The Princess Trials (The Princess Trials #1)(91)

We all walk in silence through the rose garden, back through the hallways, and into the ballroom. The orchestra plays another type of music, and ladies clad in black-and-white cocktail dresses slink across the dance floor in a close embrace with white-shirted men whose black pants are held up by suspenders. Their movement consists of sensuous pauses and kicks and flicks to the strains of a wailing accordion and a melancholy violin.

I stand at the edge of the dance floor with Prince Kevon on my right and Emmera at my left with the other girls at my back. But I can’t focus on them because I’m mesmerized by the dancers and this enchanting melody. I doubt that the Nobles will broadcast this part of the evening to the Harvester domes. It’s rare that we get insights into their varied and rich lives.

When the music stops, the dancers bow, and applause fills the ballroom. Montana walks to the middle of the dance floor and spreads his arms wide. “Thank you, the Pavane troupe, for your wonderful interpretation of Alcorta’s El Choclo. My auditors have informed me that they have finished collating the votes of the viewing public for who will progress to the palace round.”

The people sitting at the tables and in the balconies applaud. My stomach tightens, and Prince Kevon wraps an arm around my waist. Lady Circi, who stands at his right, says something in a loud whisper.

“I need to be in place for the announcement,” he whispers to me. “Good luck.”

He gives me one last squeeze around the waist and walks toward the steps with Lady Circi. I glance up to the thrones and meet Queen Damascena’s gaze. The ice in her blue eyes makes me wonder for a stupid moment if she was the attacker with the noose.

Montana asks all the girls to step forward and form a line. As I head toward the dance floor, someone wraps a large hand around my arm. I twist around to find Mouse staring down at me.

“What do you want?” I pull on my arm, but his grip is tight.

His gaze drops to my blue tomato pendant, and my skin crawls with revulsion. “Come with me,” he says. “I will keep you safe.”

“What are you talking about?” I hiss.

“You trust the prince.” He releases my arm and steps back with his strangely perfect brows drawn together in mock confusion. “Why don’t you trust me?”

The lights on his collar blink on and off. One of them is obviously a camera, and I remember that Ambassador Pascal negotiated my place on the Princess Trials as a form of entertainment. If Mouse is anything like the Amstraadi girls who tried to put words of sedition in my mouth during the dinner with Prince Kevon, I’m better off facing the public vote.

Without a word, I hurry across the dance floor and join the other girls. Mouse’s laughter rings in my ears, and the dread rolling through my belly doubles in weight. Have I made a terrible mistake?

We stand in our groups. Nobles at the front, followed by Guardians, then Artisans, then Industrials, then Harvesters, and then Berta, me, and Gemini, who I haven’t noticed until now. She wears a floaty, pistachio-green dress with white lilies embroidered into the fabric. Her pale hair is swept back into a high bun and decorated with even more of the flowers. The effect is otherworldly.

I turn to her and smile, but she stares straight ahead.

“Gemini?”

She turns to her left, where one of the Amstraadi girls now stands. Another takes her place at Berta’s right. Further up the rows, one Amstraadi stands to the left and right of each Echelon. My gaze trails up to where Prince Kevon sits with the queen. Neither of them appears concerned with the arrangement, but Mouse’s words reverberate through my skull. Did he want to keep me safe from his female comrades?

Ambassador Pascal, who hasn’t moved from the throne all evening, stands. The black tuxedo he wears looks and hangs like it’s made of plastic, but the white shirt and bowtie might be leather. Lights shine from his cuffs and lapel pin.

“First, I choose which six Amstraadi candidates will progress to the palace round.”

“What happened to the public vote?” I whisper.

“He probably pledged another hundred monitors or the loan of a juvenation doctor,” Berta whispers back.

I want to ask whether she’s talking about a doctor specializing in keeping patients young, but the ambassador taps the side of his spectacles.

“Captain Sabre, then Captain Katana. Lieutenants Jian, Tizona, Kalis, and Wallace will progress to the next round.”

All the girls on the left march to the foot of the staircase.

Wrapping my arms around my middle, I take stock of what’s left. Twenty-four places for thirty-three girls. Nine of us will leave.

Montana smiles, but there’s no warmth in his eyes. “Thank you, Ambassador Pascal, for your charming choices. I will now announce the names of those who will join us in the palace for the next round of the Princess Trials.”

My chest tightens, and I hold my breath.

Ingrid Strab gets the highest votes. She takes her place of pride beside the Amstraadi girls, followed by a Noble named Constance Spryte with blue-black ringlets and then the other three from their Echelon. The next names come from the Artisan and Guardian Echelons, which is no surprise.

Berta leans into me and whispers. “I don’t know why they don’t just award Ingrid the crown. She’s going to win no matter who the prince chooses.”

Anger flushes through my veins. I would bet anything that Montana’s auditors made sure Ingrid came first.