“We have seen paintings, sculptures, and even a living embodiment of our great goddess,” Byron says with a wistful sigh. “The lucky winner will spend a romantic evening for two with our most eligible bachelor.”
One of the Noble girls bursts into a round of applause, but nobody joins her.
Byron turns to Prince Kevon. “Tell me, Your Highness, who is your choice?”
I hold my breath and pray to Gaia that Prince Kevon doesn’t choose me.
“It was a difficult decision.” He turns and makes eye contact with each of the girls. “You all have such exquisite taste. However, I particularly enjoyed Miss Solar’s reading from Gaia, chapter four, verse six.”
Vitelotte stiffens at my side. With a gulp, I examine Prince Kevon’s features. He isn’t smiling, but he isn’t scowling. He and Byron must have been in another room, watching footage of our confrontation with Constance.
“A round of applause for our winner, Vitelotte Solar. Congratulations!” Byron sweeps his arm in the direction of our table.
Seeming inches taller, Vitelotte steps forward. I force my features into a smile and clap, hoping that this won’t be the day she becomes the target of the other girls’ animosity.
Vitelotte walks to the front of the room, where Prince Kevon kisses her knuckles and congratulates her on winning. I can’t fathom whether he chose her because she insulted the Noble echelon, because he was impressed by the fruit and vegetables she collected, or because he has decided to move on from me.
My face throbs from the fake smile and my palms sting from clapping so loudly, but it’s nothing compared to the ache of my heart.
They look striking together with his blue-black hair complementing the purple undertones of her curls. Vitelotte is clever and witty and brave. I can think of no better girl to date Prince Kevon, but I doubt that Queen Damascena will allow any liaison between them to last.
“The winner also gets to choose tomorrow’s leisure activity,” says Byron. “Is there anything you would like to do in the Oasis? A visit to the Botanical Gardens, a dip in the Gloria Hot Springs?”
She nods. “My grandmother told me she used to sell spiced corn in a farmer’s market. Does it still exist?”
“Of course.” Byron turns to the camera. “Tune in tomorrow for an exciting visit to the Gnamma Market. Over to Prunella for the latest coverage on the search for the missing girls.”
Prince Kevon offers Vitelotte a kindly smile before leaving with Byron and an entourage of camerawomen. From their hurried steps, it looks like they’re going to the Gloria National Park to help.
The room empties, and no one tells us what to do next. It’s supposed to be dinnertime, but I can’t smell any food. The other girls exchange confused glances, and I wonder if there’s something else going on in Phangloria besides a tsunami on the other side of the mountains, missing girls, and a king who is dying in secret.
Constance steps out from beside her easel. “Who else thinks nobody cares about the Princess Trials?”
“Are you talking about the focus on Ingrid Strab?” Sabre asks, her voice more slippery than corn oil.
My eyes narrow. The six Amstraadi girls hardly speak, but when they do, it’s usually to goad others into saying something dangerous or foolish. I don’t trust them, their motives, or their ambassador, but at least this time, their attention is on someone I despise.
As Constance rants about Ingrid, Prince Kevon, the stupid girls from the Guardian and Artisan Echelons who managed to get themselves lost, I turn my gaze to the wall screen, where Prunella talks to the camera in front of a scene of guards carrying a body bag on a stretcher. My throat thickens. In all my stressing about the dead Guardian girls, I didn’t mention having found a dead Artisan.
Vitelotte returns to my side, her face grim.
My brows draw together. “Hey, congratulations.”
“What’s this?” Vitelotte points at the screen.
“They’ve found Jaqueline Bellini,” says Emmera, trying to mask the disappointment in her voice from not being chosen.
Vitelotte’s lips tighten, and she glances in the direction of the Amstraadi girls. I follow her gaze, thinking the same thing. Sabre is too busy goading Constance into criticizing the Princess Trials, but the Amstraadi girl with ebony skin and bleached blonde curls turns to us and smirks.
A knot forms in my belly. I fold my arms across my chest and frown. Does that mean they’re responsible for the disappearances of the girls we didn’t kill? With a sick sort of logic, it would make sense. Ambassador Pascale told me specifically that the Chamber of Ministers favored Ingrid. He also said his girls hadn’t charmed Prince Kevon. Now that Ingrid is missing, I wonder if he instructed them to eliminate the competition.
I turn to Vitelotte. “It looks like we’re having dinner in our rooms tonight. Do you want to eat together?”
She shakes her head and heads toward the door. “Another time.”
I’m beginning to think Constance is right. Either they’ve relegated the Princess Trials to a lesser priority or Prunella Broadleaf was the only person keeping it together.
According to Forelle and Georgette, who join me in the morning for breakfast, Ingrid’s disappearance has caused a state of National Emergency. I don’t comment because I think the search for the missing girls is covering up for something else.
When I join the much-reduced group of girls for a photoshoot on the red carpet, only twelve photographers stand behind the cordons. The morning sun shines bright enough to make us all squint, and the photographers snap a few pictures before turning to check their tablet computers.
We all trudge down the red carpet where a bus awaits. I had hoped by now that Prince Kevon would arrange my departure, but I didn’t have the guts last night to ask him if I could leave.
“All the journalists who matter are at the National Park, waiting for pictures of Ingrid’s mangled corpse,” Constance’s voice fills the
