The Princess Trials (The Princess Trials #1)(114)

“That’s part of it.” The shutter rises, and Prince Kevon drives into the enclosed space. “They’ll probably perform a visual or ultrasound inspection to ensure you’re not holding me at gunpoint.”

I steal a glance at Prince Kevon. His readings are off because he’s upset, even if he doesn’t show it in his voice or on his face.

A lot has happened in the past twelve hours. Queen Damascena broke her promise to spare Gemini, and those running the Princess Trials subjected us all to a terrifying experience. I’ve lost count of the number of times someone has either attempted to assassinate me or incited others to attack me.

My throat thickens, and I glance down at my lap. There are several reasons he’s off-balance, but a tiny part of my heart knows it’s because I said I didn’t love him.

After several moments of silence, the second shutter rises, and the car rolls into a paved courtyard with a less grand stone porch that leads to the main building.

“The security in the palace wasn’t that thorough,” I say.

“In most entrances, it is,” he replies. “But sometimes, the best security measure is not telling anyone a secret passage exists.”

Lady Circi waits for us on the steps, and the sourness that usually twists her beautiful features when she looks at me is gone.

I don’t know if Prince Kevon’s silent declaration of affection has changed her mind or if she’s resigned to respect the wishes of the imminent king. The only part I care about is that she’s one less enemy with a dagger pointed at my back.

We walk through marble hallways adorned with gilded portraits of all the monarchs of Phangloria in a century and a half. Guards in black bow as Prince Kevon passes, and at the end of the hallway, they open the door of a semicircular auditorium of tiered rows that curve around a low stage.

Thousands of people sit within the seats, and I wonder if these are the same Nobles who attended the ball. Prince Kevon and I walk around the edge of the room and sit in the back row.

The wall opposite broadcasts what’s happening onstage. The Nobles from the garden party sit in two-tiered rows, facing a wooden throne where a tall Noble whose long hair is tied into a severe bun that’s about half the size of her head.

Prince Kevon explains that the Noble on the throne is the Minister of Justice who has served in the position for forty-five years. Unlike the ministers, who wear burgundy robes, hers is white with a burgundy trim.

A few feet away from the Minister of Justice, a smaller figure cowers within a box-like structure. A closeup of their face appears onstage. It’s Prunella Broadleaf, her face twisted with anguish, and her reddened hands clutching a metal collar around her neck.

“By the blessings of Gaia,” Prunella says through panting breaths. “I only meant what was best for Phangloria.”

The Minister of Justice leans forward and steeples her fingers. “Am I to believe ambition was not a factor in your decision to murder Rafaela van Eyck?”

“Never.” Prunella’s shoulders rise to her ears, and her eyes roll to the back of her head. Her spasming fingers scratch at her chest, and convulsions wrack her torso. “Aaah!”

“What is this?” I whisper.

“An interrogation collar that monitors heart rate, brainwaves, and body heat for signs of falsehood,” he whispers back.

My brows draw together. “How do you know there isn’t someone sitting in another room with a computer and making it shock her for saying something the ministers don’t like?”

“Do you think she’s innocent?” asks Prince Kevon.

“I don’t know.”

Prunella Broadleaf reveals that she wanted the Princess Trials to be the most sensational event of a generation. She hoped the Chamber of Ministers would reward her with a place in the Noble Echelon to replace the status she lost on the dissolution of her marriage.

Strangely, nobody asks if she was under orders from Montana, or asks if she collaborated with the Amstraad ambassador over Rafaela’s murder. From the way they speak, it’s as though the girl died from her fall.

The Minister of Justice shakes her head. “This is a very sorry tale indeed, Miss Broadleaf.”

Prunella opens her mouth, but she raises a finger. Either Prunella is terrified of the other woman or her finger operates the collar because Prunella stiffens, and her mouth clicks shut.

“Please only speak when invited to by the Council.” The Minister of Justice pauses. “You say the purpose of the interim round was to whittle forty-five girls to thirty. Is that correct?”

Prunella nods.

“How do you explain the chandelier that fell on Miss Pixel, the Harvester, and those unfortunate Industrial girls?”

“I wasn’t there—” Prunella’s shoulders rise, and her arms twist across her chest. She slumps forward and sobs.

“Miss Broadleaf, we don’t have all morning,” says the Minister. “I would encourage you to cooperate with the interrogation collar.”

Prunella lets out a gasping breath. “When the attack on Miss Calico’s room failed, the chandelier was set up to eliminate her from the trials.”

Prince Kevon squeezes my hand, and I lean forward. Prunella didn’t admit to setting up the chandelier accident. Why is the minister protecting her accomplices?

“Thank you, Miss Broadleaf. Please sit on the bench for further questioning.”