Prince Kevon crouches at my side. “You can stay in the guesthouse with Forelle if you wish and make your testimony over Netface—”
“No.” I place a hand over his. “I want to go to Prunella’s trial.”
“Very well.” He brushes a gentle thumb over my ring finger, and it feels like a promise.
As he rises and walks around to the driver’s seat, my heart sinks. Why couldn’t Prince Kevon have been another Harvester, an Industrial, or even an Artisan?
Mom’s voice rings through my ears. She said that I should join the Princess Trials for a chance to influence those in power. I’ve captured the attention of the prince, found a hidden entrance to the palace as well as a source of water that will free the Harvesters from the tyranny of rationing, so why do I feel like I have failed?
Don’t fall in love with the handsome prince. Carolina’s words hit like the lash of a whip, and I bolt upright.
Prince Kevon slides in his seat. “Are you sure about this?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Alright.”
I close my eyes and release my tension in a long breath. If whoever takes over the trials from Prunella is in line with the Chamber of Ministers, they will construe my leaving the armored personnel carrier as leaving the trials. This time, Prince Kevon won’t intervene, and I will tell him that I want to return to Rugosa.
“Say the word.” His deep voice breaks me out of my thoughts. I open my eyes to find him staring at me like I’m his last swallow of water. “Say the word, and I will withdraw from the Princess Trials.”
“I can’t,” I whisper.
Prince Kevon nods and taps instructions into the steering-wheel screen. He probably thinks I need more time to decide, but he’s got to know that not everyone wants to become royal. The car follows Lady Circi’s huge vehicle around the vast lawn, where metal spikes rise from the ground and spray jets of water over the grass.
We drive in silence through a wide street of tall, stone-fronted buildings lined with trees of pink and red flowers. Nobles sit outside glass-fronted stores, enjoying breakfasts served by people in violet uniforms. I wonder if they’re also Guardians but push away those thoughts.
The Chamber of Ministers is another white building constructed along the same lines as the palace, but it’s a lot taller because of the two-story round tower above its domed roof. Beneath the roof are two circular levels and beneath those, a square structure of two double-height stories and a grand entranceway.
Guards stand beneath a triangular roof held by four massive columns, holding scanners to Nobles’ ear cuffs.
Instead of stopping at the entrance, Prince Kevon follows the black van around to the back of the building, where one of the walls contains a metal shutter. A beam of red light scans the van’s front, the shutter rises, allowing the van to enter a small driveway closed off by another shutter.
The first shutter lowers, and red light floods the front seats. I tilt my head to the side. “What’s this?”
Prince Kevon raises his palm. “Recognition security. It scans the retina, handprint, and heat signature of the driver.” He winces. “If something is off, it sends a message to the driver’s Amstraad cuff to analyze their blood.”
That explains why he grimaced. I ask, “Why would they need to know what’s in your blood?”
“To make sure the driver isn’t under the influence of any mind-altering substances.”
“In case hijackers are forcing you to enter the Chamber of Ministers?” I ask.
“That’s part of it.” The shutter rises, and Prince Kevon drives into the enclosed space. “They’ll probably perform a visual or ultrasound inspection to ensure you’re not holding me at gunpoint.”
I steal a glance at Prince Kevon. His readings are off because he’s upset, even if he doesn’t show it in his voice or on his face.
A lot has happened in the past twelve hours. Queen Damascena broke her promise to spare Gemini, and those running the Princess Trials subjected us all to a terrifying experience. I’ve lost count of the number of times someone has either attempted to assassinate me or incited others to attack me.
My throat thickens, and I glance down at my lap. There are several reasons he’s off-balance, but a tiny part of my heart knows it’s because I said I didn’t love him.
After several moments of silence, the second shutter rises, and the car rolls into a paved courtyard with a less grand stone porch that leads to the main building.
“The security in the palace wasn’t that thorough,” I say.
“In most entrances, it is,” he replies. “But sometimes, the best security measure is not telling anyone a secret passage exists.”
Lady Circi waits for us on the steps, and the sourness that usually twists her beautiful features when she looks at me is gone.
I don’t know if Prince Kevon’s silent declaration of affection has changed her mind or if she’s resigned to respect the wishes of the imminent king. The only part I care about is that she’s one less enemy with a dagger pointed at my back.
We walk through marble hallways adorned with gilded portraits of all the monarchs of Phangloria in a century and a half. Guards in black bow as Prince Kevon passes, and at the end of the hallway, they open the door of a semicircular auditorium of tiered rows that curve around a low stage.
Thousands of people sit within the seats, and I wonder if these are the same Nobles who attended the ball. Prince Kevon and I walk around the edge of the room and sit in the back row.
The wall opposite broadcasts what’s happening onstage. The Nobles from the garden party sit in two-tiered rows, facing a wooden throne where a tall Noble whose long hair is tied into a severe bun that’s about half the size of her head.
Prince Kevon explains that the Noble on the throne is the Minister of Justice who has served in the position for forty-five years.
