At the end of the walkway, he sets me on my feet, where a pile of black armor lies on the floor.
“Put this on.” Prince Kevon turns his back. “How on earth did Lady Circi convince you to put on such an outfit and say those terrible things?”
My mind blanks and all the moisture shrivels in my throat. If Queen Damascena discovers I told him the truth, her people would probably kill Mom and Dad before we reach them. Everyone is either in the dome or on the square.
I move the boots aside and shoulder on the jacket. It’s a little big but anything is better than this awful dress. After slipping a pair of oversized pants, I kick off my heels, put my feet in the boots, and tuck the skirt of the dress into my jacket.
“How much of my speech did you hear?” I ask.
“Everything,” he replies. “What’s happening?”
“This place isn’t safe,” I mutter.
He raises his head toward the blinking light of a ceiling camera. “Outside, then.”
We walk along an uncovered patch of wall, where Prince Kevon places his gas mask over my head, encasing me in the scent of rubber. After tightening my mask and putting on a mask of his own, he presses his thumb on a panel within one of the nine-foot-tall hexagons that make up the dome. The half-hexagon next to it clicks open, letting in smoke and screams.
Bending, I peer out into Rugosa Square. Floodlights illuminate thick clouds of smoke billowing from the parked vehicles. It’s so thick that I can barely see the Harvesters fleeing into the streets.
Gasps and hacking coughs fill the air. Our gas masks filter out the smoke, but the effects of being exposed onstage still hurt my eyes.
We step out together into the chaos, and my heart rate trebles. Prince Kevon apologizes for not giving me a mask earlier. He hadn’t expected the guards to use cepa gas in an enclosed dome.
He reattaches the panel and secures it in place. It’s probably some secret escape route just for Nobles, but I’m too worried about Mom and Dad to ask. We live too far from the square to reach roll-calls before the dome fills, so they’ve probably escaped into the streets by now.
The smoke clears enough to reveal that most of the Harvesters have gone. We hurry through the square, passing guards helping limping colleagues to safety, and others carrying their fallen comrades to their vehicles. Less than half of them wear masks.
Prince Kevon grabs my hand. “Now will you tell me what’s happening?”
I shake my head and hold up my Amstraad wrist cuff. We’ve had conversations about the technology being used as a spying device. It’s the reason why Leonidas Pixel is imprisoned somewhere and poor Gemini died in his place. I can’t afford to speak freely. Queen Damascena is probably forcing the man to broadcast from one or both of our monitors.
He mimes writing with a pen. “Later, then?”
We continue across the emptying square, and noise blasts us from behind. I turn to find hundreds of Harvesters streaming out through the dome’s multiple doors. They’re screaming and coughing and panting. Prince Kevon scoops me up and through the smoke sprints across the square.
A sob tears from my throat. They must have gassed those people in the dome while the square emptied. Prince Kevon carries me through the space between two Guardian trucks. Across the road, the lights of a four-seater car flash.
He flings open the door, bundles me into its interior and scrambles in after me. The driver already wears a gas mask, and Prince Kevon reaches into a side-pocket for a notepad and pencil.
As the car pulls out from the road, he scribbles down: WHAT IS WRONG?
I take his pencil. YOUR MOTHER HAS STATIONED GUARDS OUTSIDE MY HOUSE.
Prince Kevon points in the direction of my street, as though asking if we should go there. I raise both hands and shake my head, making him tilt his head to the side. Since we’re both wearing masks, and my eyes still water from the gas, I can’t see his expression.
I write down on the notepad: SHE ALSO THREATENED TO TAMPER WITH MY BROTHERS’ VACCINATIONS IF I DISOBEY HER.
Prince Kevon rears back, and his entire body goes still. I chew on the inside of my lip, hoping he believes me. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell that Queen Damascena is related to Prince Kevon by blood.
WHAT DOES SHE WANT? He writes.
Her ugly words ring through my ears. She referred to me as a bed warmer and a murderer, even if the last one is partly true. I dip my head. Prince Kevon’s about to discover the reason why I encouraged him to spend time with the other girls.
He places a hand on my shoulder, urging me to write my answer.
It takes ages for me to form the right words, but I write: I HAVE TO CONVINCE YOU TO CHOOSE A NOBLE. THEY ALSO MADE ME READ FROM A TABLET COMPUTER TODAY.
“Vitelotte’s entire family is banished,” I say out loud as I scribble over the words. The queen can’t see that I’ve disobeyed her order to be silent.
His face tightens. “You must believe me, that wasn’t my intention.”
“I know.” My throat thickens. I want to ask him to save them, but what if that backfires?
“Unfortunately, the Chamber of Ministers will do whatever they can to circumvent my attempts to make Phangloria a just place for all Echelons.” He picks up the pencil and writes, THEY DON’T ACT WITHOUT THE MONARCH’S CONSENT.
I nod and exhale a long breath. At least he believes me.
“There is something I’m desperate to know,” he says.
“What?”
“How your family enjoyed the paella.”
My brows draw together as he leans forward and instructs the driver to take me to my address. Harvesters have been gassed and entire families are facing bleak life sentences for crimes they didn’t even commit. Why is Prince Kevon bothering about something so trivial?
As the car turns a corner, Prince Kevon pulls off his mask and gives me an encouraging nod, and realization sinks through my thick skull. He’s making an excuse to check up on my family.
Warm gratitude floods my chest. “There were ingredients in that dish we’ve never eaten in our lives.”
He takes my hands. “One day, wide varieties of food will be available to everyone in Phangloria.”
“Do you think that’s possible?” I whisper.
Prince Kevon unstraps my gas mask and raises it off my head. “I had some very interesting conversations with the young ladies from the Amstraad Republic. If we focus less on their juvenation technology and import their agricultural devices, we should increase our yields and free up Harvesters for other matters.”
He smooths a strand of hair off my face and tucks it behind my ears. “Your eyes are red.”
I don’t know how he can tell with only the dashboard lights illuminating the back of the car, but he reaches into the space between the front seats and pulls out a plastic box. Inside lies an array of items in sterile packaging. Prince Kevon picks up a four-inch foil package and tears its wrapper.
“Close your eyes,” he murmurs in a deep voice.
I let my eyelids flutter shut, and he wipes them with a cool, wet cloth that removes the sting from my skin.
“Is that better?” he asks.
I open my eyes and meet Prince Kevon’s dark gaze. He’s so close that I feel the warmth of his breath. My heart stutters and I bite down on my lip. This would be a perfect moment if I hadn’t just helped condemn so many innocent people to a life of hardship.
Cornfields whizz past in the window behind him, and my mind drifts to something Ambassador Pascale once said about Phangloria wasting human resources on manual labor that could be mechanized.
It seems so odd that I’m alone with the prince and thinking about the reforms he’s going to make to the country, but it’s always been like that between us. One of the reasons I can’t help loving him is because he’s always thinking of others.
The car turns a corner, and we enter the unlit stretch of land between the cornfields and our home. We bump up and down as the wheels navigate the potholes and uneven surfaces. Prince Kevo
n’s vehicle is clearly made for traveling through finished roads and not the rough terrain of Rugosa.
We stop outside the house. Only one van is stationed outside, and all the lights are off. I hold my breath. When I rode back to the palace in the queen’s mobile dressing room, Lady Circi said there were four.
A heavy fist pounds on the car window, and someone barks at us to open the door.
Prince Kevon pulls away. “Wait here.”
“What are you doing?”
“I won’t have you hurt again by hostile guards.” He opens the door on his side, steps out, and walks around the back of the car.
The guard who shouted at us falls to his knees. “Your Highness, we were not expecting you.”
Prince Kevon asks, “Why are you stationed outside the Calico home?”
The guard raises his head, his face twisted with indecision. “Sir,” he says. “Patrolling this street is part of my duties—”
“Yet your colleague over there has just stepped out from the front door,” Prince Kevon snarls. “What is the meaning of this?”
I open the car door and step out to find a guard standing under the verandah, and my breath catches. Prince Kevon demands to know if my family left for the roll-call, and the guard tells him that they were moved last night.
As Prince Kevon forces the guard to call his superior, I rush past the man stationed at the door and step into the house. Moonlight shines through the glass above the front door, illuminating the hallway. On my left is the living room. It’s pristine, with two little desks made of packaging crates arranged in front of the window, where Mom teaches the twins.
Next, I dash into the kitchen. It’s tidy and there are no signs of a struggle. Fresh chard leaves lie within the coolbox, along with an untouched block of soy protein, indicating that Mom recently collected the food rations. I scratch my head. It looks like the guard told the truth that they were only recently moved.
Upstairs is the same. Most of Mom and Dad’s clothes are still in place, as are the patchwork quilts, making me think they weren’t allowed to gather their things.
When I return downstairs and step out into the street, two more vehicles park outside, and people stream into their houses from the direction of the square. They’re either accustomed to seeing this many guards outside our house or tonight’s show of force rendered them too frightened to look.
“They’re gone,” I whisper.
Prince Kevon wraps his arms around my shoulders and pulls me into his broad chest. “They’re in Fort Meeman-Shelby.”
I draw back. “Why?”
“Lady Circi had them moved for their protection.”
My mouth falls open. “I don’t understand.”
He offers me a tight smile. “I just spoke to her. She didn’t want your family to suffer any repercussions from the arrests.”
“That was awfully conscientious of the lady-at-arms.” My voice sounds like it’s coming from afar. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell what Lady Circi is thinking. Is she concerned about their safety or worried about losing Queen Damacena’s leverage over me?
“What’s going to happen to them?” I ask.
He pauses. “We can bring them back, but some of the other Harvesters might take out their anger on your family for the recent reforms.”
I gulp. “May I see them?”
“Of course.” Prince Kevon places a hand on the small of my back and guides me into the car.
The journey back to the fort is silent, with me staring into my hands, wondering how on earth Queen Damascena will react. Prince Kevon stares into the notepad and sighs. I guess he’s just uncovered the monstrous side of his mother’s personality she reserves for others.
Later, Prince Kevon wraps an arm around my waist as we walk through the courtyard. The first traces of sunlight emerge from the distant hills, but the sky is a dark indigo, still illuminated by the moon. There’s no sign of the production vehicles, and I assume they’ve already left for the Oasis. I wonder if Emmera found a way back to Rugosa or returned to the palace.
A stout, male guard in black uniform waits for us at the door. When we approach, he bends into a low bow. “Your Highness, Colonel Snath requires your attention immediately.”
“That can wait,” Prince Kevon snaps. “Where are you holding the Calico family?”
The guard straightens and draws his brows together. “I’m unaware of new prisoners.”
“Did Lady Circi visit earlier this morning?”
The guard’s gaze darts at me and back at the prince. “To pick up Miss Calico.”
“And to deposit her family,” Prince Kevon snarls, impatience lacing his voice. “Do not for one minute presume that the authority of the lady-at-arms exceeds that of the crown prince.”
The guard steps aside and lets us into a hallway, where a female guard rushes toward us. “Your Highness,” her voice shakes. “Colonel—”
“Where are you holding the Calico family?” asks the prince.
“But Colonel Snath ordered me to bring you—”
“I will not ask you again,” he barks.
My heart somersaults, and the guard clutches her chest. I’ve never heard him sound so fierce, and it’s a testament to how much he cares. I only hope that they haven’t moved my family to another location.
Prince Kevon presses his lips together and exhales a slow breath through his nostrils. “Whatever the colonel wants can wait. Please lead us to where you’re keeping Loam, Oria, Yoseph, and Flint Calico.”
I shake off my confusion. Of course, he knows their names. He was the guard who let visitors in and out of my room when I passed the marquee round of the Princess Trials.
Fear flashes across the guard’s eyes. It’s the conflicted look I’ve seen on people torn between following orders and doing the right thing.
I place a hand on Prince Kevon’s arm. “Maybe we should see what this colonel wants.”
“After ensuring the safety of your family.” He laces his fingers through mine.
“Of course, Your Highness.” The guard inclines her head. “Follow me.”
She leads us through the hexagonal hallway. Parts of it branch off into smaller corridors that lead into dormitories, and one side passage is crammed with guards lining up for the infirmary. I’m too preoccupied with the wellbeing of Mom, Dad, and the twins to concern myself with the ironic justice of the guards falling to their own chemical weapons.
The guard reaches a white door and presses her palm to a wall panel, making a screen appear on its surface. It’s a bedroom similar to the one from earlier. Mom and Dad sit on a bed beside each other, clad in their nightclothes with a twin on each lap. Nobody moves for several moments.
Guilt squeezes at my chest. They look so small, unworldly, and frightened. This is probably their first time in a Guardian fortress, and I can’t imagine what they’re thinking. I’m about to ask if this is a still picture when one of the twins shifts on Mom’s lap and wraps his arms around her neck.
“Did anyone explain what's happening?” asks Prince Kevon. “Have they been offered food or drink?”
She grimaces. “I’m not sure, Your Highness.”
Prince Kevon brings our interlaced hands to his lips and presses a kiss on my knuckles. “I will leave you alone with your family. Please explain that they have the option to return home.” He turns to the female guard. “Let’s see what your colonel wants.”
The guard taps a command into the screen, which turns white again. A mechanism within the door clicks, and I inhale a deep breath.
Prince Kevon places a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
As he follows the guard down the hallway, I push the door open and step inside. Mom and Dad stare at me with their mouths agape, and the twins slide off their laps and rush at me.
“Zea.” Yoseph wraps his arms around my hips and cries.
“Those bad men took us away.”
I can barely hear Flint through his sobs.
The ach
e in my heart spreads across my chest and up my throat. I stare down at the little, blond heads pressed into my body, and tears fill my eyes. If they knew I was the cause of their troubles, they wouldn’t turn to me for comfort. My gaze rises to Mom and Dad, who stare at me through haunted eyes.
“I’m sorry.” My voice cracks.
Mom is the first to rise. The rims of her eyes are as red as blood, and her lips tremble from holding back her emotions. “What is happening in the Oasis?”
A dozen answers surge to the back of my throat. When I was young, I could tell Mom and Dad everything. Dad was the first person I ran to when I saw that guard smash the butt of his rifle into Mr. Wintergreen’s head. Mom was the person who held me through my nightmares, even years after the event, when twin babies kept her awake.
I shake my head. “There’s so much I can’t tell you.”
“One of the guards showed us that footage,” says Dad.
I gulp. Now they’ll hate me for condemning so many innocent Harvesters to life in the Barrens. “Those things I said—”
“You and the prince in the hospital.” He glances away.
Shock hits my gut like a fist. Dad is talking about the video someone made of my head on the body of a naked girl. How can I tell them it was fake when even the Noble girls believed it to be true? I part my lips to speak, but anything I say would sound like a lie.
“Zea.” Mom places her hand on her chest. “We’ve been so worried.”
“And they showed us the speech you made in the dome,” Dad adds.
My chest tightens. They’re poisoning Mom and Dad against me. Now, they’re going to think I’ve forgotten my Harvester roots and become the worst kind of elite.
“Is the prince threatening our lives?” he asks. “Is that why you’re …” Dad’s face tightens as though completing his sentence would hurt.
His words shatter my heart into pieces, and I draw the twins closer. Dad thinks Prince Kevon is forcing me to become his royal mistress when it’s the opposite.
“It’s the queen,” I rasp, hoping she isn’t listening. “She’s sending people to harass you because she doesn’t want Prince Kevon to choose a Harvester. That footage from the hospital isn’t even me. We’ve fallen in love, and he’s been nothing but a gentleman.”
The Princess Games: A young adult dystopian romance (The Princess Trials Book 2) Page 23