Cameras point at Ingrid at the Nobles table, Berta, Gemini, Emmera, Sabre at the Amstraadi table and at her black-haired friend whose name I’ve forgotten.
Prunella clears her throat. “Due to recent events, we’re canceling the next trial, and we won’t require anything of you until the ball, where you will face the public vote.”
All the girls turn to each other, presumably wondering what Prunella is talking about. Sweat breaks out across my palms. She had been outside last night as the ambulance took Rafaela away.
“It is my sad duty to inform you that Rafaela von Eyck died last night.”
Chatter explodes across the room. Everyone either knows Rafaela from her work as an actress or noticed her long embrace with Prince Kevon.
Ingrid shoots out of her seat. “How? She was only eighteen!”
Prunella’s lips tighten, and her gaze slides to my table. “Suicide. Rafaela van Eyck was a very troubled young lady.”
A rush of fury shoves me out of my seat. “She didn’t kill herself,” I shout. “Someone pushed her out of the building.”
Prunella tilts her head to the side. “You pushed her?” The camera pointing at Gemini turns to me. “For a vicious murderer, you excel at playing the doe-eyed damsel. Your performance last night was convincing enough to turn the head of our handsome prince.”
My heart thuds so hard that my ribcage reverberates. “What are you talking about?”
“Security cameras picked up footage of a girl skulking through the hallways. We thought it was Rafaela walking to her death, but you’re about the same height and build.” Prunella tilts her head, and malice gleams between her thick lashes. “In the dark, you might even be twins.”
I shake my head. “You’re wrong.”
“Did you push her?” Prunella walks down the podium steps, excited breaths panting through her thin lips. “With Rafaela dead, you can step in to fill the void in Prince Kevon’s heart.”
Nausea ripples through my empty belly, and the pulse in my throat flutters with panic. I don’t look anything like Rafaela von Eyck, but Prunella’s accusations sound realistic enough to make every girl in the room stare at me through sharp, suspicious eyes.
“Admit it.” She strides through the room with her hands clenched into fists. “You pushed that poor girl to her death!”
“No,” I snap. “I was in the car with Prince Kevon when she fell on the hood.”
“Lies,” she snarls. “There’s footage of you entering her room moments before she was pushed.”
My head pounds, and fury rushes through my ears. I won’t let this vindictive wretch ruin my chances of getting through to the palace round with her lies. I won’t let her cast suspicion on me and let the real killer go unpunished.
The whispers turn to angry mutters, and all the fine hairs on my body stand on end. At this rate, an army of guards will drag me out for an interrogation from which I may never return.
“That wasn’t me,” I shout. “I was in the botanical gardens all evening with Prince Kevon!”
Triumph flashes in her eyes, and her lips curl into a smile. “Did you soak in the lovers’ bath, or did you let him deflower you in the bed of lilies?”
A bitter taste spreads across my mouth, and I want to spit. Prunella manipulated me. The black clothes, the tearful announcement, the horse manure about Rafaela’s suicide—it was all a ploy to get me to talk about my night out with Prince Kevon.
“We all want to know, don’t we ladies?” She gestures at the girls around the table, who grumble. “What did you do to capture the attention of Prince Kevon? Are you making promises of carnal delights, or are you hiding something ravenous under those voluminous Harvester skirts?”
Shame washes through my sinuses, making them sting, and tears prick the backs of my eyes. I should have withheld my reaction and waited for the right moment to strike with the truth. They’ll probably just show my outburst and not the fakery that prompted me to speak.
I try not to imagine Carolina pursing her lips at the big screen or Ryce turning his head away in disgust, but I’ve made an idiot of myself for no reason that advances my mission.
Lowering myself into the seat, I fold my arms. “Lying about a girl’s death is really low, even for a vacuous, no-talent scarecrow like you.”
The glare she gives me sends cold sludge through my veins. Prunella turns around to address the room. “Ladies, see to it that our bucking bronco doesn’t steal the prince.”
“What does that mean?” I snap.
Berta shakes her head. “She’s just rallied everyone to make you their target. Even if the prince wants you, Phangloria won’t accept a queen who has performed like an ass in front of the nation.”
I turn to Gemini, who cringes and nods. Biting on the inside of my lip, I can’t help but wonder what this means for my future with Ryce.
When I raise my head, more than half the room shoots me calculating glares.
After a breakfast of sliced melon, the production assistants lead us back to the large room, where Mistress Pavane holds a cane. She stands in front of floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the lawn. Today’s lesson is the basic waltz, and she orders us to form pairs for an assessment of our skills.
Gemini steps back and folds her arms. “I won’t be dancing at the ball.”
I’m too sickened by Prunella’s stunt and the events of last night to do anything but nod.
“You’re leading,” says Berta.
“I’ve never waltzed bef—”
“Lead.” She pulls my arms into position.
The dance mistress bangs the cane on the stone floor and counts to three in a rhythm that I assume is related to the waltz.
Berta pushes me around the dance floor in dizzying circular movements that make me stumble over my feet. My insides cringe
