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

by Cordelia K Castel

  When I ask about Emmera and Vitelotte, Garrett assures me that Emmera has been released. He urges me to eat the sandwich we took from the palace and piles me with syrupy juices that he promises will help regain my strength. I’m too tired and hungry to do anything but eat, drink, and yearn for Prince Kevon.

  His hospital room is twice the size of our family kitchen, guarded by two uniformed men in purple, and smells as though recently cleaned with disinfectant. With its ivory walls and carpet, it looks more like my suite at the palace than a place of healing.

  At the far left of the room is a lounge area with a writing desk and velvet sofas wide enough to seat twelve. Crystal floor lamps provide gentle illumination, making me wonder if Prince Kevon has been entertaining.

  On the left of the room, a wider-than-average hospital bed stands on a long sheet of white polymer that stretches from beneath the bed, up the wall, and across the ceiling. Blue lights shine down, reminding me of the sterilization methods used by the emergency medical staff.

  Prince Kevon’s vital signs flash on the display, but there’s no sign of the prince. I turn to Garrett and frown. “Where is he?”

  He asks one of the guards, who tells us that the prince is on the roof terrace and points us toward a door that I hadn’t noticed until now.

  It leads to an empty white hallway with an elevator door. I wipe my damp palms on the fabric of my jumpsuit as we step inside. This is my first experience of riding such a device, but there’s no time to fret about my safety when it lurches upward.

  I grab Garrett’s arm for balance, but before he can ask what I’m doing, the elevator doors open into an outdoor space. This must be what he meant by a roof garden.

  The roof is sectioned into a fifty-foot space by tall walls covered in climbing roses. Garrett places a hand on the small of my back and guides me off the elevator.

  This portion of the roof is tiled, save for the wooden flower beds that house shrubs of lavender and brightly-colored herbs such as red clover and orange calendula.

  My gaze lands on a dark-haired figure sitting in a wicker chair that faces the edge of the roof.

  Prince Kevon stands, looking as tall and as handsome as ever but not as steady on his feet. He wears loose pants and a white hospital gown that wraps around his chest like a kimono.

  Garrett places a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll stand at the elevator, so you can have your privacy.”

  “Thank you.”

  The smile Garrett gives me communicates a range of emotions. Gratitude for having saved Prince Kevon’s life, affection, and a warm acceptance that I’ve never seen in anyone outside my family.

  Garrett picked me out from the crowd in Rugosa and marched me to the marquee. He’s known since the beginning that I was the one for Prince Kevon, and the approval in his eyes says he’s delighted with his choice.

  I smile back, understanding why Forelle has fallen for Garrett, and rush into Prince Kevon’s arms. The sharp scent of antiseptic covers his warm, sensual scent, but he still feels like the man I’ve come to love.

  “Zea,” he whispers into my hair. “I’m so sorry they kept you in that detention center. Are you hurt?”

  I tilt my head up and meet his eyes. His pupils are wide with a tiny ring of indigo-blue. Dark shadows circle his eyes, and the contours of his face are even more pronounced than I saw on the Lifestyle Channel.

  Pain clutches at my chest, and I wonder how he can still stand after such an attack. “I’m fine, now.”

  He slides his fingertips down the side of my face, and his touch sends tingles down my spine and across my ribs. “I thought I would never see you again.”

  My stomach tightens, and I turn my gaze to the sky. The sun shines through white clouds and turns their thin edges an incandescent white. When I lay on that cold floor, hungry, thirsty, and mad with grief, I thought I would never see the outside of that cage, let alone my family or Prince Kevon.

  I thought he hadn't survived the stabbing and a slow death in a cage was our punishment. I can’t express myself as well as Prince Kevon, especially when it comes to my emotions, and the words won’t form in my mind.

  Instead, I say, “How are you feeling?”

  “Better, now that I know you’re safe.” He guides me to a wicker sofa, which overlooks the city, and we sit.

  The Royal Hospital feels twice as high as the navy barracks. From this vantage point, the Oasis looks like a giant park of lawns and small forests built around lakes and canals and rivers.

  Each building is surrounded by water or a stretch of green, and even the highways are tree-lined boulevards. At the far edge of the city stand the massive domes that make up the Botanical Gardens. The muscles of my chest tighten, and resentment closes around my throat.

  Some days, it's hard to believe that people who live in such wealth and beauty are capable of atrocities. Today, it is not.

  Prince Kevon brings our interlaced fingers to his lips and kisses my knuckles. “I saw the footage of your arrest. That officer who hurt you is now serving the rest of his career in a military prison.”

  My mouth drops open, and I turn to meet his sad eyes. “You had him punished?”

  He frowns and tilts his head. “He should never have put his hands on you, especially since you were the only reason I didn’t bleed to death.”

  Prince Kevon wraps a strong arm around my shoulder, and the tightness in my chest loosens, allowing me to relax. This is the first time in my entire existence that I’ve heard of a guard being punished for the unfair treatment of a Harvester.

  I wrap my left arm around prince Kevon’s front. The muscles under his thin garment feel more pronounced, as though he has been starving for the entire week that I was gone. My other arm slides around his back and hits something hard. I trace the object with my fingertips. It feels like a centipede along his spine with metal legs running along his ribs.

  “What’s this?”

  His brows draw together. “An Amstraad spine monitor for my autonomic nervous system.”

  A shudder of horror sweeps through my body, and I snatch my hand away from the device. “What?”

  He draws back and offers me a tight smile. “It’s temporary until the cardiologist deems my heart capable of beating on its own.”

  My throat thickens. I know nothing about medicine or surgery, but I’ve seen how devices like these can malfunction. Even though Mouse helped me through that interrogation with his earrings, I still don’t know anything about the Amstraad Republic’s motives.

  “What if someone accesses it through Netface?” My words sound stupid as soon as they leave my lips, but I don’t have the correct terminology or comprehension of the subject to express my concerns.

  Prince Kevon pats my shoulder. “These devices work on a separate network.”

  “Like the one that got Gemini Pixel executed?”

  He winces. “I’m sorry about that. My mother assured me—”

  “No.” I place a hand on his broad chest. “I know you tried your best for Gemini, and I also know the limits of your power. But if someone would assassinate Rafaela via her Amstraad monitor, couldn’t they do the same to you?”

  His shoulders droop, and worry clenches at my heart. He nods. “Unfortunately, I don’t have much of a choice. The blade damaged my heart, and my mother agreed to a synthetic muscle-tissue graft to maintain its capacity and function. Until that tissue learns to move in sync with the rest of my heart, I’m dependent on this monitor.”

  My mind goes blank. Why couldn’t they just sew up the wound? Why introduce artificial material into his body when they could have just repaired it? I wish I knew more about medicine, computers, and everything outside of growing tomatoes and corn. My education is lacking, and I can’t even ask the right questions without sounding like a superstitious yokel.

  Prince Kevon places his hand over mine. “Please, don’t worry. My medical team chose the best option to restore my health and ensure that I live a long life.”

  We sit
in silence for a while with me resting my head in the crook of Prince Kevon’s neck. I have to trust that Queen Damascena cares enough for her son to take the best medical advice.

  Leaves rustle in the breeze, and the scent of roses overpowers the lavender. The sun emerges from behind the clouds and drenches us with warmth and light. It’s so peaceful up here, surrounded by gorgeous plants and with the view of the lake in the distance.

  Prince Kevon points out gigantic, tree-shaped structures that tower over a street of tall buildings. He explains that King Arias commissioned them when he turned eighteen, and they now provide enough solar power and rainwater to run the new juvenation hospital.

  “I could stay up here forever with you,” I murmur.

  He kisses my hand. “When I awoke and didn’t find you at my bedside, I thought you had left the Trials.”

  I draw back and meet his sad, dark eyes. “I wouldn’t leave at a time like this.”

  “But you wanted to leave,” he says.

  I shake my head, even though the thought of returning to Rugosa fills me with relief. “The only thing I wanted to leave was the threats and the violence of the Princess Trials. Never you.”

  Silence stretches out between us, only broken by the quickening of my heart. I hate myself for accepting his kindness one minute and rejecting him the next. Even when others might call me cold and ungrateful, Prince Kevon has only been patient.

  I exhale a sigh. Navigating his mother’s cruel whims is like walking along the edge of a well-disguised pit.

  “When you said that you could never…” His words trail off, and the pain in his eyes tells me that what I said to him in my room hurt more than Vitelotte’s knife.

  The urge to tell him everything burns through my insides. If he knew Queen Damascena had threatened my family, he would understand why I’d been so cold, but I must remain silent. Prince Kevon isn’t himself right now, and if I spent eight days in a cell, there’s absolutely no way he would be in a position to send help to Rugosa before the queen’s people attacked.

  I exhale a weary breath and try to phrase my next sentence in a way that would satisfy Queen Damascena and explain a little of my predicament to Prince Kevon. “Maybe I wanted you to give the other girls a chance.”

  “Traveling to the Oasis with every group of girls gave me the opportunity to see them,” he says.

  I raise my brows. “You barely spoke to the other girls on my stagecoach.”

  “Because I saw you,” he says with a smirk.

  An exasperated breath huffs from my chest. I’m too worried about damaging the monitor on his spine to give him a shake. “Kevon.”

  He chuckles. “If I make more of an effort with the other girls, will you give me another chance?”

  I lower my gaze to my lap and bite down on my lip. It’s a terrible thought but if he doesn’t become the King of Phangloria soon, I’ll be forced to guide his attention toward one of the Noble girls.

  “Zea, what’s wrong?” he asks.

  “Your Highness?” asks a voice from behind.

  We twist around on the sofa and find twelve Nobles standing by the elevator, each wearing burgundy robes with white trim. I recognize a few from the garden party and the Chamber of Ministers, such as Montana and the Minister of Justice.

  The Minister of Justice steps forward. She’s a tall, thin woman whose tight skin stretches around prominent cheekbones. Her blue-black hair is styled into a thick braid that wraps around her head like a wreath. The only thing that indicates her age are ears too large for her face. She purses her lips and casts us a reproving glance. I narrow my eyes, wondering if it was her or the queen who arranged our week of starvation.

  “Please come back later,” says Prince Kevon. “I’m in the middle of important business.”

  The older woman inclines her head. “My apologies, Your Highness, but the matter is urgent.”

  “What is it?” Irritation hardens his voice.

  “It’s about Miss Solar,” she replies.

  My stomach clenches, and all the muscles in my body stiffen. Prince Kevon’s arm tightens around my shoulders.

  “What about her?” His voice is measured, hesitant.

  I keep myself as still and quiet as possible in case someone decides this information is too confidential for my ears.

  “I beg you to reconsider her punishment,” says the minister. “Pardoning Miss Solar will only weaken the monarchy and cause the populace to make more attempts on your life.”

  I clench my teeth. By populace, she probably means other Harvesters and possibly the Industrials. Her dark eyes meet mine for the briefest moment, and I know she’s referring to me. When the annoyance fades, warmth spreads through my heart. I long to ask why Prince Kevon would forgive Vitelotte for such a violent attack, but not in front of these vipers.

  Another Noble steps forward, a shorter man with a stout build, who clasps his hands. “To maintain order, you must consent to a public execution.”

  “No,” Prince Kevon replies.

  The Nobles exchange glances, but none of them speak.

  With a weary sigh, Prince Kevon says, “There has been unrest since the trials began. People are unsatisfied with the introduction of the Amstraadi candidates, the murder attempts, unexplained deaths, and the discrepancy between the footage broadcasted by the Lifestyle Channel and the real footage circulated on Netface.”

  Montana steps forward and wrings his hands. His posture is stooped and his quickened breath tells me that these videos are keeping him awake at night. “We are working hard to locate the perpetrators—”

  “Broadcast the truth,” Prince Kevon snaps. “Stop falsifying events to suit your agenda, and people might stop turning to Netface and the rags for the truth.”

  The older Noble frowns, but his skin is too tight for the expression to make any impact. “The issue at hand is Miss Solar, Your Highness.”

  I swallow back a snarl but it’s not my place to reprimand Nobles. Montana is as slippery as a slug in the middle of the rainy season.

  “My decision to banish her stands,” says the prince. “As the aggrieved party in the incident, I am within my rights to choose her punishment.”

  Montana glances at the Minister of Justice, who encourages him with a nod. Then the man turns to the prince and says, “Please reconsider—”

  Prince Kevon stands so quickly, his eyes unfocus, and he sways on his feet. Sweat beads on his brow, and he looks on the verge of collapse. The Nobles step back and flinch, as though none of them want to take responsibility for worsening the prince’s condition.

  I scramble to my feet and wrap a supporting arm around his back. “Sit down.”

  He steadies himself with an arm around my shoulder and raises a palm at Garrett, who has broken through the wall of Nobles to help his cousin.

  “One moment,” Prince Kevon says in a gentle voice. “This needs to be said.”

  The Nobles’ arrogant veneer is replaced with a mix of worry. I’m not sure if they’re concerned about Prince Kevon’s health or what Queen Damascena and Lady Circi will do to them for irritating the prince while he’s convalescing.

  The sun disappears behind a cloud, along with its gentle warmth, and a cool breeze rattles the leaves of the climbing roses.

  “How many girls have died under your protection?” asks Prince Kevon. “How many have almost lost their lives?”

  Montana’s mouth falls open. “We have implemented your suggestions for a safer Princess Trials. I fail to see how Miss Solar’s situation—”

  “If you and your team had vetted Miss Solar before letting her in the Princess Trials, then you would have uncovered her relationship with Wintergreen.”

  I gulp. Something about Vitelotte tells me she made up that story about Ryce to cover up for the Red Runners, but Prince Kevon has a point. The Lifestyle Channel could have managed the selection process better instead of leaving the decision making until the last minute.

  Prince Kevon releases me and walks aroun
d the wicker sofa. His shoulders broaden with each step he makes toward the cowering Nobles, and for a moment, I forget that he’s recovering from a knife in the chest. Even in a thin hospital robe and matching pants, he comports himself like a king.

  I glance at Garret, who gives me an encouraging wink. He’s close enough to the prince to catch him if he falls, but Prince Kevon looks ready for battle.

  A short-haired Noble woman whose petite features remind me of the tomato-seller steps forward and holds up a twelve-inch-wide computer tablet. “Perhaps Her Majesty has a different opinion.”

  The queen sits in the leather chair of her mobile dressing room, and a pair of pale hands withdraw to the edge of the screen. “I commend your conviction, Kevon. Now, please sit down.”

  Prince Kevon lowers himself to a wooden bench the edge of a flowerbed and folds his arms.

  “The Chamber of Ministers is correct,” she says. “Pardoning Miss Solar will make you look weak and sends a precedent for future attacks.”

  “Mother, have you seen the footage of Miss Solar’s brother and grandmother begging for mercy?” he asks.

  “They should have begged her not to stab a prince,” she snaps.

  I bite down on my lip. As much as I despise Queen Damascena and owe Vitelotte my life, it still hurts that she would try to kill an unarmed man. Even though I hate what she’s done, I wish these people would understand the desperation that drove her to such terrible violence.

  Her story resonates through me—her family’s desperation for a better life in Bos, her mother’s avoidable death in childbirth, and the family’s subsequent reduction in water rations—the injustice would drive anyone to despair.

  “Enough girls have died because of the mismanagement of these trials. Rafaela, Gemini Pixel, Berta Ridgeback, Minnie Werfer, Tulip Ironside, and Jaqueline Bellini. I will not add another to the list of casualties.”

  My throat dies. I was present at each of those deaths. Caused one of them and helped with two. I glance at Prince Kevon, wondering what he will think if he discovers my secrets.

  Queen Damascena glances at someone off-screen. I don’t need a spy camera to know she’s looking at Lady Circi. She then turns to me with what she probably thinks is a kind smile. “Zea-Mays Calico, you suffered because of the actions of your little friend. Talk sense into my son and tell him execution is the only choice.”