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

by Cordelia K Castel

  Mouse slows his pace, allowing me to walk at his side. “Their agreements always came with unreasonable requests, such as training their Guardians in our techniques.”

  “So that Phangloria wouldn’t depend on the Amstraad Republic for technology.” I chew on my lip, now understanding why the Nobles were so reluctant to execute Leonidas Pixel.

  We fall silent and continue around the hill. Thin clouds cover the moon and diffuse its light across a wide expanse. Devotees clad in their white robes incline their heads as we pass, and the sounds of voices reach my ears. I spot the funeral guests gathering around the stairs and hurry toward the crowd.

  A guest standing among devotees on the stairs breaks away from the group and races toward me. I pause, but it’s only Garrett.

  “Where were you?” He asks.

  I hook my thumb toward the temple. “Where’s Kevon?”

  “He and a few others went inside to look for you.” Garrett grabs my hand and leads me around the crowd, reminding me of when he pulled me toward the marquee at the start of the Trials. “Kevon asked me to search the perimeter in case you got lost.”

  Garrett taps on his watch to inform Prince Kevon of my location, and I glance over my shoulder for signs of Mouse, but he disappears into a group of devotees. My brows furrow. I understand the Amstraad Republic’s desperation to grow crops like we do in Phangloria, but did they have to be so cruel?

  I scratch my head. Maybe their experiences with other potential queens ended in betrayal, and they figured they could make me a fun spectacle in case I reneged on our agreement.

  We reach the foot of the stairs, where Forelle stands with Garrett’s family. As soon as our eyes meet, she rushes toward me. I brace myself for a tight hug, but she grabs my arms.

  “You’ve got to see this.” Forelle turns me toward a group of people on the stone stairs.

  Queen Damascena stands with Byron Blake. Two camerawomen stand on the steps below and on the hillside, while a quartet of production assistants illuminate their subjects with boxes of soft light. Byron introduces himself and promises the viewers a thrilling update on the Princess Trials.

  Somehow in the chaos, Queen Damascena has changed into a white gown with a plunging neckline dotted with silver sequins. Wispy feathers line its shoulders and long sleeves. A swathe of feathers fall in layers to form a full skirt with a long train, making me wonder if she's celebrating her husband’s demise.

  After exchanging a few pleasantries, the queen faces the camera. “It’s heartbreaking.” She injects her voice with sadness. “My beloved husband and king must now remain on the earthly plane. In his honor, I will do my utmost to serve Phangloria as its regent.”

  My stomach drops, and I exchange a stricken glance with Forelle. A lot can happen between now and the next full moon. More trials, more threats, and more attempts to engineer my death.

  Forelle glances over our shoulder and nudges my arm. “Garrett says she’s officially in control of Phangloria and can delay the king’s funeral for as long as she wishes.”

  “Or cremate his body so nobody finds it.” I sweep my gaze up the stairs, where Queen Damascena dazzles Byron with a radiant smile.

  Was she planning to sabotage the funeral all along, or has she just taken advantage of the Amstraadi’s diversion? I gulp. In the last round of the Trials, they staged a fake attack on the palace, followed by a fake hijacking that I thought had killed the queen and Prince Kevon.

  I shake off my paranoid thoughts. Almost every Amstraadi I’ve met has dropped hints about their agricultural requirements. This has to be what they want from us.

  “Your Majesty.” Byron’s voice slithers through my musings. “Who is your favorite to win the Princess Trials?” asks Byron. “With only six girls remaining, you must have gotten a chance to know the contestants.”

  The queen pauses, and everyone around us stops talking to take in her words. Blood roars through my ears. If she remains the regent, what would that mean for my deal with the Amstraad Republic to save my family?

  I clutch at my chest, trying to think of a way to save myself, save my family, save Phangloria from falling under the rule of this mad queen, but my mind goes blank.

  I’m a pawn in this game, just like my parents, and I’m completely dependent on the protection of Prince Kevon.

  Queen Damascena places her hands on her hips. “Unfortunately, the selection of a suitable bride has been mismanaged from the start. Prunella Broadleaf allowed a host of terrible candidates, including a young woman who tried to assassinate my son.”

  Byron gives her a sage nod. “I have tried my utmost, Your Majesty, but it’s nearly impossible to counter Prunella’s sabotage.”

  My lips form a tight line. Now that Gemini Pixel is dead, I guess Prunella is the scapegoat. I hold my breath, waiting for the queen to speak. She’ll either announce Constance Spryte the winner or name a random Noble of her choice.

  “And that is why I would like to reopen the Princess Trials,” she says. “Every girl found medically fit to compete but didn’t get a chance for an audition will present herself at the Gloria Concert Hall for another opportunity.”

  “Oh, no.” Forelle claps both hands to her mouth.

  My lip curls and I grind my teeth.

  Angry chatter spreads across the crowd. I turn to find the Ministers exchanging disgruntled words. The group of girls I didn’t recognize clap. I guess the queen invited them to the funeral for a chance to meet the prince.

  Prince Kevon hurries down the steps and places an arm around Queen Damascena’s shoulders. “Mother, I appreciate your efforts.”

  Everyone falls silent.

  The queen places a palm over his heart. “I just want you to have the perfect girl.”

  “Any comments from you, my prince?” asks Byron.

  Prince Kevon steps aside. “Let’s hear from the Hierophant.”

  A whimper reverberates in my dry throat, and I have to lean on Forelle for support. She places her arm around my middle and lets me rest my head on her shoulder. Even if the Hierophant tells the cameras he already gave his blessing, it’s not the same as a marriage or an engagement.

  Queen Damascena will restart the Princess Trials and eject me from the Oasis. She won’t even have to worry about repercussions from Prince Kevon because she’ll hold onto the throne forever by extending her life with Amstraadi juvenation technology.

  “Thank you, my prince.” The Hierophant pulls down the hood of his cloak, revealing his face to the camera. “Royal funerals are fraught with mishaps. What if clouds cover the moon at the wrong moment, what if I say the wrong word during the blessing and the monarch loses his or her chance to be one with Gaia?”

  “We've heard enough from you,” the queen snaps.

  “Please allow him to finish,” says Prince Kevon. “His Grace doesn’t often appear on camera.”

  Queen Damascena purses her lips.

  “This is why my predecessor advised me to conduct the final blessing before the guests’ arrival,” says the Hierophant. “If anything goes wrong during the official funeral, it won’t matter, because the monarch will already have ridden Selene’s chariot and reached the garden of Gaia.”

  Byron rears back and casts the queen a glance. “What does that mean, Your Grace?”

  The Hierophant steps aside to let Prince Kevon speak to the camera.

  “My father is no longer the King of Phangloria. I will serve as its regent until my coronation in three days.”

  As applause fills the hillside, relief floods my system, making my muscles go weak. I collapse further into Forelle’s side. I can’t believe we’ve triumphed. The queen is now powerless, my parents are safe with the ambassador’s people, and Prince Kevon will be the king.

  Queen Damascena hangs her head, and the feathers on her shoulders droop. I turn my gaze to the top of the stairs, where Lady Circi watches with her hands folded over her chest.

  Byron clears his throat. “What will that mean for the Princess Trials
, Your Highness?”

  “I have already chosen the young woman to become my bride,” replies Prince Kevon.

  A breath hisses through my teeth, and I clutch at Forelle. This can’t be happening.

  Queen Damascena’s head snaps up. Her gaze rakes the crowd and settles on me. If she was still the regent, I would probably collapse under the cold hatred sharpening her eyes. But she’s not.

  Tonight, Queen Damascena will leave the palace and spend the rest of her days in her father’s home. After everything she has done to threaten my family, I can’t even feel bad.

  “Please don’t keep us in suspense, Your Highness,” says Byron. “Who is your final choice for the Princess Trials?”

  Prince Kevon turns his gaze to the crowd. “She’s a special young woman who taught me that the smallest changes can make huge differences to the lives of Phanglorians. Without her, I might never have appreciated the inequalities in our society and would also have lost my life.”

  Warmth surges from my heart. It fills my chest, thickens my throat, and lines my eyes with tears. A few weeks ago, I joined the Princess Trials to destroy the monarchy and tear down the Echelon system, and now, I will ascend to a position where I can help others. Inhaling a deep, steadying breath, I release my grip on Forelle and straighten.

  Mom was right. Why lose innocent lives in a revolution when we can have peaceful reforms?

  Prince Kevon’s eyes meet mine. “Zea-Mays Calico, please step forward.”

  My entire body quivers with elation, and I drift forward on legs as weightless as clouds. Byron steps aside and directs his assistants to train the cameras on me.

  Prince Kevon descends the stairs, his features tense. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down, and his movements are unnaturally stiff.

  I know what he’s thinking. I’ve rejected him multiple times, and he’s taking a massive risk. The whole of Phangloria will watch whatever happens next, whether it’s on the Lifestyle Channel or via whoever is leaking footage on Netface. He thinks I might say no.

  After slipping his hand into his pocket and extracting a small box, he reaches my side and lowers himself onto one knee.

  My breath catches.

  “Zea-Mays Calico, will you consent to becoming my wife?”

  Prince Kevon flips open the box, revealing a diamond ring, but I don’t see it because I’m gazing down into his dark eyes. Dark eyes that sought mine for approval when he doubled our water rations. Dark eyes that stared up at me when I stemmed his lacerated heart’s blood with my palms. Dark eyes that smoldered with desire before we shared those toe-curling kisses.

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  He slips the ring onto my finger, which buzzes and adjusts around my digit. Lights sparkle beneath the diamonds, indicating that it contains some sort of tracking device. No matter what, he will always find me.

  Prince Kevon rises, his face radiant with happiness. “Thank you.”

  I rock forward onto my tiptoes and move in for a kiss, but he leans into me and reaches my lips first.

  A handful of people applaud the kiss. Even when nobody joins them, they continue clapping. I turn to find Garrett, Forelle, and the rest of his family beaming down at us from the bottom of the stairs.

  I don’t look at the Chamber of Ministers behind them, and let my gaze skip over the group of girls I assume Queen Damascena invited for part three of the Princess Trials. I also don’t pay attention to Ingrid’s voice in my head reminding me that queens outside the Noble Echelon don’t live long enough for the history books.

  The crowd parts as Prince Kevon guides me down the steps toward a black limousine, which has a black interior identical to the one I rode with Garrett to the ball.

  As I sink into the leather seats, my gaze lands on a bouquet of cornflowers, daisies, forget-me-nots, and other plants that grow wild in Rugosa. The sight of such commonplace flower tickles my insides, and I burst into a delighted giggle.

  Prince Kevon hands me a glass. “Master Thymel will visit tomorrow to help you choose your dress.” He takes a long sip of his champagne. “Once the royal guard has dispatched my mother, I would like you to bring whoever you wish to join us for the wedding.”

  The champagne chills my fingers. Its bubbles rise to the surface and pop, releasing the scent of alcohol and fruit.

  “Is my choice of drink not to your liking?” He raises his glass. “I have nonalcoholic grape—”

  “Champagne is perfect.” I place my hand on Prince Kevon’s lap and place the glass to my lips. The cool liquid slides and fizzes on my tongue.

  “Garrett commissioned Master Thymel to dress Forelle for her wedding.” Prince Kevon takes another sip of his drink. “I’m sure she won’t mind you…”

  The glass slips from his fingers, spilling champagne over his white pants.

  I set my glass aside and cup his cheeks. “Kevon?”

  His head lolls to the side.

  I dash toward the divider that separates the back of the limousine to the driver’s side and bang my fist on the window. The car continues speeding through the Oasis streets, oblivious of Prince Kevon’s plight.

  My eyes droop, and I think of Lady Circi’s warning when I boarded Queen Damascena’s mobile dressing room. Several days later, it echoes through my skull.

  Don’t drink the champagne.

  Chapter 20

  My ears ring, muffling the sounds of urgent voices. Rough hands lift me off the floor and bundle me onto a hard chair. A needle pierces my bicep, and I try to raise a hand to strike out, but I can’t move. Whatever my captor has injected in me makes him or her confident that I’m immobilized. Nobody has secured me to the chair with straps.

  Or maybe that’s because I’m back in that cage, and there’s no escape.

  I push away the speculations and focus on regaining control of my body. With a deep inhale, I fill my lungs and let the air slide out. This is one of the breathing exercises Ryce taught us in our youth cell. It’s supposed to increase the metabolism and help the body burn through foreign substances.

  My heart sinks. He probably made it up, just as Carolina did by implying I was important to the Red Runners when she sent me to the Princess Trials as an afterthought.

  Where’s Prince Kevon?

  A breath catches in the back of my throat, and I slow my breathing to focus on the voices. I can’t hear him, but I suspect that the queen ordered someone to tamper with his champagne.

  Worry roils through my stomach, and my mind conjures up images of Prince Kevon lying on the ground with a dagger in his heart, with bullets in his chest, with slices of the moon over his eyes. Nobody would kill their own son just to become the regent.

  Would they?

  My chest tightens and rapid breaths heave in and out of my lungs. My head spins, and my limbs turn to lead. If anyone touches me, I’ll roll off this chair and hit the floor.

  “She’s waking up,” says an unfamiliar female voice.

  “Shall we begin?” Queen Damascena's impatient voice slices through my panic.

  Hatred soars through my chest. What is she going to do now, torture me?

  “At least wait for the girl to open her eyes,” says a voice I think belongs to Montana.

  With a loud slap, stinging pain spreads across my left cheek. My eyes snap open, and I stare into the malicious, violet eyes of the queen.

  “There,” she says through clenched teeth. “Now, she’s awake and ready for her trial.”

  In front of me is a high-backed chair that looks similar to the one supporting my back, and to my right are tiered rows of six leather seats, occupied by Nobles wearing identical white robes. There could be twenty-four or thirty of them. I don’t stop to count because an entire wall on my left displays the words, ‘TRIAL OF ZEA-MAYS CALICO.’

  “What is this about?” asks the Minister of Justice.

  She sits between Montana and Ingrid’s father with her arms folded over her chest. The woman’s words give me hope, as it looks like the Chamber of Ministers no lo
nger consider me the same powerless Harvester Girl she electrocuted in her witness box.

  “Poisoning the regent’s betrothed and holding her against her will is treason,” adds Ingrid’s father. “Nobody will argue your case if Prince Kevin demands your execution.”

  Heels click on the stone floor behind me, and Queen Damascena stands in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips. In the time she’s engineered her son’s poisoning and my abduction, she has changed into an ivory pantsuit with a ruffled shirt.

  She turns to her audience. “As the former queen consort, it is my duty to inform the Ministers of the Chamber of the regent’s unstable mental state.”

  “You’ll have to dig deeper than his poor choice in women,” Ingrid’s father drawls. “I doubt that lying slumped in the back of a limousine, suffering the effects of your poison counts as instability.”

  The other ministers chuckle.

  I slow my breaths and force myself to focus. We’re probably in a room within the Chamber of Ministers Building, but more importantly, these people aren’t taking Queen Damascena seriously. I sag even further in my seat as the injection turns my muscles slack. The ministers are also not demanding my release.

  The queen purses her lips. “I will prove to you that Zea-Mays Calico is the most dangerous young woman in Phangloria. When you’ve finished listening to my evidence, you will not only agree with my conclusion but demand her execution.”

  All sounds of mirth fade, and silence spreads across the room. My stomach clenches, and a band of tension forms around my lungs. Which of my secrets has she uncovered? I force myself to breathe deeply, to work through the drug coursing through my veins, but I can’t muster the motor skills.

  “Your Majesty.” Ingrid’s father places his hands on the armrest and leans forward in the front seat. “We’re all aware of Miss Calico’s subversive influence over the prince. However, nothing in the Princess Trials regulations says she cannot use seduction.”

  Heat rushes to my cheeks. I glance at Montana for him to admit that his employees created that naked video, but the man just stares ahead at the queen.