On legs that won’t stop trembling, I dip into a low curtsey along with the other girls. This is the first time we’ve seen each other since that kiss. Remembering the feel of his lips on mine and the closeness we shared makes my head spin. It takes an effort to rise, and I have to splay my arms out for balance.
I’ve never had such an intense reaction to anyone, not even to Ryce Wintergreen, and I long to speak to Prince Kevon alone.
He greets each girl individually, starting on the Amstraad side with Sabre, the red-haired girl, before crossing to Ingrid, who laughs at something that probably wasn’t even a joke. The closer he progresses, the drier my throat becomes, and the more my limbs tremble. By the time Prince Kevon reaches me, I won’t be able to form words.
This movement across the lines continues, and Prince Kevon reaches the Amstraadi girl standing next to me called Tizona. She’s the ebony-skinned girl with bleached hair. Sweat pools on my palms and I dab them on the fabric of my jumpsuit. After Emmera, he’s going to talk to me.
I expect Prince Kevon to exchange a few words with Emmera, but he murmurs something to her that makes her burst into tears. My throat dries, and I strain my ears to listen. Prince Kevon wraps his arms around Emmera and pulls her to his chest.
Tizona leans into my side. “Hey, Popcorn,” she whispers. “It looks like you have some competition.”
I turn to her and smile. If she thinks I’m going to throw a tantrum because Prince Kevon is being nice to a girl unfairly imprisoned, she clearly needs to stop watching the Lifestyle Channel’s fake footage.
Prince Kevon releases Emmera and walks across to me. Affection shines in his eyes, making my heart flip. If he kisses me in front of the cameras, all that animosity Ingrid built up will have gone to waste.
“Zea.” He offers me his hand and presses a kiss on my knuckles. “It’s wonderful to see you.
I bob into a curtsey. “You’re looking well.”
“Thanks to you.” The intensity of his gaze makes me wonder if he’s thanking me for something other than saving his life. Heat rises to my cheeks. I also can’t tell if he’s talking about the kiss or about giving him another chance.
“Your Highness,” Prunella gallops down the stairs. “Welcome back to the Princess Trials!”
Prince Kevon releases my hand and draws back, while Garrett steps forward and stands between Prunella and his cousin. I place a palm on my chest and glance at the prince who stares at her with such fierce loathing that my throat tightens.
As she reaches the bottom of the stairs, the guards in black step forward, making her freeze. Her eyes widen with alarm, and her mouth falls open. “Wait, I didn’t mean to—”
“Ladies and Gentlemen.” Byron descends the stairs with a satisfied grin. “No matter how much you campaign for the humane treatment of Prunella, she just can’t help overstepping.”
I place a hand on Prince Kevon’s arm. “What’s happening?”
He shakes his head as the guards jostle Prunella out through a side door. “Among other complaints, the viewers demanded that Miss Broadleaf rejoin the Princess Trials as a presenter rather than a prisoner.”
“I don’t understand why she’s not in prison.”
Prince Kevon’s lips tighten. “As the aggrieved party, Rafaela’s parents allowed Prunella to finish the Trials before her execution. Despite my protests, Montana agreed to this as long as she maintained a distance of fifty feet from me.”
I nod. For a corrupt Noble like Montana, allowing the wife he discarded to perform for the audience would be far easier than making his employees broadcast the truth. I still don’t know how much involvement Prunella really had in the murder of Rafaela and in the attempts made on me, but I would feel better with her back in the studio.
Byron positions himself at the foot of the stairs. Garrett claps Prince Kevon on the back and guides him to Byron, who apologizes to the viewers for Prunella’s misbehavior.
“On the subject of apologies, I wish to offer two more,” says Prince Kevon.
Bryon leans back with an exaggerated frown. “Surely not, after everything you’ve suffered.”
“Imagine then, the anguish of discovering the unjust imprisonment of two innocent young ladies.” Prince Kevon turns to us. “Emmera Hull and Zea-Mays Calico, Phangloria’s justice system was based on Gaia’s wisdom, yet it failed when we punished you for being witnesses.”
I bite down on my lip, not wanting to smile in case Queen Damascena or the Minister of Justice blames me for Prince Kevon’s veiled attack.
“It is corrupt, unacceptable, and we will do better,” he says. “When I come into my power, I will dedicate my reign to making Phangloria a place where everyone can enjoy Gaia’s gifts, regardless of their circumstances of birth.”
Someone behind us gasps, and I imagine it’s Ingrid or one of the other Nobles. The unfair Echelon system benefits them the most, as does a justice system where nobody cares about a person’s murder unless they come from a position of power.
I dip into a curtsey and hope this footage will reach OasisVision. People need to know that our future monarch is serious about making Phangloria a fairer place.
Byron claps his hands and nods to the production assistants to also applaud the prince’s speech. Emmera and I clap first, then a smattering of applause comes from the girls behind.
“Thank you, Your Highness for such rousing words,” Byron says. “I’m sure we’ve kept these young ladies in suspense for long enough.”
A production assistant gestures for Emmera and me to retreat to our places. When we’re both standing in line with the other girls, and the applause dies down.
Prince Kevon clears his throat. “I spent some time guarding the Great Wall during my apprenticeship, which gave me an understanding of how Phangloria expanded over the centuries. People travel miles across the desert to reach us, and Phangloria welcomes them all.”
“Will the young ladies patrol the wall?” Byron asks with a nervous laugh.
“Not quite.” The prince tilts his head to the side and smiles. “Each of you will spend a day shadowing one of the dedicated professionals who work in the Barrens. Those whose performance falls in line with the principles of Gabriel Phan will progress to the next round.”
I glance at the scowling Nobles. It looks like Prince Kevon wants to weed out those anyone who balks at spending time with Foundlings. When he explains that his future queen must commit herself to all levels of society, I imagine Queen Damascena spitting with rage.
He, Garrett, and Byron walk past us and out of the double doors and stand at the palace steps and pose for photos. Instead of reporters, two of the production assistants stand behind cameras on tripods. They arrange us around the trio and position me at the back with Emmera and the Amstraadi girls.
“Calico,” says Tizona. “Have you ever been to the Barrens?”
I shake my head. “Have you?”
She huffs a laugh. “Our republic is exactly like that wasteland, only without the heat.”
My brows draw together. Her words sound familiar. They’re related to what Ambassador Pascale told me in the garden party about not being able to grow the seeds in the food they imported from Phangloria.
Before I can ask what she meant, the production assistants usher us over the red carpet toward two vehicles: a large stagecoach and a smaller van that resembles Queen Damascena’s mobile dressing room. Prince Kevon boards the smaller one with Garret, while the rest of us board the stagecoach.
The interior contains only one row of seats on the left, and bunks on the right. The seats are widely spaced with some of them reclining completely flat. I pass Ingrid, who sits alone in the front and glares at me with a sour scowl. Behind her, the other Nobles sit in pairs with the Artisan girl behind them.
I stop at the next seat, where Emmera sits alone.
“May I join you?” I ask.
She glances up at me with sad eyes and nods.
I slide into the aisle seat and lean forward to catch her eye. “Ar
e you alright?”
She shakes her head. “They won’t let me go home.”
“Why not?”
“It’s in the contract we signed. We can’t leave unless we’re eliminated.”
My lips form a thin line. We didn’t even sign a contract. The production assistants told us to press our thumbprints on a computer tablet. I want to assure her that Prince Kevon won’t let anything terrible happen to us, but even he can’t have eyes and people everywhere.
Byron stands at the front and claps his hands for our attention. “Ladies, the journey to the Great Wall will take several hours, so make yourselves comfortable. One of you will breakfast with Prince Kevon, and the rest will eat on the journey. After that, His Highness will invite you to share a cup of tea.”
“Who gets to eat with Prince Kevon?” asks Constance from the front.
Byron turns a dazzling smile to Ingrid, who shoots out of her seat. Groans fill the coach’s interior, and some of them even come from the Amstraadi in the back seats.
I reach beneath the armrest, ease open the refrigerator door, and pull out two bottles. “Drink?”
“Thanks.” Emmera takes the proffered bottle and drinks.
A screen comes down from the ceiling displaying Prince Kevon’s departure from the hospital. Even though it says that the footage is live, it looks like they’re an hour behind real time.
The coach’s doors hiss shut, and I read the bottle’s label. This one says CALM. I open it with a crack, take a sip, and let its cool contents wash away the bitterness of the coffee.
As we travel down the driveway, the windows darken until they’re completely black. Droplets of water rain down from the palace’s fountains, giving me a sense of peace. We watch the Lifestyle Channel, which now shows a montage of Ingrid’s visits to Prince Kevon’s hospital room.
Emmera frowns. “Don’t you care that Ingrid’s cheating? I’ve been watching the Princess Trials for days, and they keep repeating those scenes.”
I shake my head. “They can show whatever they want on the Lifestyle Channel. It’s not like Prince Kevon will decide which girl he wants on the popular vote.”
“Zea,” Emmera whispers.
“What?” I reply.
“They asked me if you were in love with someone else.”
I stare into her gray eyes, and it takes a few heartbeats for me to realize she’s talking about the interrogation. “What did you say?”
“They injected me with something, and I couldn’t say anything but the truth.”
The knots in my stomach tighten. If the bottle Mouse gave Emmera didn’t contain an antidote, what does that mean about Vitelotte’s answers? She’s far too level-headed to stab a prince just to prove her love to Ryce, but she might do it as a martyr to the revolution. And what on earth does Emmera know about me that she could reveal to Lady Circi? I lean close, waiting for her to answer my question.
She pulls on her collar. “I told them I didn’t know, but they kept asking if I thought you were in love with someone, or who you might be in love with.”
“What else did they ask?”
“Nothing about the person who actually stabbed the prince,” she whispers. “Only you.”
“Oh.” I’m not surprised they’re trying to dredge up things from my past to prove I already have a boyfriend. Let them try. The only men I spend time with in public are Dad and the twins.
Less than an hour later, the vehicle stops, and Ingrid steps in. All the conversations stop, and Ingrid casts us all a triumphant smirk before returning to her seat. Byron calls Sabre to take her turn for tea with the prince. The Amstraadi girl walks out of the vehicle, and we continue along the road.
I glare at the screen, where they’re playing footage of Ingrid dancing with an Amstraadi soldier alongside close-ups of Prince Kevon looking worried. I shake my head at the pathetic attempt to manufacture a romance and wish they would replay Ingrid’s disastrous first date with the prince.
Prunella Broadleaf stands in front of a screen, wearing her neck collar. Behind her is a close up of border guards at what looks like the Great Wall. They’re aiming guns at a crowd of naked people.
My heart sinks, and I exchange a frantic glance with Emmera. Is this how the producers of the Princess Trials will circumvent Prince Kevon’s order to keep the contestants safe?
“Why are those Foundlings attacking?” she asks.
Sabre stands over us, her freckled face splitting into a grin. “Those aren’t Foundlings, they’re wild men. How much do you want to bet that our next task will involve those cannibals? ”
Chapter 13
The wild men’s faces fill the screen. They look nothing like Firkin, the deformed Foundling I met in the woods or even like the Foundling who worked in Carolina’s underground watch station. Their features are completely human, save for the madness in their eyes.
One of the men, a brute with a scraggly blond beard, bares perfect teeth at the camera and wags a black tongue. Horrified gasps fill the front of the coach. Dark red pigment colors the skin around his eyes, and the rest of his face is encrusted with dirt.
Emmera leans into me and whispers, “Are they actors?”
With a frown, I meet the other girl’s worried eyes. This is actually a good question, considering what we saw in the farmer’s market. Most of the people selling produce were either Artisans or Nobles, and that manhunt for a supposedly missing Ingrid consisted of people Georgette recognized from theater school.
Twenty-five thousand people make up the Artisan Echelon, but what do they actually do? Five-thousand Nobles can’t need that many artists.
I chew the inside of my lip. “Maybe?”
Prunella steps in front of the footage and explains that the first round of nuclear attacks on America resulted in damaging amounts of radiation poisoning. Some unborn children suffered impaired brain development, which only worsened with subsequent generations and further nuclear attacks. In certain regions of America, humans regressed into a wild state akin to an advanced form of ape.
The camera cuts to a wide shot of hundreds of wild men gathered around a spot on the great wall. They draw back and then rush at a set of gates with loud roars. I place a hand over my mouth and lean forward as guards release a pronghorn through a gap in the wall.
All the wild men chase after the beast, which runs toward the horizon. When the group is out of range, an explosion brings up a huge cloud of dust. I shake my head. This has to be fake.
Each hour of the journey, the bus stops to allow one girl to board and another to spend time with Prince Kevon. It’s a fair distribution as he alternates between Phanglorian and Amstraadi, and each Noble girl returns elated with her time spent with the prince.
The screen plays Prince Kevon’s date with Sabre. They sit side-by-side on a leather sofa, looking into a computer tablet. Based on their conversation, she’s showing him pictures of Phangloria-style growing domes set up within the Amstraad Republic. We can’t see the images Sabre shares with the prince, but his furrowed brow tells me that their efforts don’t match anything in the Botanical Gardens.
Later, one of the girls gets to eat lunch with Prince Kevon, and even later, Byron selects another Noble to share dinner with him.
Emmera and I exchange irritated glances over a meal of steak Diane served with mini roast potatoes cooked in rosemary and butter. Byron is not even trying to hide his bias toward the Nobles.
After the dinner date, a production assistant collects our trays, and I slip the steak knife in my pocket. A blonde-haired Amstraadi girl visits the prince next. When she returns, Byron stands at the front and claps his hands together for our attention.
“We’re about to reach the Fort Meeman-Shelby, where Prince Kevon will stay overnight for health monitoring.”
Worry clutches at my chest, and I clench my water bottle. Did he overexert himself?
“He’s not coming to the Barrens with us?” asks Ingrid.
“His Highness also has a prior commitment in t
he Harvester Region,” Byron replies.
I turn to Emmera, whose mouth drops open. This must be related to Vitelotte’s banishment. Meeman-Shelby is on the border of Rugosa and Panicum.
“What could a prince possibly want in that backwater?” asks another Noble girl.
Byron turns his gaze from the girl and doesn’t dignify the remark with an answer. Behind him, the screen displays a map of Phangloria that tracks the route we have taken from the Oasis. The Oasis is located at the foot of the Great Smoky Mountains in a place that used to be called Sweetwater, Tennessee.
The map shows the old landmarks along our route, such as Nashville and Memphis, Tennessee, which are both within the Harvester Region. We’re currently outside the minor wall that separates Phangloria from the Barrens and our final destination is Fort Worth. It’s located in the place that used to be called Dallas.
“The next stretch of our journey is five-hundred miles,” says Byron. “From now, it will be a non-stop drive to Fort Tyler for a shower and breakfast, then on to the Great Wall at Fort Worth. I suggest you all get some sleep.”
As the Nobles all rush to the left of the vehicle to secure the bottom bunks, I turn to Emmera. “Are you going to take one of the beds?”
She shakes her head. “What’s the point, when these seats recline all the way back?”
The Artisan girl sitting in front rises to take a top bunk, but none of the Amstraad girls leave their seats. I turn my gaze back to the screen, which still displays the Phangloria map. The minor wall runs along the dry beds of the Mississippi and Ohio Rivers and ends at the Baltimore coast. Even though the Harvester Region takes up most of the land within the Echelons, the Barrens is the largest mass within Phangloria.
Only fifty-thousand people live in the Barrens. Mom says they’re gathered close to the Forts, where there’s a supply of food and water, but Firkin lived in the mountains. I don’t understand why Phangloria keeps moving its borders across the desert when there is already so much unproductive and desolate land within the Harvester Region.
The screen turns off, and all the lights in the coach dim. I close my eyes and wrap my fingers around the steak knife I saved from dinner, just in case someone attacks in my sleep.
The Princess Games: A young adult dystopian romance (The Princess Trials Book 2) Page 18