The Princess Trials (The Princess Trials #1)(20)

My throat closes. I had always pictured the Nobles eating and living better than the other Echelons, but drinking water that tastes of fruit? I shake my head and sip another mouthful of Smoky Water. I couldn’t wait for everyone at home to try it, too.

Emmera Hull, the twins’ sister, sits with Vitelotte Pyrus in the seats in front of ours. She sticks her head in the gap between the backrests. “Hey.”

I exchange a glance with Forelle.

“You,” she hisses. “The skinny attention-seeker.”

“What?” I snap.

“You stole my sister’s place.”

Before I can reply, Forelle says, “They were never going to let a twin onto the coach.”

Emmera points through the gap and scowls. “I won’t forget this.”

I purse my lips. Soon, she’ll understand that marrying Prince Kevon won’t lead to anything more but a place beside him in his cell.

The carriage speeds out of town, and I glance out of the window at wheat fields lit by the half-moon. We’re headed in the direction of Panicum, which grows mostly millet. I’ve been there a few times with Dad to barter wild herbs with the apothecaries, but I’ve never left the Harvester region.

Corporal Cringe sits in the seat opposite and leans across. Forelle straightens, blocking his view of me.

“You like Prince Kevon, huh?” he asks.

Forelle makes a choked giggle. “These trials are a good opportunity to see if we’re a match.”

“Why would you apply if you don’t know him?”

I sit back in my seat and roll my eyes. That’s a question he needs to pose to his superiors, not to girls at the lowest Echelon of society and desperate for a day off work. A laugh bubbles from my chest. It catches at the back of my throat, and my lips curl into a smile. If only Prince Kevon knew.

We pass acres of crop fields that stretch out into the dark. Roads in the Harvester region aren’t lit. That would be a waste of energy considering everyone’s usually in bed to start work before the sun becomes too hot.

Forelle continues chatting with the guard for the next twenty or so minutes until the bus slows, and we enter Panicum town center. I wait for him to step off the coach before speaking.

“Do you need to swap places?” I ask Forelle.

“Why?”

“Aren’t you tired of Corporal Creep?”

A smile curves the corners of her lips. “He’s not that bad.”

“Alright.” I raise a shoulder and glance out of the window as we approach a crowded town square and stop at the back of a marquee. Apart from the trees in the distance, this could be Rugosa.

The door opens, and the roar of the crowd fills the coach. As soon as four new Harvester girls board, we head for the next town. I twist around, count the number of passengers, and close my eyes—five more towns before we can even begin to head to the Oasis.





Hours later, a bump in the road jolts me out of sleep. Sunlight seeps out from beyond the horizon, coloring the meadows.

The black-haired guard stands in the aisle, chatting with Forelle about his apprenticeship with the Guardians. From what I overhear, his name is Garrett, he’s seventeen—the same age as Forelle, and he must complete three months in uniform before progressing to his wanted vocation: medicine.

That’s how the Guardian Echelon differs from ours. While Harvesters must work the land or tend to livestock, Guardians can choose a range of professions.

At the bottom are those who guard the border, and at the top are those who take care of Phangloria’s infrastructure. Architects, engineers, scientists, and medics all count as Guardians as well as the naval officers who safeguard the country from the turbulent seas beyond the Great Smoky Mountains.

An orange haze seeps over the jagged, black horizon, which pales to yellow and turns green as it bleeds into the indigo sky. It’s an hour before dawn, around the time we wake from Mondays to Saturdays.

Sergeant Silver strides down the aisle and places a gloved hand on Garrett’s shoulder. “Get to work, lover boy.”

Garrett grins and follows his companion to the front. The coach slows to a floodlit square where a subdued mass of Harvesters awaits. I stretch and stifle a yawn, hoping that they hadn’t been standing outside all night.

“What?” says Forelle.

My brows rise. “What?”

“Each time you wake, you glare at Garret.”

A denial rushes to my lips, but I shake it off. “Why are you even talking to him when you’ve got a chance to become the Queen of Phangloria?”

“Everyone on this bus is here for show,” she says. “I’ve looked it up. Each queen regent has come from the Nobles or was a distant member of the royal family.”

“Same thing.” I clap my hand over my mouth to hide a wide yawn.

Annoyance crosses her features. “It’s just a conversation. Garrett’s different from the other guards.”

“Really.” My voice is flat, but Forelle does have a point. Having a Harvester queen would mean a fairer distribution of resources to those who need it the most. We would rather drink water than watch it spout prettily from a fountain.

Emmera sticks her head through the gap. “You’re right.”

Her pinched expression tells me she’s still sore because her sister didn’t get through to the next stage of the trials. Whatever she will say next will be a rant or a veiled insult. I glance out of the window at meadows that stretch for miles. The only thing growing on them are buttercups, which glow in the morning haze.