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

palace,” she murmurs.
Master Thymel made the gorgeous gown I wore last night, and he was also responsible for handing me the tomato pendant that tracked my location and vital signs. He’s an Artisan promoted to the rank of Noble for his fashion, but he and his family seemed to want me to win the Trials.
I turn around and give Georgette a second look, and suddenly, her features make sense. “Are you related to the Thymels?”
She nods. “I’m their cousin. His Highness thought you might appreciate a couple of allies during the palace round.”
Pain lances through my insides at the way his features dropped at my cold response to his attempt to save me from the Trials. I can’t think about him right now, can’t think of what will happen if the queen thinks I’m disregarding her threat. Swallowing back those feelings, I force a smile.
“It’s great to have you here.” I hold them both by the hand.
Georgette places an arm around my shoulders and guides me to a dressing table the size of a desk. The mirror behind stretches to the ceiling and two foot-length strips of light provide illumination.
“Now for your makeover,” she says.
Reality crashes back in full force, and I remember Byron Blake mentioning something about a trial. “What’s going on tonight?”
She opens a drawer containing transparent jars of pigment. After selecting a dark green, she smears it on my face with a soft sponge. “I’m applying waterproof camouflage makeup over your skin. They told us you’ll all be sneaking around at night, competing against the other girls to find an item.”
Through the mirror, I watch Forelle pull out a leaf-patterned jumpsuit that looks too skinny for even my slender frame.
“This is a tactical outfit they want you all to wear,” Forelle says.
Someone knocks on the door, and Forelle shouts at them to come in. I lean back and glance into the bedroom to find a male servant in purple pushing a trolley inside. He hands Forelle a covered tray and walks out, but he leaves behind the mouthwatering aroma of roasted chicken.
My groan reverberates deep into my cavernous belly. “How long will this camouflage makeup take?”
“You can eat while we get you dressed for the task.” Forelle walks in with the tray and sets it on the dressing table.
She pulls off the cloche, revealing sandwiches that look too decadent to be real. Inside are slices of chicken breast as thick as my thumb nestled within a bed of green leaves. The bread looks buttered on both sides and pressed within a hot griddle. Melted cheese oozes out of the second sandwich, which contains slices of red onion, sun-dried tomato and cooked spinach.
Saliva floods my mouth, and a shuddering breath escapes my lips. If I don’t get a bite right now, I think I’ll faint.
Forelle produces a knife and fork, cuts the chicken sandwich, and places a piece to my lips. When I take a bite, it’s an explosion of flavors. They’ve prepared the chicken with rosemary, lemon, and garlic, which mingles with a more delicious version of the creamy mayonnaise I ate with yesterday’s burger.
I feel a little like Queen Damascena, sitting like a grand lady in a grand dressing room while one girl covers my face with dark makeup and the other places food in my mouth. Forelle tells me that Garrett wants to meet her family, but she’s nervous about how her parents will react to hearing that she’s spent the past few days in a guesthouse with a man.
Georgette gives her advice, but I can barely focus because the last time I ate was those burgers with Forelle. I murmur something about Mr. and Mrs. Pyrus getting worried about Forelle’s whereabouts, and she promises to send them a letter to say she’s working at the palace.
When the subject turns to Prince Kevon, my heart clenches. He doesn’t know me well enough to tell that I’m acting under duress, and he’s too kind to rage that I repaid his generosity with a cold declaration to be friends. He probably blames himself for being too pushy after I told him that I wasn’t in love.
The girls’ conversation fades into the background as I wallow in guilt. Guilt for Prince Kevon, for my family, and for all the Harvesters who remain thirsty because I couldn’t get a message to Ryce or Carolina about the underground river.
I exhale a long breath and stare at my reflection. Sad eyes stare back from a green face smeared with black and brown streaks that travel down my neck and onto my chest. Even the tips of my ears are black.
My mind drifts back to Queen Damascena, who believes I think that I fell into a sewer, a repository for wastewater. If the river stretches beyond the Great Wall, it must pass under Harvester territory. Maybe Carolina can work out a way to siphon it through her network of underground tunnels?
Georgette holds my eyelids open. “Stay still.”
“What—” Something cold and wet spritzes into my eyeball, making my eyes water. “What are you doing?”
“Camouflage,” she says, sounding apologetic. “There’s no point making your skin blend into the surroundings if your eyes reflect the moon.”
I blink the tears out of my eyes and mutter, “Are you going to put it on my teeth, too?”
“When you’ve finished your sandwiches.” Georgette tilts her head to the side and smiles.
Dread pushes down thoughts of Prince Kevon, thoughts of my family, and thoughts of thirsty harvesters as I wonder what on earth could be dangerous enough to warrant such a high level of camouflage.
“Do you know anything about Gloria National Park?” I ask.
Georgette frowns. “The game reserve?”
“What does that mean?” Forelle pops a bit of sandwich into her mouth.
“It’s an open zoo, where all the wild animals roam in their natural habitats. Like the Oasis Animal Sanctuary except Nobles go there to hunt.” Georgette’s gaze lands on the plate. “Are you going to eat that?”
My eyes bulge. Open zoo? Wild animals? Natural habitats? Hunting? I push the