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

where they’re stuck in a stalemate and pondering their next move, except no-one has informed me of the game, its rules, or how to forfeit.
The girl’s busy hands pause, and the silk fabric slides down the queen’s front. My cheeks turn hot, and I turn to Lady Circi, who pinches the bridge of her nose. When the queen rises from her seat, the entire dress slides to the vehicle’s floor in a puddle of ivory silk.
Queen Damascena hands her glass to the girl and stalks across the van, clad only in ElastoSculpt, which stretches from her ribcage to her hips. She braces her hand on the bar and leans over me. “Tell me exactly what happened the moment you stepped off the bus last night.”
This is probably the most awkward situation of my life, and that includes all the recent murder attempts. The fine hairs on the back of my neck rise as her blossom scent fills my nostrils, and my head swims. Mandragon blossoms develop into poison berries, and I’m sure the scent is affecting my nervous system, but it’s nothing compared to the encroaching queen.
I drop my gaze to the champagne glass, where the bubbles rise to the surface, pop, and release their fruity scent. A tight band of panic squeezes my lungs, and it takes all my strength to reply.
“Excuse me?” I ask.
Cool fingers slide under my chin and raise my head to meet the queen’s even colder gaze. They’re what Mom would call cerulean blue, with enough flecks of gray and pink to make them appear violet. The effect is unsettling, and I’m tempted to take a mouthful of potentially poisoned champagne to calm my nerves.
“It will take hours to comb the woods and reconstruct the events of last night, so you will tell me what happened,” she says in a voice as sharp as a blade. Before I can splutter a denial, she adds, “The DNA of the blood found at the scene of Miss Ridgeback’s death matches yours.”
All feeling trickles from my face and gathers around my spasming heart. “What will you do?”
She draws back a few paces and stands with her arms folded over her chest. The pressure around my lungs eases, but not by much. “I could offer you to General Ridgeback as consolation for the loss of his daughter, but I think he prefers a more curvaceous woman, like your mother.”
My mouth falls open. “What—”
She raises a finger to her lips. “Don’t fret. If you cooperate with me, nothing will happen to your precious family. We’re keeping them safe, aren’t we, Circi?”
The queen’s lady-at-arms inclines her head. “If you mean the four armed vehicles stationed around the Calico house, sure.”
The queen’s lips tighten. I’m not sure if that’s because of Lady Circi’s sarcasm or because she finds the sight of me distasteful. “As you see, your family is in safe hands.”
They’re not. Guards are notorious for their short tempers, and their quick fists, and their desire to subjugate Harvesters.
The girl in purple pulls out a powder-blue dress and holds it up to Queen Damascena, who shakes her head. The girl returns to the rail and selects a near-identical dress with a V neckline instead of a round one, and the queen nods.
Now that some of the attention is off me, I can finally exhale. “Your Majesty—”
“Tell me what happened,” she snaps.
The events of last night spill from my lips. She’s probably seen the footage from the armored personnel carrier of Berta and me taking out the hijackers and then Ingrid rallying the girls to hunt me to death.
Queen Damascena raises her hand. “What happened to the foundling’s weapon?”
I shake my head. “He was already dead by the time I reached him.”
Her body stills, and her eyes narrow. I’m locked in her gaze and can’t breathe. It’s like how I imagine a mouse might feel when caught in the sights of a cobra. It’s trapped and no amount of running will put enough distance between them when the snake strikes.
Moments pass in silence, and nobody around us moves. Not even the seamstress approaching the queen with the dress.
Heavy, rapid thuds of my frantic heart fill my ears, and ragged breaths fill my nostrils. She can’t know I’m lying about not killing Berta. By the time the girls decided to hunt me, we had already thrown off and discarded our Amstraad monitors.
“Do you know what the coroner found in Berta Ridgeback’s blood?” she asks.
“No,” I lie.
“Traces of the Foundling’s poison.”
Silence.
Carolina Wintergreen taught us that silence was a technique interrogators use to trick people into spilling their secrets. Sometimes, they drop devastating facts and sit back to watch their victims scramble around for answers. Other times, they ask a question then remain silent when you answer. It’s a prompt for people to blurt out anything to prove their innocence, including facts that betray their guilt.
I resent the woman for offering me this dangerous mission, but I’m grateful that something I’ve learned in the Red Runner cells is proving useful. Instead of letting anxiety run my mouth, I empty my mind and stare back at the queen.
Her nostrils flare. “Miss Ridgeback tried to kill you.”
I nod because Ingrid probably offered Berta the position of lady-at-arms in view of a hidden camera.
“Tell me how a Harvester weed picker escaped a combat-trained gorilla like Berta Ridgeback.”
My throat dries, and I tell her the truth. “I didn’t.”
“Explain.”
“She beat me up. I tried to escape, but she kept coming at me. Then she….” An idea slams into the back of my head.
Queen Damascena’s breath quickens. “What happened?”
“Berta slowed down and didn’t hit so hard or fast. I thought she got tired, so I stumbled away. She followed and tripped, then we both tumbled down the mountainside and fell into a cavern.”
Her lips thin, and she beckons for the girl to approach her with the dress. “You left your friend to die in an underground sewer?”
The girl holds the dress close to the ground, and Queen Damascena steps into