The Princess Trials (The Princess Trials #1)(89)
Montana appears taller today. I guess he wants to appear extra manly when he eventually dances with Queen Damascena.
“When you stormed out of the trials, you forfeited your place. Why have you returned?” he asks.
“You don’t know?”
His face hardens. “Enlighten me.”
I tell him about the attack on our room last night, and his brows raise a fraction. Throughout my story, his expression doesn’t vary from mild surprise, even when I tell him about the noose. Strangely, I think this is because his face is incapable of a wider range of movement. Something about it reminds me of the perfect Amstraadi features. I’m not sure what my mind is trying to show me, but I shake it off and focus on telling Montana what really happened last night.
“Can anyone corroborate your story?” he asks.
“Berta Ridgeback and Gemini Pixel were in the room when we were gassed.”
We dance in silence for at least a minute. Lights from his Amstraad cuff blink through his long, dark hair, and he gazes off to the tables at the side, and I stare up at him, wondering what’s going on behind that ageless, brown face.
The oldest Harvesters usually die before they reach their eightieth year. That’s because of the reduction in water rations when a person can no longer work the fields. Families help out however they can, but even if you juice every cactus growing wild in Rugosa, it still won’t support all those who don’t have enough to drink. This man has to be at least eighty, maybe even a hundred.
As the orchestra music fades, he says, “The stakes of the Princess Trials are high, Miss Calico. There are no rules against eliminating an opponent, especially one who gives herself an unfair advantage over the other girls.”
I stumble over my feet, nearly falling into Montana. “What?”
Holding me steady, he offers me a cold smile. “Step carefully, Miss Calico. I won’t always be there when you fall.”
The music stops, and Montana inclines his head. “Thank you for the dance. It was most enlightening.”
As he walks toward the other side of the ballroom, I glare at his broad back. I don’t think Montana orchestrated last night’s attack, but he would certainly cover up another murder if it helped the Chamber of Ministers marry Prince Kevon to the girl of their choice.
Montana stops to speak with Lady Circi, who stands by one of the ballroom’s many columns. Whatever he says to the lady-at-arms causes her to glance in my direction and walk into the dance floor, where Prince Kevon kisses Queen Damascena’s hand.
Lady Circi pulls Queen Damascena aside, and Prince Kevon glances from left to right. Next to them, Emmera leaves her partner, a red-haired soldier with a broad, stocky build. She holds the fabric of her golden dress and dips into a curtsey. I can’t see the prince’s expression because I’m several feet behind him, but he places his hands behind his back.
A few of the other girls watch Emmera with scowls, and I immediately discount her from my list of suspects from last night’s attack. The girl might be attention-seeking, but she wouldn’t leave herself open to hostility by acting forward in front of the others.
Garret rushes over from one of the many side tables and offers Emmera his hand. She glances at Prince Kevon, who nods. Emmera’s posture sags, and she allows Garret to whisk her away.
Prince Kevon turns around, and our eyes meet. He strides across the dance floor and approaches me with a relieved smile.
“Finally,” he says with a long sigh.
My brows draw together. “Are you alright?”
“As well as can be given the circumstances.” The orchestra starts again, and he gestures toward a far corner of the ballroom. “Will you walk with me?”
I nod. No member of the Red Runners has ever infiltrated the palace. If today is my last in the Oasis, I had better return to Rugosa with something useful.
The occupants of the tables stare as we walk past, but none of the guards in burgundy attempt to stop us from leaving through a single door behind the orchestra. It leads to a narrow hallway where palace servants rush in and out of rooms with trays of snacks and glasses.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
He gives me a half-smile. “I promised you a tour. Do you like roses?”
I shrug. “They don’t grow in Rugosa, so it’s always a pleasure to see them.”
“I’m surprised you came out with me.” He places a hand on the small of my back. “It’s everyone’s last chance to sway the public before they vote.”
The warmth of his palm seeps through my silk bodice, and it’s not unpleasant. “Every resident of the Oasis, you mean? They’ve probably decided on who they want to progress to the next round.”
At the end of the hallway, Prince Kevon opens a door. A warm, rose-scented breeze swirls around us. We step out into a lamp-lit garden path flanked by six-foot-tall rose trees with thin stems, which remind me of tomato trees, except there are flowers where there should be fruit. In between the trees are lavender shrubs, but their scent is faint compared to the roses.
The door clicks shut, and Prince Kevon pauses. “Master Thymel did a wonderful job.” His gaze drops to the blue tomato hanging off the thin gold chain. “You look exquisite.”
Even though my brain knows I’m playing a role, I can’t help the flush of heat that crawls across my cheeks. The only people who ever complimented me on my looks are Mom and Dad. It’s also hard to stay calm under the gaze of a man who has over thirty girls competing for his heart.