“Traveling to the Oasis with every group of girls gave me the opportunity to see them,” he says.
I raise my brows. “You barely spoke to the other girls on my stagecoach.”
“Because I saw you,” he says with a smirk.
An exasperated breath huffs from my chest. I’m too worried about damaging the monitor on his spine to give him a shake. “Kevon.”
He chuckles. “If I make more of an effort with the other girls, will you give me another chance?”
I lower my gaze to my lap and bite down on my lip. It’s a terrible thought but if he doesn’t become the King of Phangloria soon, I’ll be forced to guide his attention toward one of the Noble girls.
“Zea, what’s wrong?” he asks.
“Your Highness?” asks a voice from behind.
We twist around on the sofa and find twelve Nobles standing by the elevator, each wearing burgundy robes with white trim. I recognize a few from the garden party and the Chamber of Ministers, such as Montana and the Minister of Justice.
The Minister of Justice steps forward. She’s a tall, thin woman whose tight skin stretches around prominent cheekbones. Her blue-black hair is styled into a thick braid that wraps around her head like a wreath. The only thing that indicates her age are ears too large for her face. She purses her lips and casts us a reproving glance. I narrow my eyes, wondering if it was her or the queen who arranged our week of starvation.
“Please come back later,” says Prince Kevon. “I’m in the middle of important business.”
The older woman inclines her head. “My apologies, Your Highness, but the matter is urgent.”
“What is it?” Irritation hardens his voice.
“It’s about Miss Solar,” she replies.
My stomach clenches, and all the muscles in my body stiffen. Prince Kevon’s arm tightens around my shoulders.
“What about her?” His voice is measured, hesitant.
I keep myself as still and quiet as possible in case someone decides this information is too confidential for my ears.
“I beg you to reconsider her punishment,” says the minister. “Pardoning Miss Solar will only weaken the monarchy and cause the populace to make more attempts on your life.”
I clench my teeth. By populace, she probably means other Harvesters and possibly the Industrials. Her dark eyes meet mine for the briefest moment, and I know she’s referring to me. When the annoyance fades, warmth spreads through my heart. I long to ask why Prince Kevon would forgive Vitelotte for such a violent attack, but not in front of these vipers.
Another Noble steps forward, a shorter man with a stout build, who clasps his hands. “To maintain order, you must consent to a public execution.”
“No,” Prince Kevon replies.
The Nobles exchange glances, but none of them speak.
With a weary sigh, Prince Kevon says, “There has been unrest since the trials began. People are unsatisfied with the introduction of the Amstraadi candidates, the murder attempts, unexplained deaths, and the discrepancy between the footage broadcasted by the Lifestyle Channel and the real footage circulated on Netface.”
Montana steps forward and wrings his hands. His posture is stooped and his quickened breath tells me that these videos are keeping him awake at night. “We are working hard to locate the perpetrators—”
“Broadcast the truth,” Prince Kevon snaps. “Stop falsifying events to suit your agenda, and people might stop turning to Netface and the rags for the truth.”
The older Noble frowns, but his skin is too tight for the expression to make any impact. “The issue at hand is Miss Solar, Your Highness.”
I swallow back a snarl but it’s not my place to reprimand Nobles. Montana is as slippery as a slug in the middle of the rainy season.
“My decision to banish her stands,” says the prince. “As the aggrieved party in the incident, I am within my rights to choose her punishment.”
Montana glances at the Minister of Justice, who encourages him with a nod. Then the man turns to the prince and says, “Please reconsider—”
Prince Kevon stands so quickly, his eyes unfocus, and he sways on his feet. Sweat beads on his brow, and he looks on the verge of collapse. The Nobles step back and flinch, as though none of them want to take responsibility for worsening the prince’s condition.
I scramble to my feet and wrap a supporting arm around his back. “Sit down.”
He steadies himself with an arm around my shoulder and raises a palm at Garrett, who has broken through the wall of Nobles to help his cousin.
“One moment,” Prince Kevon says in a gentle voice. “This needs to be said.”
The Nobles’ arrogant veneer is replaced with a mix of worry. I’m not sure if they’re concerned about Prince Kevon’s health or what Queen Damascena and Lady Circi will do to them for irritating the prince while he’s convalescing.
The sun disappears behind a cloud, along with its gentle warmth, and a cool breeze rattles the leaves of the climbing roses.
“How many girls have died under your protection?” asks Prince Kevon. “How many have almost lost their lives?”
Montana’s mouth falls open. “We have implemented your suggestions for a safer Princess Trials. I fail to see how Miss Solar’s situation—”
“If you and your team had vetted Miss Solar before letting her in the Princess Trials, then you would have uncovered her relationship with Wintergreen.”
I gulp. Something about Vitelotte tells me she made up that story about Ryce to cover up for the Red Runners, but Prince Kevon has a point. The Lifestyle Channel could have managed the selection process better instead of leaving the decision making until the last minute.
Prince Kevon releases me and walks around the wicker sofa. His shoulders broaden with each step he makes toward the cowering Nobles, and for a moment, I forget that he’s recovering from a knife in the chest. Even in a thin hospital robe and matching pants, he comports himself like a king.
I glance at Garret, who gives me an encouraging wink. He’s close enough to the prince to catch him if
