The Princess Trials (The Princess Trials #1)(19)

“Prince Kevon will be a wonderful leader,” Carolina says, but I’m sure she’s referring to her son. “And I pray to Gaia that you will be the one to lead with His Highness.”

The door creaks open behind us. Carolina kisses both my cheeks and steps to the side.

Ryce’s eyes glimmer with barely restrained excitement. “I can’t wait to see you on OasisVision.” He kisses one cheek. “You’re going to make a great queen.”

I wait for the second kiss, but the blond sergeant tells them it’s time to leave.

Ryce murmurs goodbye and follows Carolina out of the room. The guard steps aside to let him leave, and I notice that Ryce is slighter than the blond man, but that’s because Ryce is not padding himself with armor.

“Is he a relative?” asks the blond guard.

“Carolina Wintergreen is like a second mother.” It’s not exactly a lie, as she is my mentor.

“So, he’s a big brother?”

I smile and nod. Dad’s stricken reaction fades to the back of my mind. Naturally, he worries about my involvement with the Red Runners, but they’re going to look out for me while I’m in the Oasis.

The sergeant places a hand on my shoulder. “Wait here while I gather up the other girls.”

When the door clicks shut, the ring in my palm pulses out the code for REVOLUTION.





Chapter 6





We step out into the floodlit night, onto a red carpet that leads to a shiny, black stagecoach. Men wearing camera goggles film us as we pass, and the roar of the crowd makes my spirits soar.

Guards flank our carpet from the door to the entrance to the coach. This is the second time today that pride swells my chest. I beam at Forelle, who returns a dazzling smile.

Emmera is the first to walk the carpet. “Thank you,” she yells without a trace of the bitterness from before. “I love you all!”

Vitelotte Solar trudges behind her and raises a hand. I can’t see her expression, but from the stiffness in her posture, she doesn’t feel comfortable with the attention.

“You first,” I say to Forelle.

With a sharp nod, she strides forward, displaying the same grace as Emmera. I wonder if Prince Kevon likes redheads or blondes like his mother.

A moment later, it’s my turn to walk, and my heart rate doubles. All the moisture leaves my throat and gathers on the palms of my hands. Imagining the footage being used one day to explain to children of the new democracy how it all began, I pull my shoulders back and smile.

The carpet’s thick tread gives under my jute espadrilles, and I glide forward with the poise and grace of a woman worthy of capturing Ryce Wintergreen’s heart.

Harvesters crowd behind the walls of guards. I glance into the crowd for signs of Mom, Dad, or the twins, and meet nothing but a mass of faces. My heart sinks, but I hold my expression into a smile. If things go right, I might return to them by the end of the week.

When we step into the stagecoach, nearly forty other Harvester girls sit in the back seats, and I wonder when Montana’s announcement started among the other towns. From the bored looks of some of the girls, they’ve been here since the morning.

“Ha,” says a male voice. “I told you that skinny one would be a virgin.”

I whirl around and glare at a pair of guards. “What?”

One of them takes off his helmet and leers. It’s the guard who helped us through the crowd. “We saw you tripping over yourself to get to the front. You must be eager to meet that prince.”

I raise my chin and glower into his mocking, brown eyes. “What are you, jealous?”

His grin widens. “Hardly. But it looks like you might be jealous of all the beautiful women on board.”

Prickly heat rises to my cheeks. I long for the day when I’m the one holding the gun so I can throw the truth in his ugly, grinning face. His friend, the sergeant with the silver-blond hair takes off his helmet and shakes his head, but I’m too busy glowering at Corporal Clown to see his expression.

The dark-haired guard nudges his friend, who I decide to call Sergeant Silver. “What do you think of this one?”

“You’ve dyed your hair black to look like Prince Kevon,” I say in a baby voice. “But nobody wants a cheap imitation.”

Sergeant Silver chokes down a laugh.

“Zea!” Forelle pulls me into a seat, and I sink into its cushioned depths. “What are you doing?”

“He’s so annoying.”

Her gaze flickers to the pair who are now standing above us with annoyingly wide grins, and her pretty features morph into a tight frown. She stands and holds onto the backrest of the seat in front. “Swap places.”

“Why?”

“He won’t annoy you if you’re at the window.”

“Fine.” I scoot to the seat furthest from the aisle and notice the refrigerator beneath the armrests of the places in front. I open it, enjoying the freezing air that puffs out, and grab a water bottle from the armrest. It’s nearly a pint—over half a day’s rations. The seal opens with a crack, and I take my first sip of what tastes like nectar.

“Smoky Water,” I read out loud on the label. “Filtered through layers of ancient rock and infused with watermelon, kiwi, and lime.”

Forelle takes a sip and hums. “Even the Oasis water tastes better.”