The girls each stand on the marble dance floor. I scan them for signs of bruises or a broken nose, but their faces are unmarred—even Emmera, Ingrid, and the other Nobles. Their partners are young men clad in the same asymmetric leather jacket with flashing lights that Admiral Pascal wore for the auditions.
“What are all these Amstraadi soldiers doing here?” I whisper.
“They’re building the new hospital,” Garrett whispers back.
“Aren’t there people in the Echelons with construction skills?” I asked.
His brows rise, and a smirk curves his lips. “I didn’t think you’d be a xenophobe.”
“I’m not,” I snap. “But don’t you think it’s—”
“You’re late,” Lady Circi says to Garrett. She wears a form-fitting, black dress with the usual holsters around her chest and shoulders. The dress is split to mid-thigh, which I guess is for maximum mobility. Her cold gaze roves over my form. “And you are supposed to be in Rugosa.”
“Someone tried to murder me last night so I left my room. That doesn’t mean I left the trials.”
She raises a brow and turns back to Garrett. Maybe she thinks I’m exaggerating—I don’t care. “Go to Princess Briar.”
Garrett frowns. “But—”
“Now.”
He inclines his head. “Excuse me, Zea.”
I bite down on the inside of my cheek and watch him hurry around the dance floor. Why does Lady Circi get to boss around the nephew of King Arias? Is it because she was his favorite in the last Princess Trials?
A thin hand grabs me by the arm and yanks me to one side. I stare into the wild eyes of Prunella Broadleaf, who bares brilliant white teeth in a snarl.
She wears an off-shoulder gown that clings to her slender frame and flares out into a fishtail. I’m not sure if it’s gray or duck-egg blue, but the color clashes with the pale skin of her exposed arms and chest and neck. It’s almost as though she thinks no one will notice that she’s artificially darkened the skin on her face.
Royal blue curls cascade down her scrawny neck, doing nothing to soften her scowl. “What are you doing here? You’re disqualified.”
I long to hiss back that she’s an incompetent wretch who can’t keep her charges alive, but I clench my teeth. Words like that might be true and might feel good in the moment, but her threat still rings in my ears. For all I know, there might be a guard sitting outside our house right now, waiting for her to say the word.
“Prince Kevon asked me to attend the ball and face the public vote,” I said. “He’ll be disappointed if I’m not on the list.”
“Miss Calico says there was a violent incident last night.” Lady Circi tilts her head to the side. “What’s really happening in those Barracks?”
Prunella’s thin lips part. “Did you not see the footage? Miss Calico left of her own free will.”
“One of the candidates told me of footage you broadcasted to others of me tussling with a naked girl.”
Prunella’s face turns scarlet, and her gaze darts to the dancefloor. “That was…”
Lady Circi advances on Prunella with a sneer on her lips. “Explain.”
I stand back, watching Lady Circi make Prunella squirm. I can see why Master Thymel is addicted to her downfall. Prunella Broadleaf is the most unlikeable creature.
“May I have the next dance, Miss Calico?” A tall, Amstraadi man appears before me and extends his hand.
My stomach drops, and I part my lips to refuse. Prunella’s protests turn to screeches, and I need to get away before she decides that I’m responsible for her predicament with Lady Circi. The young man raises his brow and presses his lips together, looking like he’s trying not to laugh.
The camerawoman whose equipment I slapped out of her face hovers close. She wears a pair of spectacles with wings at the end that are clearly meant for recording footage.
I dip into a curtsey and take the man’s hand.
“Colonel Karabiner von Mauser, but you may call me Mouse.” He sweeps me onto the dance floor, making my skirts swirl. “May I address you as Zea-Mays?”
“Zea is fine,” I reply.
“It is more dignified than Popcorn,” he says.
His crystal-blue eyes gleam with amusement, and I wonder what on earth about me he finds so funny. Surely someone occupied with the construction of a hospital hasn’t got time to watch my squabbles with Prunella Broadleaf?
“Your dress is fit for a queen,” he says.
“Thanks.” I turn my gaze to the dance floor, where Ingrid Strab waltzes on our right in a silver dress with a soldier whose skin is as dark as her hair. Her partner stares ahead and dances with the same mechanical perfection as Mouse, whose gaze burns into the side of my face.
I narrow my eyes. Ingrid is aggressive enough to confront me about using supposed underhanded methods to ensnare Prince Kevon, but is a Noble capable of conducting such a stealth attack? Her unmarred face isn’t proof of innocence. Medical technology can fix anything, especially trivial injuries like bruises and broken noses.
“Of all the girls in the Trials, you are my favorite to win the prince.” Mouse’s warm breath fans on my cheek, and all the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“Thanks.” I turn my attention to Vitelotte, who dances up ahead in the circle. Perhaps if I spoke to her alone, she might tell me if anyone left the Harvester room last night or returned with injuries.
“Why do you think you’re such a threat to the monarchy?” he asks.
I turn to meet eyes that twinkle as brightly as the lights on his collar. “What?”
“I’ve been watching your footage. They’re trying very hard to make you look bad.”
We swirl past a man in burgundy who holds a tray laden with glasses of flaming liquor.
“You don’t want to believe everything you see on the Lifestyle Channel,” I say.
“Not that footage,” he says with a chuckle. “We receive the camera feeds
