“We pipe it from the Smoky Mountains.” His answer sounds too practiced to be anything but a lie.
There’s no point in pressing for more while he’s guarded about having blurted sensitive information about a hidden source of water. Water rationing is how they control Harvesters, and he’s hardly going to elaborate, but now might be the time to ask about something else.
“Is there anything you can do to help Krim?”
“You realize that the evidence against him is irrefutable?” Prince Kevon takes my hand. “Even if he didn’t operate the distillery, the equipment and vats of alcohol we found in his home are enough to warrant severe punishment.”
“Why is it alright for Harvesters to receive alcohol from the Oasis when we can’t make it ourselves?” I ask.
He launches into an explanation about food safety, and I shake my head. The laws against alcohol production are about only one thing. Control. It’s the same with the water. If we had an additional supply other than rainwater, we wouldn’t be so dependent on the Nobles and wouldn’t have to work so hard for them to stay alive.
“Zea.” The pad of his thumb glides over my knuckles. “Princes don’t have the power to pardon. Even if I did, I would reserve that for deserving cases like Gemini Pixel.”
My eyes narrow. “You said before that she should have reported her father. What’s made you change your mind?”
“I looked into her file and read the particulars.” The prince sips from his glass of flavored water. “Leonidas Pixel made the wrong choice in a difficult dilemma. The punishment for that should never be death.”
Every muscle in my body tenses, and heat flushes through my veins. A prickling sensation spreads across my skin, and now this treehouse isn’t so charming. Its walls inch closer with each passing second that I’m in the company of this selfish, sheltered prince, and I need fresh air.
“That’s all?” My voice quakes. “He made the wrong choice?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re just going to sigh about Gemini’s execution and say you disagree?”
His brows draw together, and he stares at me as though I’ve just asked him to fish for salmon in the Detroit Depression. Prince Kevon’s confusion only inflames my fury.
“You’re the Prince of Phangloria, the heir to the throne,” I say between clenched teeth. “Can’t you speak to your parents on their behalf?”
“It’s complicated.”
“How?” I snap.
My heart pumps at double speed, and my blood sizzles. A little voice in the back of my head warns me to watch myself. I wouldn’t speak so harshly to a border guard and shouldn’t use that tone against a prince. But I’m past the point of caution because his attitude confirms everything I’ve learned in the Red Runners about the higher Echelons.
“Phangloria is a delicate ecosystem of humans, plants, and animals set within wild and dangerous surroundings,” he says.
My knee bounces up and down, my hands clench into fists, and I wait for him to get to the point.
He leans forward and tries to make eye contact, but I snatch my gaze away.
“The survivors permitted into Phangloria agreed to follow our rules,” he says. “Rules to ensure the long-term prosperity of all.”
“I…” The words die in my throat. I rise and turn toward the door. Will ranting at Prince Kevon fix anything?
“You can always speak freely with me, Zea.”
“I can’t see how these rules benefit anyone but those who set them.”
A moment later, he’s behind me and places a hand on my shoulder, as though that might convey some kind of truth in his words. “History tells us that each time we’ve relaxed the rules, it has backfired to the detriment of Phangloria.”
My throat thickens, and my eyes sting. I don’t know Gemini or her father, but his refusal to even consider helping them hurts. “How does killing Gemini solve anything?”
“It’s cruel, but no one is exempt from our laws. Not even those essential to the running of our country.” He walks around me so we’re standing face to face and wraps his arm around my shoulders. “I’m sorry.”
When Dad hugs me, it’s like a soothing blanket that takes away all hurt, and his warm, earthy scent takes me back to being cradled in his strong arms. I’m sure it will feel even better when Ryce pulls me into a loving embrace.
Right now, my skin is already irritated, and the oppressive humidity weighs on every nerve. Prince Kevon feels like the restraints on a whipping post, and his scent is unlike that of any Harvester. It’s a mix of blossoms and musk and warm spice—scents that don’t belong together in nature but somehow fit. It’s powerful, mysterious, beguiling, and I have to escape.
“Don’t.” I pull out of his embrace.
A crease forms in his brow. “Zea.”
Jerking my head away, I long to spit the foul taste in the back of my throat. I don’t know why he thinks we have a connection. Apart from a few civil conversations and whatever is going on between Forelle and Garrett, we’re on opposite sides of an unspoken war.
“I’d like to return to the barracks, please.” My gaze fixes on the wooden floor. Right now, I can’t bear to look at the young man who represents everything I despise about Phangloria.
Prince Kevon doesn’t reply. The longer he remains silent, the more I wonder what he thinks of my hostility toward him. I joined a pageant to become his wife, yet I’ve rejected his every attempt at affection.
I raise my gaze to meet his intense, dark stare.
“Very well,” he says. “Let’s go.”
As we drive back in silence, a boulder of dread rolls through my insides. Tomorrow morning, Prunella Broadleaf will call me in front of the cameras to explain to the nation that Prince Kevon deemed me an unsuitable candidate for the Princess Trials.
Even worse, Ryce will know that I disregarded his orders and let my feelings stand in the way of the revolution.
I glance in the wing mirror at the botanical gardens. It will be
