The Princess Trials (The Princess Trials #1)(82)
The camera pans out to show that they’re in a room with an entire stained-glass wall dedicated to Gaia. The goddess takes the form of a tree with her leafy hair laden with flowers and fruit. Her serene, brown face smiles down at the mourners, and she holds the world in her outstretched hands.
Next onscreen is a closeup of Rafaela, who lies on a marble slab wearing a gown that glitters in the light. Her hair frames her beautiful features, and the natural makeup makes her look like she would awaken with a kiss.
My throat thickens. “I thought the hazardous waste people destroyed her.”
Forelle shakes her head. “This is so different from how Harvesters mourn the dead.”
I nod. “It isn’t even Sunday.”
Harvesters don’t have old-style funerals. Undertakers from the Guardian Echelon send the body away for cremation and bring back the ashes and a framed print from their identification records. We have these photos taken every few years, but we never get copies.
There’s a function room in the Rugosa Dome, where you can book a memorial service for Sundays, and the Nobles even provide refreshments. Funerals are usually well attended.
Montana’s voice commentates on the event, and he laments the dangers of Noble girls following Artisan careers. I clench my teeth and say, “It’s disgusting how they feed false information to the public to shape their opinions.”
“Did you know Garrett was shocked to discover we lived on rations?” Forelle takes a forkful of scrambled eggs. “He thought we got to keep a percentage of everything we grew.”
I take a long sip of orange-flavored water and grunt. “They probably show images of our breaks or something similar to make us look incompetent and lazy.”
Forelle nods. “I wish they would just tell the truth.”
I press my lips together to stop myself from blurting my plans. When the revolution comes, we’ll only report the truth and no stupid shows like the Princess Trials. And if most Nobles are being fed lies by the select few from the Council of Ministers, they’ll need to learn that their comfortable lives have been built on falsehoods.
The sound of a door opening makes us both lean forward to see who’s coming out from the guest house. Garrett and Prince Kevon step out into the patio. Prince Kevon pauses, presses his hand to his middle, and blows out a long breath.
Forelle and I exchange confused looks, but it’s her who speaks first. “Montana said he was broadcasting live from the funeral.”
Garrett shakes his head and nudges Prince Kevon. “That was last night. We came as soon as we heard a report that Zea left the Princess Trials.”
I purse my lips as they walk down the side of the pool and toward the shade. Prunella never wanted me in the Trials. She and Lady Circi were against me from the start, and if I don’t convince Prince Kevon that the reports were a vicious fabrication, I’ll have failed my mission.
“Have you changed your mind about participating?” asks Prince Kevon.
As Garret sneaks behind us and wraps his arms around Forelle’s shoulders, I stand. “A group of girls gassed our room, and one of them tied a noose around my neck. I left because they were trying to kill me, just as they killed Rafaela.”
His gaze drops to my neck, and his features slacken. “You’re bruised.”
“Those girls wouldn’t have stopped if we hadn’t fought back.”
He frowns. “How could Montana say—”
“The guy who also said Rafaela committed suicide?” I wave my arms up and down for emphasis. “Did Rafaela seem the type to kill herself? Can you see her sabotaging her Amstraad monitor to perform a fatal electrocution if jumping out of a window failed?”
“Of course, not,” replies the prince.
“What are you doing about it?” I don’t mean for my voice to be sharp, but if I had the power, I wouldn’t let murders go unpunished.
Prince Kevon’s posture stiffens. “Lady Circi has ordered a team of investigators to identify what happened.”
Pressure builds up like a rusting tea kettle about to release an ear-piercing whistle. If I stay quiet about my suspicions for the sake of the revolution, that will make me as corrupt as the Nobles. This goes against the Red Runner philosophy. We stand for the truth and justice and equality.
My insides twist into painful knots, but I force out the words, “What if someone in Lady Circi’s team is responsible for Rafaela’s death?”
His face drops, and he jerks his head away. “Don’t you think I’ve considered that? My parents never approved of Rafaela, not even as a friend. I can’t just accuse my mother’s lady-at-arms of being a murderer. It’s the same as accusing the queen.”
All the tension escapes me in an outward breath. I always thought Prince Kevon was too naive to work it out. “What will you do?”
He walks around the table, takes a seat, and casts the Lifestyle Channel a dismissive glance. “When I become the king, everyone involved in the murder of Rafaela will be punished, regardless of rank.”
My hands curl into fists, which I place on my hips. That could be in half a century. I’m about to protest when Prince Kevon raises a finger.
“Do not ask,” he says. “But circumstances have changed, and I might take the throne earlier than planned. I’m going to need a strong queen at my side with an outlook that encompasses the whole of Phangloria, not just the Oasis.” Determination crosses his features. “Will you rejoin the Princess Trials?”