The King's 100

by Karin Biggs

  I nodded and took a deep breath, feeling my heart settle back into its normal rhythm. “That makes sense.” My final words to him from the night before pinched me with guilt. “Ari, I’m sorry I was short with you last night. I just wasn’t feeling well after the dinner. Layla probably told everyone that I vomited out in the courtyard.”

  Ari’s face twisted. “If she did, I didn’t hear it. Wow, I’m sorry, Paris. That had to suck.”

  “Yeah. It sucked,” I said, enjoying the sound of the last word. It wasn’t used in Capalon, but it summed up the feelings of a less than desirable situation.

  “Probably time for you to head back.” Ari extended his hand to help me up, and I accepted, fully aware of the tingling jolt through my body from his touch. After checking my dress to make sure it was free of dust, I caught Ari’s eyes lingering on me. “What is it? Do I already have grass stains on my teeth?” I showed him an exaggerated smile.

  Ari laughed. “No, I just think you look,” he cleared his throat, “um, you look…put together.”

  “Oh,” I said, feeling my throat go dry. “You look…put together too.”

  Ari fidgeted with his gold tie. “Have a good show, Paris.”

  “Yeah, you too.”

  I reentered the ballroom and took a sip out of the nearest water goblet, breaking a major rule out of the court handbook. I set it back down on the table and lifted my head. My eyes scanned the room and they should have been searching for a suspicious court member or a blonde-haired woman who resembled my mother, but they refused to focus on anything other than a thought that tugged at the back of my mind.

  The way Ari looked at me…

  It wasn’t aggressive like the way Felix looked at me during the welcome party. And it wasn’t disconnected, like Darden’s or Reese’s faces, seeing me out of necessity for a friendship based on a mutual partnership around magic or music.

  Ari looked at me and I felt…beautiful.

  Agnes passed, reminding me and the other lingering court members that it was time to take our seats. I put my mask back on and headed to my assigned table near the back of the ballroom and greeted my guests. I stood behind my chair until all guests were present and took a seat. We had just completed our circle of introductions when three loud knocks on the closed main doors to the ballroom drew everyone’s attention.

  The doors opened and drumsticks tapped three times before the whole drumline fell into a loud cadence, sending an exciting energy throughout the ballroom and under my skin. The beats pinged off the arched ceiling and deep into my chest as they marched down an open aisle between the rows of tables. They separated into two even lines on either side of the aisle and one drummer played a steady roll.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” boomed the Chancellor’s voice through the ballroom’s speakers, “please stand for King Orson Anders of Mondaria.”

  I stood with the rest of the ballroom and watched as the leader of my enemies walked the drummer-lined aisle to the head table at the front of the ballroom. I took a deep breath, knowing that my life hung on the hope that the stout man with a full head of golden hair and a trimmed beard would never know the enemy princess of Capalon was a member of his court. For some reason, I expected more from his ensemble but he only wore a black tuxedo with a silver tie. At the table, he lifted a chalice to his lips and took a sip. “For Mondaria.”

  He sat and the rest of the room followed suit except for the singers of the King’s 100. Maestro stood at the edge of the head table to direct us in the Blessing Song and although I had been nervous at the thought of singing in front of my table guests, the thoughts in my head overtook my nerves as I watched Maestro.

  What if the note came from Ari? What if he secretly knew who I was and he was trying to be helpful? In a way, I hoped it was him—that he was seeing me for me and not as Paris Marigold, the Mondarian. But I wasn’t about to ask him if he knew I was a Capalon, just to have him run away and tell the king to execute me.

  And what if Darden had been deceiving me? Or my own roommate? Reese? Genevieve?

  The possibilities followed me throughout dinner and to the dance floor, where we were required to find a guest to dance with once the king and queen completed their solo dance as a couple. They bowed, signaling for everyone else to join them on the dance floor.

  I had been so focused on the anonymous note, that when we started to dance, it took me a minute to recognize the familiarity of a nearby aroma. Then the connection hit me like a Capalon speedcraft—peppermint, lemon and lavender oil—a smell I had known since birth, belonging to my mother.

  My dance partner winced. “Miss, yeh done stepped on mah foot.”

  I opened my mouth to apologize, but I was too shocked to respond. My mother was alive, and she was somewhere with me on King Orson’s dance floor. My head swiveled, desperate to find her but it was too hard among the sea of masked faces and elegant gowns.

  “Wouldn’ah be the firs’ time I’ve been stomped on durin’ a dance,” he chuckled. Mr. Haggis continued to tell the story of some other lady he danced with back in his kingdom of Hulgrede but my attention could only focus on finding my mother.

  As we traveled around the dance floor, I caught brief moments of her scent. I searched for a blonde head of hair but there were so many with all their faces covered in masks. My pattern turned to dance, look, smell, dance, look, smell.

  Where was she? If I could smell her, why couldn’t I see her? And why hadn’t she noticed me yet?

  But I was masked and with a different hair color. For all I knew, she had a new hair color too to avoid being recognized as the dead queen of Capalon.

  Another partner. More spinning. More looking.

  Eventually the maestro took the stage to cue the singers in our goodbye song. At the conclusion of the song, the king and queen made their formal exit, and as a court lady, I was expected to follow suit. But I didn’t want to leave when I knew my mother was within feet of me.

  “Honey, aren’t you supposed to follow your comrades out the door?” asked my last partner, a rail-thin elderly man.

  I nodded and stepped forward to catch up to my cohorts, looking behind me one final time, but no one broke free of the crowd to chase me. I could have allowed myself to feel miserable that my mother didn’t recognize me, but the only emotion I could feel was pure elation.

  My mother was alive, and I was right. I took the risk to enter Mondaria for a reason, and I wouldn’t leave until my mother was safely with me.

  I bounded forward to catch up to Darden before we approached the stairwell to the dressing rooms. “Rehearsal studio. Now,” I whispered in his ear, hiding my smile.

  “But Miss Marigold, we’re not supposed to go anywhere else in our court uniforms, other than—”

  “This is an emergency, Darden.” I wiggled my wrist just enough for him to get the message.

  He followed me to the magician’s rehearsal studio and shut the door.

  “What’s the emergency?” he asked.

  “She’s here,” I said, letting my smile show itself without restraint.

  “The Capalon you were looking for? She was at the ball?”

  I nodded. “She didn’t recognize me, but who would with my new hair and mask?”

  “Wow, Mondaria now has two Capalons within its borders.” Darden took a deep breath. “I’m happy that you’re happy, Miss Marigold, but is this information so important it requires breaking a rule out of the court handbook?”

  “Oh…no, I guess not. But there is something else.” I handed him the note I found inside my pocket. “Any idea why somebody would write this?”

  He read it and shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking but I swear to you, I haven’t told anyone.” He handed the note back and looked in my eyes. “You don’t believe me.”

  I chewed my bottom lip. “I do. I mean, I want to believe you, but how else would somebody know?”

  Darden shrugged. “Maybe it’s from your roommate. Do you talk in your sleep?”


  “No. And knowing her, she would have preferred to accuse me herself in person. She’s not one to avoid confrontation.”

  “I’ve noticed.” Darden lifted his hands to crack his knuckles. “I promise I’ll do what it takes to keep your secret safe, Miss Marigold.”

  “Thank you, Darden.”

  “Because I really need your brain for my illusion,” he said with a smile, dropping his hands behind his back.

  I sighed. “Of course, for your mystery girl.”

  “I told you—she’s the queen of hearts. You just haven’t found her yet.”

  A grin stretched across my face. “And here I thought we were the first to form a peaceful bond between two enemies.”

  Darden tilted his head to the door. “Enemies or not, we really need to change out of these clothes before we get in trouble.”

  Later that night in my room, I still couldn’t get the note out of my head. I stared at Layla’s vacant desk from my bed, littered with Mondarian coins, jewelry and a notebook with an artistic depiction of a rainbow. If one of the court members knew my secret, were they sharing the information with their friends?

  The door opened and Layla put her toiletry tote away in her closet before taking a seat at her desk.

  I leaned forward, eager to interrogate my roommate. “Layla, have you heard any rumors about me from other court members?”

  She swiveled in her chair to face me. “Like what, princess?”

  “I don’t know exactly. I just…have this feeling that maybe I’m not fitting in here.”

  Her brows knitted together. “Yeah, because you don’t.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?” I swallowed, fearing an accusation of my real identity.

  She shrugged. “None of us fit in here. We weren’t raised to be royalty, so we’re all just putting on a facade when we’re out there in our gowns and tuxedos.”

  I nodded as my heart rate settled. “But there’s nothing strange you’ve heard about me specifically?”

  Layla shook her head. “No. Just that you hang around Darden McCray a lot.”

  “Oh. Well, he asked me to be his date to Grape Stomp.”

  Layla lifted her brows. “Mr. Manners? Have a great time with that one.”

  “Who are you going with?”

  “Simon Zacher.”

  “Is he that boy you played cards with at the welcome party?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He’s a Fourth Season drummer, and I almost beat him at the push-up contest.”

  Simon’s age sparked a theory. “Layla, when you said you were interested in older men, how much older did you mean?”

  Layla opened a small porcelain blue box and placed a pair of earrings and necklace inside it. “I didn’t necessarily mean older. I just meant somebody who wasn’t a scared, hormonal boy who doesn’t know how to stand up with his own backbone.”

  I nodded and chewed on my thumbnail. “So…you’re not interested in somebody like…Maestro?”

  “EW! Who do you think I am, Paris?”

  “I know, I’m sorry…it’s just…I think I saw Maestro with a woman. Or possibly a girl our age. I can’t be sure.”

  Layla’s face twisted. “Maestro actually convinced somebody to be attracted to him? That’s the sickest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  It was a disturbing thought to think there was somebody out there who wanted to kiss the maestro. And I was happy to finally rule out Layla as his potential lover. “Have you dated a lot of boys to give you the impression that they’re all…what was it, spineless and testosterone-driven?”

  “Close enough, and I’ve only really dated one. He broke my heart. And now I hate him. End of story.”

  Layla’s broken heart reminded me about Darden’s mystery girl. “Layla, what card did you get from Darden’s trick?”

  “A heart.”

  “I know, but which one? I got the two of hearts.”

  Layla reached for the baggy original jacket in her closet. “Seven. Is there more to the trick? Oh, did one of us win the unfortunate prize of attending Grape Stomp with him?” she asked with a wink.

  She stepped out of her slippers, climbed into her bed and turned off her lamp, allowing the light of the moon to dance across our faces. I shut my eyes but my head was filled with too many questions to drift off to sleep:

  Which court member wrote me the note?

  Who was Maestro’s mystery woman?

  Who was Darden’s queen of hearts?

  And most importantly, how was I going to get my mother to notice me?

  My thoughts then drifted to Ari standing above me in his tuxedo—his tall stance, the way the black of his attire matched his hair and brows, the way he looked at me—making me feel as if I had been truly seen for the first time in my life.

  I took a deep breath, fighting the urge to allow the strange thoughts and emotions to fill my head. Maybe my match in Capalon would be handsome. Attraction was acceptable once a match was made for the sake of reproduction, but nothing more. Perhaps my match would feel the same desire for me and we could hide our attraction behind closed doors, like Xavier. Or maybe I was getting weak and allowing the Mondarians to brainwash me with their unnecessary attention to physical appearance and romantic feelings.

  That had to be it.

  Romantic feelings weren’t real or necessary for the sake of humanity. I was being brainwashed. I took another deep breath and shut out the image of Ari but his words from our conversation lingered, the sound of his voice ingrained in my ears like the embedded speakers I had implanted since childhood.

  And then something he had forced my eyes open—if I wanted my mother to notice me, I had to be the offbeat drummer. I needed to stand out from the other members of the King’s 100 so she would know who I was and take me back to Capalon where we could be a family again with my sister.

  I just needed a plan.

  The next morning at breakfast, Layla left me again after the food line to go to the rehearsal studios so I took a seat next to Heather and Genevieve. I turned my head to catch a black head of hair sitting among some other First Season drummers. Feeling relieved that Ari chose to sit with them instead of me, I ate my breakfast. I didn’t need to be tricked by emotional illusions into thinking that I had developed an attraction to him.

  There was only one person I needed to be thinking about at all times, and that person was my mother. Genevieve and Heather bantered back and forth about their experience at the Harvest Ball, and I served as a spectator of their conversation.

  Deciding I needed one more donut, I headed back up to the food line but on my way, Ari leaned back from his seat at the table to block my path. “So, you wanna go on that moose statue hunt with me after breakfast?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, meet you in the Lounge,” he said with his smiling brown eyes.

  No. I meant no. Why did I say yes? “Actually…I just remembered I have something to do after breakfast.”

  His shoulders slumped. “Oh. That’s too bad.”

  What was that look behind his eyes? Hurt? “But I can talk for a few minutes now. Want another donut?”

  He swiveled his legs around his seat and stood. “Definitely.”

  And that was the kick-off for my new routine in the Mansion for the following weeks—I would go through the food line with Layla, sit with Genevieve and Heather, then if time allowed talk to Ari for a few minutes over my second donut before wandering off to do some investigative work around the mansion or brainstorming in my room. Combined rehearsals followed, along with lunch and sectionals. Dinner was with Layla and only Layla—that was her strict policy for me which I didn’t mind. Then depending on the night, magic planning with Darden or singing with Reese.

  I must have walked the Mansion close to one hundred times, unable to spot a single clue about my mother. I even made a few more visits to the Records Room, but came up short for information leading me in the right direction. My time alone in my room involved conversations with Chip and recordi
ng my ideas for how to get my mother to notice me. They ranged from re-dying my hair back to blonde, leaving secret messages for her around the Mansion and traveling to surrounding towns on my off-days.

  Chip had access to the chemical compound of hair dye but obtaining the ingredients was easier said than done. Darden said the keys to the Mansion’s salon were kept by the salon’s manager who kept them on her at all times. I asked Genevieve if she would go with me to the salon in the Village but she refused and pleaded with me not to do it for fear that Maestro would kick me out. And with guard patrols in the Mansion, I didn’t know what kind of message to leave that wouldn’t get traced back to me. So instead, anytime Layla wanted to go to the Village, I would join her, hoping that I would run into my mother.

  One day, after sectionals, I was planning to head to the Village with Darden since Layla signed up for solo auditions. We passed a trembling Heather in the hallway behind the ballroom. Genevieve stroked her hair and spoke calming words.

  “Heather, are you okay?” I asked, placing a hand on her shaking shoulder.

  “She’s nervous about the singers’ solo auditions,” Genevieve said.

  “What do you have to be nervous about?” I asked Heather. “You sound great! I listen to you sing all the time and you help me so much with the notes.”

  Heather lifted her head. “Thanks, Paris. But I have a tendency to screw up when I’m nervous. I’m surprised I’m even here for how much I sucked at my court audition.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t believe it. You just have to tell yourself you can do it. And Heather, I know you can.”

  “But I’m the only New Lady soprano auditioning for solos. It just feels like a lot of pressure. I’m just going to make a fool out of myself in front of everyone else auditioning.”