Father placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve told the Americans that the queen is making the trip. I am needed here to maintain peace. If I leave, Mahana would overrun the palace.”
Only the death on a monarch would call for a new king, but exile would work just as nicely. Living in the palace was the right of the royal family. If Father left, the people could be convinced he gave up the crown. Mahana was nothing if he wasn’t a master orator. Nyssa rolled the pebble in her palm. Maintaining the throne was Father’s job—going for help was hers.
“Won’t the Americans be upset when I arrive instead of Mother?”
Father’s hand tightened, his strength seeping in through her shoulder to wash out the worry. “The subterfuge was necessary. No one will be upset when they see you in her place, my daughter. You will win their hearts and their protection—I have no doubt.”
Nyssa threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you for trusting me.”
His arms tightened and then released. “I love you, daughter.”
“The love is returned,” she replied in their traditional farewell. With one last look over her shoulder, Nyssa hurried along the limestone path. The water lit from below like in the caves on the other side of the island. The caves were one of the first things she had researched when they got the computer. Sunlight passed through the cavity up ahead and glowed, lighting the cavern. Zimrada’s cave did not register on the Web, but there was one in Italy called the Blue Grotto that did. Thousands of tourists braved tiny rowboats to view the natural wonder. Nyssa’s cave glowed a beautiful emerald green.
Her fingers grazed the wall to maintain balance on the slick rock. She was like the cave—an unknown princess waiting to be discovered by the world. She would escape her home and begin the journey to bring peace to her island and her family once again.
Chapter Three
Nyssa brushed her hands down the long black gown. Fitted like a sarong with a beautiful jeweled collar, the dress had been sewn in such a way that it was awkward to walk in—her legs could not move freely. She often wore sarongs at home and they had give in all the right ways. This dress was not a giver.
She’d binge-watched a sitcom on the plane and earned a massive headache and eyestrain for the effort. The pounding, accompanied by the steady drone from the plane’s engines late into the night, had her reconsidering her position on technology and its place on Zimrada.
A nap in a luscious hotel bed and a warm shower had done wonders to revive her. Which was a good thing, considering the hotel was comping the cost of the ball in exchange for the exclusive rights to take photos of the events and use them for marketing purposes. Appearing as the princess of the undead wasn’t going to do Zimrada’s or the hotel’s reputations any favors. Although, the hotel’s reputation was doing pretty good on its own as far as she could tell.
Her room had light gray wallpaper textured to look like bark. The effect was that of living in a forest. Not that she’d ever lived in a forest, but if she did, this would be the kind of forest she would want—a forest with an in-room television as large as her window. The concierge had patiently shown her how to select a movie or “star” one for later. She’d selected the star next to a movie called Grease that promised poodle skirts and boys in leather jackets with slick hair that reminded her of an Elvis CD she had back home. To say Zimrada was behind the times would be like saying a whale was sort of big or a jellyfish could slightly sting. Her plan was to stay up late after the ball and watch Grease—or fall asleep trying. One movie wouldn’t cause a headache, and with a screen that big, her eyes would be fine. So much for taking a stand against technological advancement when she got home.
The concierge had also shown her how to connect to the free Wi-Fi, and she’d been overjoyed at the high-speed internet connection that allowed her to research the American government and the men and women she’d meet with in the next few days.
With a sigh, she turned from the television and answered a video call on her cell phone. Reception was wonderful in America—everywhere she went she had five bars. Zimrada, with its volcanic mountains and many hills, was littered with dead spots.
She sat on the edge of the bed, afraid she’d pop a seam in the dress. After tapping accept, she said, “Hello, Mother.”
Mother leaned forward, her eyes tight as she inspected Nyssa. “Where is your tiara?”
Nyssa’s hand shot to her bare head. “I haven’t put it on yet.”
“You need to greet your guests.”
“I know, Mother. This dress …” She wrapped her spare hand around her back, hoping to grip the zipper, pull it down, and allow air into her body once again. “It’s like wearing a wet suit two sizes too small.”
“I thought you would appreciate it—the designer is American.”
Nyssa had read the label and wondered how her mother was able to come up with a gown this expensive on their tight budget and time frame. Then again, she’d organized a ball—and the discount from the hotel—from their island with nothing more than a cell phone; Nyssa shouldn’t be surprised at anything her mother could accomplish. She didn’t want to seem ungrateful, so she hurried to add, “The style is impeccable. No one will question its beauty, even if they find the woman inside it lacking.”
“You are not a mere woman—you are a princess.”
“But—”
Mother cut her off. “I hear all the traditions your father teaches, Nyssa. I understand the value of serving the people and providing for yourself. But half of you is Aradian and I have taught you to carry yourself
