The Princess Games: A young adult dystopian romance (The Princess Trials Book 2)

distant mountains.
“This isn’t a simulation,” Vitelotte mutters from my side.
I stare out into the horizon, wondering how we’re supposed to find a statuette in this expanse of green. “This isn’t the oasis, either.”
“What the hell are we supposed to do with those?” says Emmera.
We both turn to find the assistants setting up five… skateboards? They’re four-feet long, metallic with looped foot straps. The two Artisan girls squeal and clasp each other’s hands, but the three of us share blank stares.
“What are those?” I ask.
“Air gliders.” One of the Artisan girls stands crossways on the board.
I shake my head. “What do they do?”
She walks around the boards, finds the one with her name, and places her feet in the foot straps. As a motor roars to life, her companion mounts her board. They both lean their weight forward, and the boards rise a foot off the air.
My mouth drops open. I’ve seen planes fly and have no idea how they stay in the air, but I guessed that most of the vehicle consisted of engines, fuel, and physics. But a board as thin as a computer tablet?
With a whoop, the girls fly over the rocky ground and over the edge of the cliff. My stomach plummets, but they stay afloat.
“No.” Emmera shakes her head.
Despite our differences, I’m inclined to agree. My pulse pounds louder than the roar of the wind, and blood rushes through my ears, it’s nearly enough to muffle the sound of a door closing, but I turn to find the jeep reversing back down the mountain, leaving three gliders on the ground.
“We don’t have to do this,” I say.
Emmera, whose features are slack, nods and turns to Vitelotte.
Vitelotte glances at the girls disappearing toward the horizon. “We can wait here until someone comes to get us.”
We stand together in silence and watch the setting sun. I’m not sure how much time passes when Emmera stifles a yawn. She blinks three times then places her hand over her mouth and tilts her head back to yawn again.
A yawn builds in the back of my throat, and I cover my mouth to let it out. Then Vitelotte yawns. Soon, we’re standing together, yawning like it’s infectious.
“What’s that?” says Emmera with a yawn.
“Yawning is…” Vitelotte stops to yawn. “Contagious.”
“No,” Emmera says, sounding sleepy. “That rumbling sound.”
I turn around just as a pair of giant lions approach from further down the slope.
Adrenaline lances through my heart, forcing my limbs into action. I rush toward the glider labeled ‘CALICO.’
“Ligers!” Vitelotte jumps on her glider.
With a shriek, Emmera mounts. We mimic the Artisan girls’ rocking motions, and two sets of engines roar to life. Their gliders rise off the ground and head toward the cliff’s edge.
Mine won’t work.
The ligers continue toward us, giant sand-colored beasts whose heads reach my chest. I glance at the other girls, who move toward the edge of the cliff, and I make one last effort to activate my board.
Terror wraps around my neck like a noose. Queen Damascena lied. She never had any intention of letting me survive these trials. Now, I’ll die, and they’ll either blame a technical malfunction or add it to Prunella Broadleaf’s long list of crimes. Maybe that’s why they kept her alive.
None of these matters right now. If I don’t move, these ligers will maul me to death.

Chapter 3
I wrench my feet free from the board’s straps just as someone screams. My gaze darts to the two Harvesters floating toward the edge of the cliff.
Emmera waves her arms. “What are you doing? Fly!”
Vitelotte, who seems to understand what’s happening, stretches out her hand. “Hurry!”
Blank terror distorts my perception of time and lengthens the space between heartbeats. With one beat of my heart, I turn to the ligers, the monstrously large cats with heads the size of a man’s torso. Their whiskers glint like spun gold in the setting sun, and thick muscles ripple beneath their tawny fur. One snap of their jaws could tear off an entire limb.
There are several reasons why running would be a dumb idea. I’ll never reach the girls before they pass the cliff’s edge. Running will arouse the ligers’ hunting instincts. They can pounce quicker than I can run.
After another heartbeat, the ligers’ guttural growl makes the lining of my stomach tremble. Survival instinct blanks my mind, and my legs spring to action. I run with the swiftness of a gazelle, just as the girls’ boards pass the cliff’s edge by inches.
The distance between the girls and me widens. Emmera floats a foot away from Vitelotte, who is on her right and still holding out her arm. I can’t hear what they’re screaming—the roar of blood pumping past my eardrums deafens everything except my pulse.
A desperate cry tears from my lips and I leap off the cliff. I’m weightless, and for a moment, there’s no pull of gravity. My arms and legs cycle through the air, my heart stops beating, the gap between the girls and me closes, but not fast enough.
One anguished roar from behind makes the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. A cold mix of relief and resignation washes through my insides. If this is how I die, smashed into pieces from a high fall, it’s better than a long, slow mauling.
Vitelotte grabs my right wrist, but my left foot lands on the back of Emmera’s board. She screeches and swats at me, but I grab her hand. With Vitelotte’s firm grip, I have enough leverage to secure my right foot on her board.
Emmera yanks at her arm. “You’re going to sink us both!”
Time speeds up to normal, and my heartbeat doubles. I clench my teeth and grip Emmera’s resisting fingers. All her struggling tilts her board and makes my leg slip. She shrieks and rights herself.
“Keep still,” I yell over the billowing wind.
Another panicked scream rings through my left ear. “You’re too heavy. We’re going to die. We’re going to crash!”
Vitelotte shouts at her to stay calm. I