men and Ladies. Two guards passed us in the hallway, escorting a tearful girl who I recognized to be Heather’s roommate, Nicole Jordan.

  “The maestro is a tyrant!” she shouted. “Anyone who’s willing to follow him is insane!” We watched the scene until the guards pulled her around the corner and her incoherent shouting ceased.

  When Heather saw Staci at the doorway of the dining hall, Heather latched onto her arm. �
��What happened to Nicole?”

  Staci played with the ends of her new ink-black extensions. “Maestro kicked Nicole out at the end of our sectional.”

  Heather’s hands flew to her mouth.

  Staci’s small eyes widened. “He just zeroed in on Nicole and wouldn’t let up. He told her that if she couldn’t keep up with his tempo, that she…she must not be good at anything in life. Nicole fired back at him so Maestro called the guards on her.” Staci bit her lip. “I was warned about the maestro from some people back home, but I had no idea he would be this bad.”

  The surrounding girls offered comments of shock.

  “Did Nicole truly fail to meet the maestro’s expectations?” I asked Staci.

  She shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

  I stepped forward with the movement of the food line. “Then perhaps he was right to eliminate her from the court.”

  The girls in front of me cast sideways glances. The line lurched forward but Layla tugged me back. “And I thought I was the mean New Lady.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t understand your reference.”

  “Paris, I know you’ve missed out on the whole girl-code thing since you’ve been homeschooled your whole life, so I’ll offer you one small tip.” She crossed her arms and took a step closer, causing me to tilt my chin down to meet her eyes. “You need to be more sensitive around these girls. I know that’s ironic coming from me, but you actually care about what people think about you, right?”

  No. I didn’t care how the other court members perceived me but I needed to keep my true intentions hidden under the guise of my Mondarian cover. “Yeah, I do care,” I said, taking a step closer to the food table to grab a plate. “Thank you for the tip.” I filled my plate with forbidden food and sat next to Layla.

  The other court members at our table listened to Genevieve recount an incident with the maestro. “He said messing up your social tricks is like offering somebody a beautiful blueberry muffin for free. Your guest is so excited you gave them a free muffin, but when they bite into it, instead of sinking their teeth into sweet berries,” Genevieve paused and winced, “they bite the heads off of fat slimy maggots.”