The Princess Trials (The Princess Trials #1)(72)
Mom lets the twins off her lap and moves offscreen, revealing the canvas seat of a solar jeep. Gemini mentioned once that Guardians had remote access to Netface, but it still doesn’t stop me from worrying that the monsters who killed Mr. Wintergreen and dismissed his death as inconsequential are around my family.
Dad comes onscreen, a frown marring his brow. “Are you taking care of yourself down there, Zee?”
“I’m well, and the food is great.” It’s only half a lie. While the rations and the skipped meal is worse than the fare at home, last night’s French onion soup was sumptuous. I’m sure that whatever Prunella eats at the head table is sublime.
“Good.” He nods as though thinking of how to phrase what he’s about to say. “Everyone here is very proud of you.”
A breath catches in the back of my throat, and it looks like he’s forgiven me for joining the Princess Trials as a Red Runner spy. “I want everyone to know I think about them every day.”
“Are you sure you want to do this, Zee?” Dad swallows. “Montana explained the new rules when the ambassador let you through to the next round, and a bucking bronco is just as dangerous as a—”
The transmission cuts off.
I turn around. “What was he going to say?”
“Your ten minutes are up,” Prunella says with a sneer.
“What was the point of cutting us off?” I say.
Her eyes harden. “The next time you speak to me with disrespect, remember my fans can access your family at any time.”
All the blood drains from my face. “You’re threatening their lives because you don’t like how I play the role of the bucking bronco?”
Her cheeks redden, and she presses her lips into a thin line. It doesn’t matter that she’s made an idiot of herself again. Prunella Broadleaf has the power to hurt the people I love, and I can’t afford to risk my family over petty victories.
I clench my teeth, painfully aware that the camerawoman has that infernal machine trained on my face. If Prunella carries on like this, Rafaela won’t be the only person who gets pushed from a great height.
Chapter 20
By the time I return to Mistress Pavane’s class, the room is empty, and the helpful camerawoman filming my confusion informs me that there’s a garden party outside.
My nerves are already brittle from the sight of those guards around my family, and I’m desperate to speak to them without an audience to find out what’s really happening in Rugosa.
I hurry through the silent hallway with the woman trailing behind me like a hungry corn lizard with the click-clack of her shoes filling my ears.
I push open the double doors that lead to the lawn, which is no longer a sea of green but a busy gathering of over a hundred people. A third of them are the girls competing in the Princess Trials, but nearly everybody else wears white from their summer hats to their shoes.
Whoever has decorated this space has made it look like a wedding. Tiny, white flags with the Phangloria Tree hang from the branches on long strings, and round, white lanterns float above us.
My brows rise. One of the girls died yesterday, and Prince Kevon is in mourning. This event should have been canceled out of respect.
The scent of grilled meat fills my nostrils, and I turn to the far end of the garden, where a man in burgundy slices meat from a pig on a spit.
Despite my sour mood, saliva floods my mouth. It’s rare to get meat, and I’ve never known anyone to be able to purchase so much pork. Another assistant packs the pork into thin slices of bread and hands them to the people standing in line.
I head toward the spit, but the camerawoman places a hand on my shoulder and informs me that the girls will eat from the salad room. She points at a white, bell-shaped tent with open sides. Most of the girls form a line with the ones in the front holding plates. My face remains impassive. I’m not going to give her a reaction.
Berta walks past with brisk strides. Her shoulders hunch halfway up her neck, and her fists clench and unclench. A camerawoman has to jog to keep up.
I hurry after her. “What’s wrong?”
“This.” She sweeps her arm out and presses her large palm into the lens. “We’re being paraded to the Chamber of Ministers for their amusement.”
I take another look at the people around us. The Chamber of Ministers is the group of Nobles who run the country. They set quotas for how much each town should produce, determine water rations, and make other decisions that affect the lives of the Echelons. Whenever I thought of the Chamber of Ministers, I pictured old men with white beards, but everyone has the same blue-black hair and ageless look as Montana.
“What are they doing here?” I ask.
“Informal interviews,” she says, her voice bitter. “This is an opportunity for them to see which girl meets their standards to become the next queen. Some old vulture just told me I had put the Ridgeback family to shame, and I’d be lucky to work in waste disposal.”
“Does he have the power to affect your future?”
She shoots me an impatient glare. “The Minister of Guardian Employment? Yeah, I think so.”
Shaking off my irritation, I glance further into the line. The buffet table is over twenty feet long and crammed with dishes. Watermelons carved to look like peacocks sit at two feet intervals among platters of rainbow-colored lettuces, bowls of bean salad, chopped and shredded vegetables, and sauces of every color.