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

by Cordelia K Castel

  “Leave it with me,” he replies.

  At the end of the bridge, the road splits into three lanes. Two overground and another that leads into a tunnel illuminated with amber lights. He taps a command on the dashboard, and the tunnel turns dark. I swallow hard, not knowing what’s happening.

  A moment later, he stops the car and presses a button that opens the door.

  Warm air from the tunnel’s dark exterior fans against my skin. I turn to Garrett and ask, “Where are we going?”

  “This is as far as I can take you.” He taps the cuff on his ear. “Someone else is arriving in a minute. Good luck, Zea.”

  His words sound more like a farewell. If it wasn’t for the drug suppressing my emotions, my eyes would probably fill with tears.

  “Who’s coming?” I whisper.

  He shakes his head. “It’s best that I don’t say.”

  I nod. Because Queen Damascena also controls Leonidas Pixel, the man who can access any Amstraad device.

  “Thank you.” I step out of the car, and the door pulls itself shut.

  Without another word, Garrett continues down the tunnel. I step back, rest a shoulder against its wall, and rub my wrist. The skin there feels strange and tender since the ambassador removed the cuff. I inhale even breaths and stare into the dark for signs of this approaching ally.

  Less than half an hour has passed since I last saw Prince Kevon, and I don’t know if the ringing of the alarm meant he tried to break free of the needles keeping him in place or something terrible happened to his heart. If Queen Damascena wasn’t such a psychopath, I might have guessed from her happiness that he was fine.

  A sigh slips from my lips. Sometimes, a person acts a certain way during a stressful event and later, the impact sinks into their consciousness. What will Prince Kevon decide to become when he finally recovers? And what does Queen Damascena’s rule mean for the people of Phangloria?

  As the hum of an electric vehicle approaches, I swallow around my parched throat and position myself to run. Garrett is one of the few people in the Oasis I can trust, but he still believes I betrayed Prince Kevon and broke his heart.

  Dim headlights illuminate a vehicle the size and shape of Queen Damascena’s dressing van. I turn around and sprint.

  “Zea,” shouts a female voice.

  I glance over my shoulder to find two identical white-haired young women standing in the headlights. They both wear black-and-white-striped jumpsuits. They’re the sisters of Master Thymel, the man who designed the blue ballgown and my palace wardrobe.

  A breath catches in the back of my throat. They’re also the cousins of Georgette.

  “We’re friends,” says the twin on the left.

  The twin on the right beckons. “Hurry.”

  My heart soars, and I break into a run.

  The back of Master Thymel’s van contains the trunk of vacuum-packed dresses he brought into Garrett’s guesthouse, along with a sewing table with inset cupboards containing an array of threads, shears, and electrical equipment.

  We sit together on a folded-out seat, and the girls give me a thick drink consisting of yogurt and pulped fruit, which settles my stomach.

  The twin with platinum hair rises. “We live in Claypan, which means the guards check our van each time we enter and leave the Oasis.”

  “I need to hide, then?” I ask.

  Her sister takes my empty carton and places it under the seat. “We’re going to disguise you as a mannequin.”

  They make me remove my Harvester uniform and encase me in a latex bodysuit that covers me from toe to hair. After rubbing a cool putty on my face, they coat my body in a white paste that hardens like stone.

  I can’t see a thing, but I feel them attach a garment around my form. Weeks ago, I would say it was the strangest experience of my life. Now, I could collapse with gratitude for the Thymel family.

  One of the twins pats me on the shoulder. “The search doesn’t take long, but we can’t afford to let them know we have you.”

  Right now, I would endure any amount of discomfort for the chance to escape General Ridgeback. When the girls finish, they draw back, and I hear them settling into their seats and turning on their tablets.

  “Those revelations had me reeling with shock.” Mouse’s voice fills my ears. “How are you feeling, Your Highness?”

  “It’s disappointing, of course,” says Prince Kevon’s voice. “I was fond of Miss Calico, but that’s the nature of the Princess Trials. Now that she has revealed her true intentions, I can move on and find true love.”

  Each word feels like a needle to the heart, but relief washes through my veins. If he’s speaking to Mouse about me, then it means he survived.

  “Sorry,” says one of the twins. “We didn’t think His Highness would return to the royal court so soon.”

  I make a sound in the back of my throat that I hope they’ll interpret as understanding. The only thing wrong with Prince Kevon’s physical state is his interfering, power-hungry mother.

  Moments later, the vehicle stops, and the girls turn on music that consists of a woman yelling over a drum beat. The doors creak open, and heavy footsteps approach. I hold my breath and stay as still as I can within the mold.

  “You two usually ride in front,” says a male voice. “Why are you back here?”

  “We altered this gown for a customer, and now she’s pretending it doesn’t fit.” A twin places a hand on my covered shoulder.

  “We told her teal would clash with her hair,” adds the other. “Would you believe she wants us to return her deposit?”

  “Nobles,” he mutters to himself. I imagine him shaking his head. “See you tomorrow, girls.”

  As the twins chorus their goodbyes, the guard jumps down from the van and slams the door.

  I exhale my relief in a long breath.

  Over the next hour, the twins free me from my disguise and update me on everything that has happened since the funeral of King Arias. Queen Damascena told everyone that Prince Kevon suffered complications due to being stabbed, and would spend time in the hospital with heart specialists.

  “We saw the leaked footage of you in the stadium,” says Charmeuse, the platinum-blonde twin. “Most Artisans are disgusted at how they tricked you into murdering your own father.”

  My throat thickens. “Do you know what they did with his body?”

  Charmeuse glances at Chiffon, the silver-haired twin. They share identical, stricken expressions that remind me of how people look when they’ve accidentally shared bad news.

  “They might return his ashes to Rugosa,” Chiffon says in halting words.

  My heart sinks, and grief seeps through the wall of emotion-suppressant drugs that’s holding me together.

  We fall silent for the rest of the journey. The twins sit close together and share Charmeuse’s computer tablet, while Chiffon lets me use hers. I stare at the black screen, not bothering to ask for help. I won’t be able to focus on anything until I know the fate of Mom and the twins.

  The van pauses, and a breath catches in the back of my throat. Chiffon tells me we’re entering the gates of Master Thymel’s estate. King Arias gifted the land to the designer after elevating him to the Noble Echelon. It’s close to the Smoky Mountains, which means tall, electric fences surround their home to keep out predators.

  When the van eventually stops, the back door opens, and Master Thymel stands inside a white room with his arms outstretched for a hug. He’s still the most peculiar person I’ve seen, with his young features, white hair, and buffalo-horn mustache.

  I step out of the van into his embrace. Master Thymel wraps his arms around my shoulders and murmurs into my ear, “Everyone knows the truth about you, Zea. Prince Kevon wouldn’t have given up his throne for you if he wasn’t deeply in love.”

  My face tightens, and I try to smile. They probably don’t know that Prince Kevon also forgave Vitelotte. Even without Queen Damascena and her threats, he knows the truth, and it has cut Prince Kevon
deeper than any knife.

  Master Thymel draws back from the embrace and gazes down at me with sparkling, brown eyes. “I received a message thirty minutes ago. Your mother and brothers are safe in the home of an associate who lives close to the Botanical Gardens. We need to work out a way to transport them without alarming the children.”

  “Thank you.” I wrap my arms around his middle.

  As Master Thymel leads us out of his storage room I blurt, “Is there anything you can do to protect Prince Kevon? Queen Damascena is using a remote control to affect the synthetic muscle fibers in his heart.”

  He glances over his shoulder at the twins. “Do we have any of that faraday silk?”

  They disappear around the back of the vehicle, and Master Thymel explains that it’s a fabric designed to block electromagnetic signals but won’t affect anything internal to the body like pacemakers. If Prince Kevon wore a faraday silk vest underneath his clothes, the remote control’s infrared and radio signals wouldn’t reach his heart.

  We step through an electronically protected doorway that leads to a wide hall with a glass ceiling that drenches the space with orange light from the setting sun. With each step, the emotional impact of past events weighs heavier in my chest until I can barely breathe.

  The suppressant’s effects ebb into the background, and cold reality cuts like a blade.

  I’ve lost everything, including Prince Kevon and Dad.

  “Can you sew?” Master Thymel’s voice cuts through my despair.

  He steers me to the left, into a huge workshop that would take up the entire floor space of our house and backyard. The walls are white and all but one are covered in garment rails and in the spaces between them are colored sketches of men and women’s clothing. Above them are high shelves that hold dozens of differently-sized tailor’s dummies.

  My mouth drops open as I take in the sight of eight people dressed in white coats, pinning fabric to dummies. In the far corner, three women sit at sewing machines, and a man with long, white hair stands at a cutting table slicing around a sewing pattern with a blade. A black-haired woman stands next to him with her gaze fixed on a wall screen where the Noble girls from earlier speak with an unseen interviewer.

  I turn away from the Lifestyle Channel. “Are we making the vest right away?”

  “Yes, and I want them ready before he goes to bed,” he replies. “If we create a batch in the next few hours, I can deliver them to the palace and pick up the rest of your family on the journey back.”

  The weight in my chest lightens. I inhale a calming breath and give him my first genuine smile. “May I help?”

  A few of the people around the room turn to look at us, and most offer sympathetic smiles. They don’t seem to be surprised at the sight of me in my Harvester uniform, and I guess Master Thymel told them I was coming. Chiffon and Charmeuse appear behind us, holding a bolt of white fabric. They lay it on an unoccupied cutting table.

  While I follow the girls to cut the fabric, Master Thymel walks to the other end of the room and pushes the back of a muscular tailor’s dummy about the size of Prince Kevon.

  Charmeuse huffs an annoyed breath. “Not him again.”

  I glance up to find her looking at the wall screen. Before I can see who she’s talking about, the camera cuts to a view of the palace servants standing in a line at the grand entrance’s double doors. Then it cuts back to Mouse.

  Chiffon snorts. “Someone has to take over from Byron, after…”

  An awkward silence spreads across the room at what Chiffon leaves unsaid. I stare down at the floor, aware of the staring faces looking at me. If the Thymels saw me stab Dad with the Scorpio tail, they also saw how I abducted Byron Blake, forced him to take me to Mom, and then discarded him as soon as he was no longer useful.

  “After I killed him.” The words taste like ashes on my tongue. “After I shoved him into Scorpio’s path and let him get beaten to death.”

  “Zea?” says a new voice.

  Georgette stands at the door, wearing a white jumpsuit and her black hair held in a high ponytail. The last of my tension melts away from my muscles at the familiar face, and we rush toward each other. We hug nearly as tight as Forelle and hold it for several moments.

  “You’re all over the gossip rags,” she murmurs. “Even if it doesn’t seem like it, people care what happens to you.”

  I nod and think about Garrett, the Thymels, Forelle, their friends, and all the others who have helped me throughout the Princess Trials. Even Lady Circi, who in her own strange way, did what she could to help. She’s probably dead now that King Arias isn’t around to offer her protection.

  “It’s Prince Kevon,” someone says with a gasp.

  All the activity in the room ceases, and I turn to the screen. Someone increases the volume, and Mouse’s voice fills the room.

  “Your Highness,” he says. “How does it feel to be back home?”

  Prince Kevon’s smile is tight. “I’m thankful to the team of medical professionals responsible for my fast recovery.”

  “Twenty-four stunning beauties are eager to meet you.”

  “Let’s not keep them waiting, then.”

  Nothing in Prince Kevon’s voice suggests he’s in the mood for socializing, and it’s not just my wishful thinking. The camera cuts to a narrow chamber that looks about fifty feet long. Up on a high dais, Queen Damascena sits alone on a golden throne, holding a scepter. She wears a one-shouldered, ivory dress that reminds me of something worn by the Statue of Liberty before it was destroyed by an atomic bomb.

  Standing at her left are Garrett and his father, whose stiff postures and blank expressions display their discomfort. Dr. Ridgeback stands on the right of the throne in a green, floor-length gown with the general at her side wearing a tuxedo.

  I gulp. If he’s not wearing a dress uniform, it means that his sabbatical has started early.

  A red carpet stretches down from the throne and toward the door, and the twenty-four girls stand on both sides, each clad in long evening dresses and sparkling jewelry. While most of them have the blue-black hair of Nobles, some are blonde, and there’s also Tizona, whose skin is darker than Lady Circi’s.

  “They’re all Nobles,” mutters Charmeuse.

  I point out the trio who came with me to escort the Foundlings through the gates. They stand closest to the dias. “Those three are Amstraadi.”

  Chiffon waves a hand. “They’re only there to keep their ambassador happy.”

  “And they probably made another deal to get that sadistic clown to present the show.”

  Before I can ask how they know Mouse, he appears back onscreen. “What a wonderful selection and each personally vetted by Queen Damascena.”

  A wide shot of the throne room appears onscreen, and Prince Kevon steps through the double doors. All but the Amstraadi girls burst into excited applause. Dread rolls around my belly, and I try not to grimace. If only they knew he doesn’t appreciate sycophants. He’ll probably end up choosing Tizona, the sanest of the three Amstraadi.

  He takes two steps into the throne room before crumpling onto the red carpet.

  A tight fist of grief clutches at my heart. I rush forward to the screen. “What are they doing to him?”

  The girls break formation and gather around the prince. Garrett sprints down the steps with his father. Queen Damascena rises from her throne and turns to Dr. Ridgeback, who shakes her head. If they’re not hurting him, then who’s responsible?

  Georgette appears at my side. “I’m sure the palace physician—”

  One of the girls falls on top of Prince Kevon, followed by another, and another, and another. Garrett’s father falls. Then Garrett. Then General Ridgeback. Then the doctor.

  Master Thymel stands on Georgette’s other side with his hand on his chest. “Poisoned gas?”

  “I…” My voice cracks. What’s happening to them? “I don’t know.”

  Guards in black rush forward, some stepping over the girls to reach Queen
Damascena. She clutches a handkerchief to her nose and rushes down the steps but tumbles into the arms of a guard. I shake my head from side to side as even the guards fall.

  Then the screen goes black.

  “What. Was. That?” Chiffon turns to Georgette and me.

  My mouth opens and closes, but I make no sound.

  “Welcome to the New Phangloria,” says a female voice I’ve heard a hundred times. Carolina’s face appears on the wall screen. “If you are still watching this, it means we have not yet judged you as a person of oppression.”

  Master Thymel drops to the floor.

  All the air leaves my lungs in a shocked breath. Georgette and the twins kneel at his side, and sounds of anguish fill the workshop. I glance from Master Thymel to the screen, where Carolina warns the other Echelons to fall in line or face the wilderness.

  Behind her stand Ryce, Vitelotte, her brother, and a few Harvesters I recognize from Rugosa.

  Shards of information that didn’t make sense come together like pieces of a broken plate. The Red Runner’s cache of advanced weapons. The underground control room in Rugosa. The communication and surveillance devices.

  I wondered how Harvesters would get such items when we didn’t have enough water, but when I asked, Carolina brushed aside my question.

  “Is he alright?” I kneel beside Georgette.

  Chiffon raises her head and stares at me through tear-stained eyes. “He’s breathing, but for how long?”

  Back on the wall screen, people wearing Harvester uniforms march into the throne room and drag the girls through a back door. They move with the precision and efficiency I’ve never seen on anybody from my Echelon, not even from Carolina or Vitelotte.

  Now I know why Ambassador Pascale selected me to join the Princess Trials. It wasn’t because I made him laugh. He knew I was a Red Runner and wanted to help me complete my mission. Then when Prince Kevon and I fell in love, he wanted me to be the queen.

  The Amstraad Republic has been backing the Red Runners.