“I forgot how annoying you can be.”
Garrett throws his head back and laughs. “It’s no wonder they all call you Zea-Mays Popcorn. Your temper is explosive.”
I smile and turn to the window, where I catch my first sight of the palace. The vast building glows as though it has been carved from the moon. A huge marble dome makes up its roof, and beneath it stands a structure that consists of an arched, two-story entrance flanked by a pair of pentagon-shaped wings with arched balconies on every side.
The road that leads to the palace is lined with spouting fountains on its left and right, which spatter water on the car roof.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” says Garrett.
I nod. The building is breathtaking but ruined by the sight of all that wasted water.
Garrett explains that the lit-up part is the old palace, which leads to a four wing-structure built around a huge courtyard garden. He continues to say that in the early days of Phangloria, all the Phans lived in the palace and used the climate-controlled domes for growing food.
I itch to ask what part in this magical history did the Phans decide to turn groups of people into serfs but hold my tongue. Tonight, I need to focus on being charming enough to win a place in the next round of the Princess Trials.
This is also my opportunity to see if I can find a hidden passageway the Red Runners can use for the revolution.
The water stops, and we reach the front steps, where a crowd of photographers gathers. It reminds me of arriving at the Concert Hall. Now that I know a little about the media in the Oasis, I wonder which of the photographers work for the gossip rags.
Garrett steps out first to the flashing of cameras. He turns around and helps me out of the vehicle, and I step onto the thick tread of the red carpet, then everything goes wild. Silver and white flashes illuminate the night, reporters scream my name, and my pulse flutters in my throat.
The sound of scuffling reaches me in the blinding light, and I flinch. In a sick sort of way, it’s as bad as the group of girls who attacked me in poisoned gas because I’ve got to stand here next to Garrett and allow the reporters to take photos, not knowing who might attack and not knowing what these people will do with my images.
Garrett places a hand on the small of my back and guides me over the carpeted path and up the stairs. Even though the line of guards on both sides blocks the reporters from stampeding, my heart won’t stop clattering within the confines of my bodice.
“Now do you believe me?” He asks as we step through the huge, arched entrance. “You’re the most popular girl in the Princess Trials.”
“Most notorious, maybe,” I mutter.
The reporter’s shouts echo down the vast hallway, where every column consists of intricately carved gold embellishments that stretch up to vaults with gold ceiling roses supporting three-tiered chandeliers. I only know the names of these architectural elements because Mom borrowed everything on castles in the mobile library, but I never expected to see such opulence outside the pages of the books.
The hallway combines history with technology. In the place of royal portraits, each gold frame contains screens broadcasting from different locations within Phangloria, and there are even images of the Atlantic Ocean. I can’t help but think of the lack of street lights at home.
“Are these pictures solar powered?” I ask.
“There’s a tidal power station on the other side of the Smokies.” Garrett crosses the hallway and stops at an image of a concrete structure being engulfed by giant waves. “The navy has gotten it under control after the tsunami, but the electricity it produces powers the Oasis, the Industrial Region, and the Great Wall.”
“Is there enough power for the Harvester Region?” I ask.
He shrugs. “You’ll have to ask the Minister of Power or one of the Guardians who work under him.”
As we progress toward the set of double doors that lead to the ballroom, the sounds from outside fade, and the strains of orchestra music reach my ears. It’s a waltz, and my stomach makes an excited skip.
A pair of guards wearing purple uniforms stand at the entrance holding scanners to the ear cuff of a blue-haired woman clad in a silver gown that seems to be made of glitter. Her companion wears the same kind of tuxedo as Garrett but with a golden crown, eye, and tree insignia on the cuffs that indicate he’s a general.
We reach the doors, where the men scan Garrett’s ear and my wrist cuff before letting us into a white vestibule. Palace servants stand among white statues of former Phangloria monarchs, taking outdoor garments. The music in the ballroom beyond stops to a round of polite applause.
As Garret and I step into the ballroom, he says, “You’re just in time for the next dance.”
I have to pause for a moment to take it all in. My gaze sweeps across a dance floor that feels five times larger than the average Harvester dwelling with two levels of balconies along both sides. They’re crammed with spectators, and it feels like all five-thousand Nobles are present. At our level, finely-dressed guests sit around tables, sipping beverages brought by palace servants.
At both sides of a sweeping staircase sits an orchestra whose musicians wear black and white. At the top is a level where Prince Kevon sits on the throne at Queen Damascena’s left, and the Amstraad Ambassador sits on her right. The queen’s ballgown consists of a gold brocade bodice that extends into a voluminous, ivory skirt.
Prince Kevon stares up at the ceiling. He wears a royal blue frock coat with the same gold brocade as the queen’s along the front and hem and cuffs. Ivory ruffles cascade onto a matching vest down from what looks like a
