The Princess Trials (The Princess Trials #1)(38)

“He’s nothing special,” says Berta with a huff.

I continue my applause, not reacting to any sort of incitement to treason.

As prince Kevon passes the front tables, the brown-haired Noble rushes out from her seat. Garrett twitches but relaxes and lets her approach. She wraps her arms around his neck and presses her willowy body against his.

The Nobles and the Amstraadi are the first to stop applauding, then the girls in the lower tables cease. What’s left is the awkward hand-clapping of the few assistants around the room who aren’t holding tablets or cameras.

“Who’s that?” I whisper to Berta.

“Rafaela van Eyck.” She nods at the embracing pair. “That actress I was telling you about last night.”

“His girlfriend.” It’s not a question.

“Yeah.” She snorts. “Look at the way he’s clinging onto her. It makes the whole trial a farce, doesn’t it?”

I don’t voice my agreement, even though Berta’s words ring true. I expect annoyed grumbles to spread around the tables, but the girls keep their expressions neutral. Either the presence of the prince or the cameras trained on their faces are keeping them from protesting, but from their earlier reaction to the twelve new contestants, I guess that everyone is bristling on the inside.

Emmera, who sits on the other table in the back row, catches my gaze. Her eyes are hard, and part of me wonders if she’s still sore about her sister not reaching this round.

Prince Kevon releases the hug, cups Rafaela’s face, and says something that makes her lower her gaze to his lips. Then she parts hers, looking like she wants a kiss. I hold my breath, hoping the pair of lovers contain themselves at least until they turn off the cameras.

Someone clears their throat. I tear my gaze away to find Lady Circi striding across the room. As she passes Garrett, she shoots him a hateful glare. I bite down on my lip. Why should he get in trouble for the actions of the prince? She whispers harsh words to Rafaela and gestures toward the front table.

The girl inclines her head and glides back to her seat.

“Talk about staking her claim,” Berta mutters.

Without meaning to, I nod. Everyone in this room with a pair of eyes and a working brain knows that Prince Kevon belongs to Rafaela von Eyck. And from the defeated postures of the standing girls, they feel it, too.

Prince Kevon strolls down the left of the room with Garrett at his side. Both young men appear supremely satisfied with their defiant display. I glance at Lady Circi, whose hands curl into fists. If the object of her fury wasn’t a prince, his action might have earned him a whipping.

Prunella claps her hands together from the stage. “Thank you, Prince Kevon. Each girl has a break to Netface their families while we shoot footage of our new contestants. When you return, you may enjoy a breakfast buffet.”

Berta is already out of her seat before Prunella finishes her sentence. I turn to Gemini, who stares as though seeing me for the first time.

“Hi,” I say. “I’m Zea. Zea-Mays Calico from Rugosa.”

She picks up a cup of water. “Corn Flint Corn from Sweet Corn?”

Cringing, I clear my throat at the direct translation of my name. It sounds stupid when spelled out like that. “Yeah. What’s a Netface?”

“Are guards stationed at your family home?” Gemini sips her water.

I flinch. “No.”

“There aren’t any Netface terminals in the Harvester region.”

“How do you know?” I pick up the glass of water in front of me and take a sniff. It’s not like I could smell any of that Free I drank yesterday.

“Netface is only available at the Oasis unless you’re a Guardian with remote access or pay to use one of the public terminals within a hundred-mile radius from here.”

Considering Rugosa is four-hundred miles from the Oasis, I see why she assumes we don’t have the technology. I take an experimental sip from my glass. “Should we go for a walk, then?”

Gemini’s shoulders rise and fall. I stand, waiting to see if she follows. When she stays seated, I down the contents of my glass in a few gulps and walk to the door.

Someone grabs my arm and spins me around. Emmera Hull scowls into my face, her cheeks flushed with misplaced anger. Vitelotte Pyrus and Corrie Barzona from Bos stand at her sides.

“What are you doing here?” she snarls.

I snatch my arm back. “Let go.”

Emmera glances to the left, where two women stand behind the now empty Artisan table with their cameras trained on us. I huff out a breath. They probably remember her from yesterday’s attention-seeking outburst.

Since the Amstraad ambassador placed me here for entertainment, I play along and square my shoulders. “Are you still trying to hog the camera time?”

The corner of Vitelotte’s lips curls into a tiny smile. She steps back out of the camera’s range. Corrie pulls at Emmera’s arm, but the blonde girl bats her away.

“What did you say?” Emmera snarls.

I prod Emmera in the chest. “If you want to start a lizard chase in a cornstalk, I’m ready.” Placing both hands on my hips and hoping I don’t look too much of a villain for the audience, I add, “They might have made me the bronco of this rodeo, but I’ll buck you if you come close.”

She draws back and glances at the camera. One of the assistants rotates her hand in a motion I guess means to keep going, but Emmera’s lips part without sound. A second later, she mirrors my pose. “They should have called you the donkey. You make an ass of yourself all over Rugosa.”