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

like the country’s founder, Gabriel Phan. I stand at the far left of the row of girls furthest away from Ingrid. She’s likely to incite me into attacking her on camera and getting me into even more trouble with the queen.
A gentle hand lands on the back of my arm. I turn to find Prince Kevon staring down at me with furrowed brows. He wears a naval jacket with a red slash. “What took you all so long?”
Lady Circi’s warning rings in my ears. Right now, the balance of power doesn’t skew in his favor, and he won’t get to my parents before the queen’s assassins.
I raise a shoulder and force a smile. “Who knows?”
He pulls me aside and places both hands on my shoulders. My gaze darts to the girls, who turn around to watch us with murder in their eyes.
“Zea,” he whispers. “I know you already refused me once, but I can end these trials right now by proposing. We can have a long engagement while you—”
“Give the other girls a chance.” The words hurt as they spew from my lips, and guilt clenches at my gut for uttering a lie.
He flinches as though struck, but it’s nothing compared to the regret that winds around my heart. I sound like the world’s most ungrateful wretch for refusing a more-than-generous offer. Confusion crosses Prince Kevon’s features and his gaze unfocuses. He’s probably working out what he did wrong or trying to give me the benefit of the doubt.
I can’t let him think I need more time. He needs to know right now before the palace round starts that we have no future.
“Kevon,” I murmur.
His gaze fixes on mine, but pain still etches the corner of his eyes. “Yes?”
“I’ll help you choose which girl is right for you, but it isn’t going to be me.”
Prince Kevon’s hands slide off my shoulders and hang at his sides. He blanks his expression, steps back, and inclines his head. “I apologize for the unwanted persistence.”
He walks around the crowd and up the stairs, where his mother stands on the half landing, wearing a completely different outfit—strapless white gown with a red sash.
As I return to the group of girls, Queen Damascena stares down at me with the barest of smiles. I want to wrap that sash around her neck for threatening Mom, Dad, and the twins. Instead, I nod back. If I can keep this up, I might escape these Trials alive and with my family intact.
“What were you talking about?” hisses Emmera Hull.
I glare into her vacuous, blonde face. Right now, she looks like an empty-headed doll with those huge, blue-gray eyes staring back at me expecting an answer. I hate myself for turning on another Harvester girl, especially one from my own town, but she sided with Ingrid last night and pointed out my fake hiding place to the girls with the guns.
“How are things going with you and Mistress Strab?” I mimic her whining voice. “I heard her call you brain dead and offer to give you a body to match.”
Emmera’s mouth opens and closes, and her cheeks turn red. I guess she wasn’t expecting me to survive the other night’s let’s-hunt-Zea party.
“May I have your attention?” Byron Blake says from the half landing. He stands at the queen’s right with a dazzling smile. “Over to you, Your Majesty.”
“Welcome to the palace round of the Princess Trials.” Queen Damascena sweeps out an arm. “Congratulations to all you wonderful young ladies for succeeding so far, and I wish you the very best of luck.”
She recites the history of the Trials, sounding like she’s embellished a Modern History textbook. According to her, a trial based on beauty and personality makes Phangloria the most inclusive society in the new world.
I tune out as she compares Phangloria to other countries in North America, who maintain closed borders, never allowing their citizens upward mobility. It’s true that Phangloria allows Foundlings into their borders, but she skims over the part where they live in worse poverty than the Harvesters. Foundlings never get a place in society until their descendants are genetically perfect.
When she explains that every girl from every Echelon has an equal chance to become the Queen of Phangloria, I don’t know if I want to laugh or cry at the blatant hypocrisy, especially now that she’s demanded that I help Prince Kevon choose a Noble.
Eventually, Queen Damascena steps back to let Prince Kevon speak.
“Thank you for making it this far.” I’ve never heard him sound so formal. “Good luck.”
My heart sinks. I wish there was a way to communicate to him my reasons for turning cold, but the risk is too great. I trust Kevon with my life, but Lady Circi is right that his mother has the advantage in this game.
Queen Damascena wishes us luck and retreats up the stairs with Prince Kevon, leaving Byron Blake standing alone on the landing.
“A round of applause for our royal sponsors,” he says.
We all clap, some louder than others. On my right, Emmera Hull raises her hands above her head and whoops. I exhale a long breath, wondering who she’s trying to impress.
“Wonderful, wonderful,” says Byron. “And another round of applause for my co-host, who wishes to address the nation with her thrilling news.”
Silence falls across the entrance hall. I glance around the camerawomen and production assistants to see which one will join Byron Blake on the half landing, but none of them move. A door on the other side of the entrance hall creaks open, and a pair of armed guards in purple march out with Prunella Broadleaf.
She’s clad in a shapeless dress made of brown sackcloth, and around her neck is a replica of the metal collar she wore in her trial. I suck in a breath through my teeth. Why on earth did they let her return to the Trials when she confessed to murdering Rafaela van Eyck?
Whispers fill the air, punctuated by a few giggles. Prunella walks stiffly toward us, the left