The Princess Trials (The Princess Trials #1)(92)

Montana turns to smile at the girls on the winner’s side of the room. “Aren’t they a gorgeous representation of Phangloria and its allies?”

The ballroom explodes into applause. Even the orchestra claps.

I fill my lungs with air and survey the winners. Six Amstraadi, five Nobles, six Guardians, and six Artisans. That’s twenty-three spaces taken. Provided that nobody voted for the other Amstraadi girls, there are fifteen girls left vying for seven places. I gulp. If the viewing public selects all six Harvesters based on beauty, that leaves only one spot left between the Industrials, Berta, Gemini, and me.

As predicted, Montana calls out the name of each Harvester girl along with an Industrial girl who doesn’t look as beaten down by the polluted atmosphere as the others.

A gasp escapes my lips, and I sway on my feet.

I’ve failed. Failed my mission, failed Carolina, failed Ryce, and most importantly, failed the Harvesters.

“Yes!” Berta clenches both fists. “I’m going home.”

The seven girls join the winner’s side of the room, and I can’t breathe. Pressure builds up in my chest, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to collapse on the marble floor.

Tonight, they’ll either send me back to Rugosa, or Prince Kevon will offer me a place in Garrett’s guesthouse where I’ll be… What? The girl he visits while deciding who to marry? The girl ever vying for trips to the palace? The applause feels like thunder in my ears, and I lean on Berta for support. She doesn’t shove me away.

“One moment, please.” The voice of the Amstraad ambassador cuts through my mental fog and brings me back to the dance floor.

Montana frowns. “Your Excellency?”

“Does your vote include the three girls I selected?” Ambassador Pascal’s voice projects through the speakers.

Montana pauses for a moment longer than is comfortable. “It was my belief that you already selected the six you wanted to progress to the next round.”

“The six Amstraadi girls.” The ambassador raises a crooked finger. “Will you humor me and read out where my three picks came in the public vote?”

Hope germinates in my chest. I inhale a deep breath and stand straight.

Next to me, Berta whispers, “Oh, no,”

Montana’s lips tighten. “Zea-Mays Calico came ninth, and Berta Ridgeback came thirtieth.”

Berta stiffens. “No, no, no, no.”

My heart quickens, and I glance at the other side of the ballroom, where the girls turn to each other and frown. Surely the ambassador won’t give up three of his girls?

“And this show is being broadcasted live?” Ambassador Pascal asks. “What a disappointment it would be to all those who didn’t get a chance to vote if the rules can be changed to fit the agenda of the Noble Echelon.”

Whispers spread across the ballroom, both from above and our level. If the ambassador was a Phanglorian, his words would be seditious. They more than hint at corruption and would get a person dragged away and disappeared. But he’s not one of us. He is the person who supplies our country with medical equipment and if Berta is to be believed, methods to keep the Nobles young for longer than they deserve.

“Of course,” Montana says with a nervous chuckle. “Miss Calico and Miss Ridgeback, please make your way to the other side of the room. Miss Watts and Miss Pomifera, I’m afraid you’ll be going home tomorrow morning.”

Brunnea Pomifera is the girl from Morus who cartwheeled her way to the audience’s hearts. She, the Industrial girl, and most of the other Harvester girls cast me hateful glances as I walk across the dance floor with Berta, and nobody offers any applause.

Montana clears his throat. “And before Ambassador Pascal has any last-minute changes of mind, please give the girls going home a warm send-off.”

As polite applause rings through the ballroom, something up in the ceiling tinkles like glass and then creaks. I tilt my head up in time to see one of the huge chandeliers falling. Cold alarm squeezes my heart, and I join the screaming audience with a cry for the other girls to run.

It’s too late. The chandelier falls on the girls in an explosion of metal and glass and sparks.

I rush forward. “Gemini!”

Berta grabs my arm and snarls, “Stop trying to be a hero and let the guards put out the flames.”

“Flames?” I twist around to find that parts of the wreckage have caught fire.

A hand emerges from the ruins of the chandelier, followed by an arm. My heart lurches. Someone is still alive. Tinkling fills the air as whoever survived the chandelier accident pulls herself out. From the pale skin, blonde hair, and pistachio-green gown, it can only be Gemini.

“Let go.” I struggle in Berta’s grip.

“Stay away from her,” Berta snarls.

I twist around and glare at the taller girl. “Is this because they’re calling her father a traitor? After what happened last night, I thought you would understand the concept of collateral damage.”

Berta releases my arm. “It’s your funeral pyre.”

“What are you talking about?” I snap.

She points at the burning side of the chandelier. “Put it this way. There might be a reason why no one has rushed to those girls’ aid.”

I step away from Berta. Every person in this room would hurry to their assistance if the girls who had been crushed were Nobles. According to the crowd watching this spectacle, Industrials don’t even deserve clean air.