The Princess Trials (The Princess Trials #1)(58)
I stare down at my silk dress and inhale a deep, fortifying breath. A reinforced seam runs along the neckline that’s robust enough to pin a few decorative flowers if I can find them. It’s plain compared to Berta’s gown, but it’s far finer than anything I have ever worn.
My throat dries, and I lick my parched lips. Will it be suitable for dinner with the royal family?
After a half-hour jaunt around the garden, I return to the seamstresses with an armful of flowers. They find some mesh fabric and hand-fit a bodice over my gray dress with delicate stitches. When they attach the flowers, it looks like a different dress. A camerawoman informs me of the time, and we walk to the dining room.
I pause at the door and gape. The red carpet wasn’t here at breakfast, and neither were red drapes with gold trim on the windows. Behind the head table stand six gilded chairs upholstered in red velvet, which match the golden goblets and candlesticks.
Instead of pursing my lips with disapproval at the opulent waste, I part my lips and let my face go slack. The camerawoman fires a bunch of questions at me, and I say something about the scene looking like a fairytale.
Around the dining room are tables of twelve instead of tables of six. All are full of girls, except for the one Berta and Gemini share. There’s a spare seat between them, which I guess is for me.
Next to Gemini sit six of the Amstraadi girls, and on Berta’s side sits Ingrid Strab and Rafaela van Eyck. The actress wears a sheer, plum gown with a deep V-neckline that shows off her creamy skin. The garment is encrusted with black jewels, making my flowers look paltry. Her hair is swept to the side, and the barest of makeup enhances her features. While Rafaela looks like a natural beauty, the others appear overdone. Prince Kevon has excellent taste.
The seat next to Rafaela is empty, and I pity the girl who sits next to the actress. She looks more stunning than even the Amstraadi, who the seamstresses have clothed in simple gowns that don’t quite match their colorings.
I take my seat, and Berta leans into my side. “Why the hell are you wearing a bouquet? You stink.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “Weren’t you there when they ran out of gowns?”
Snorting, she leans back. “You’re a wimp.”
“What?”
“There was an entire rail of dresses when I first arrived, and they wheeled them into another room after finding one that kind of fitted me. If you had thrown a tantrum like a good bronco, those old ladies would have dressed you properly.”
The Amstraadi girls lean forward and watch my reaction. Of course, they would. Berta, Gemini, and I are the Amstraad equivalent of clowns. My cheeks heat, and I roll the velvet edging of the tablecloth between my fingertips. I don’t need to look up to find that cameras are recording our conversation.
“How was I supposed to know they lied about not having gowns?” I mutter.
“Ladies,” Prunella Broadleaf’s voice rings out from the head table. She wears a strapless, electric-blue dress with two peacock feathers sticking out of its cleavage. The ends of her black hair are blue, as is her lipstick. “Please rise for our honored guests.”
Once everyone has stood, the back door opens.
Lady Circi walks in first, wearing a short black dress and flat shoes with a long, black frock-coat. It’s something she can shrug off in an instant and probably conceals all her guns.
She steps aside to allow Queen Damascena to enter with the Amstraad ambassador. The queen wears a silk gown in warm beige with gold velvet swirls that shimmer in the light of the chandeliers. Tendrils of blonde hair fall from her updo to frame around a diamond-encrusted golden tiara that matches the shape of the crown in the Phangloria emblem with a matching necklace and drop earrings.
Even with platforms on his leather boots, the ambassador stands a head smaller than the queen, but he puffs out his chest and walks alongside the taller woman. Princess Briar walks in next with Montana, who both wear black. Then Garrett enters next with Prince Kevon, and all the girls sigh.
I plaster on a smile, but on the inside, my eyes are rolling like melons down a steep hill. The prince is handsome compared to the ambassador, but thousands of Harvester men are well-built with sun-darkened skin. Some of them even have black hair.
The queen and ambassador take the middle seats, with Lady Circi and Montana on the queen’s side and Princess Briar next to the ambassador.
“Good evening, ladies,” says Montana from one end of the head table. “King Arias sends his apologies for not being with us. He is investigating the disturbance across the mountains with the Royal Navy.”
My brows rise. I always thought the Royals just ruled from the Oasis.
There’s a free seat next to the princess, and Prunella steps forward to take it, but Garrett appears from the other side and sits next to his cousin. The vindictive part of me cheers at her failed attempt at social climbing. I lean forward, waiting to see what she will do next.
“May I take this seat?” says a deep voice that catches my attention.
Prince Kevon’s hands rest on the empty seat between Rafaela von Eyck and a red-haired Amstraadi girl with cute freckles.
“I’ve been keeping it warm for you,” says Rafaela.
Up at the head table, Queen Damascena and Lady Circi share similar scowls. I wonder if Prince Kevon was supposed to sit next to his sister.
“Your Highness,” says the Amstraadi girl sitting next to him. “It is an honor to meet you.” She introduces herself as Sabre and then tells him the names of each of the other six from her nation.