THE PRINCESS GAMES CORDELIA K CASTEL CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 The Rebel: A Princess Trials Story Gauntlet: A New Dystopian Series The Princess Trials Cordelia Castel’s Books Writing as Delia E Castel Copyright © 2020 by Cordelia Castel. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Download a Princess Trials short story at: http://rebel.theprincesstrials.com Preorder Cordelia’s new series: http://gauntlet.princesstrials.com C H A P T E R 1 pplause thunders across the auditorium, making my ears ring. My eyes dart from side to side, and a sea of faces turn toward us A from the lower seats. They’re all waiting for me to rise and take my place with the girls standing on the stage. Just when I thought my troubles were over, just when I thought I could return to Rugosa to my anonymous life as a Harvester apprentice, Queen Damascena brings me back into the Princess Trials. About five thousand Nobles sit in front of us on curved tiers that descend toward a semicircular stage. Every member of the Chamber of Ministers sits along two rows of seats at the back of the stage except two: The Minister of Justice, who lounges in front of them on a wooden throne, and Montana, who stands at the edge of the stage beside the queen. Prince Kevon’s large hand squeezes mine. I don’t know if this is out of dread or delight or if he’s just lending me moral support, but I can’t look at him right now. On the auditorium’s high wall, a giant screen broadcasts my shocked face. It cuts to Queen Damascena, the woman who won’t let me leave the Oasis because I killed Berta Ridgeback. Because I discovered a secret that will end water rationing and end the Nobles’ power over the Harvester Echelon. “Zea Mays Calico,” says Montana from the stage below. “Come down and rejoin the Princess Trials.” The cheers that fill the auditorium make me tremble to the marrow, and cold sweat forms on my brow. They’re baying for my blood. “Come with me,” says Prince Kevon. Where? I want to ask. With the surveillance around the country, there’s nowhere for a girl whose face has been plastered all over Phangloria to hide. Not even the Barrens are safe because Nobles like Ingrid Strab use it as their hunting grounds. The only way I will survive the next twenty-four hours is with the help of the young man at my side. I turn to Prince Kevon and meet his concerned, dark eyes. His brow furrows, and his full lips thin with concern. I have to trust that what he said about soon becoming the King of Phangloria is true. If he takes the throne, he will outrank his mother and protect me from her wrath. “Come with me,” I say his words back to him. “You’re rejoining the trials?” he whispers. “Do I have any choice?” With one hand holding mine and his strong arm around my back, Prince Kevon rises and helps me stand. “I’ll talk to her. Maybe she can keep you on as a commentator.” The auditorium goes wild, and the people around us stand to applause. I still don’t understand why. Everything I’ve watched of myself on the Lifestyle Channel paints me as the bucking bronco, a brat who blows up at the slightest obstacle. As I’ve never seen Amstraad television, I still can’t grasp the importance of all these side-characters who provide entertainment for their games. As we step down toward the stage, my legs won’t stop trembling, and my hands become slick with sweat. I press one palm on the fabric of my jumpsuit, letting the material soak up the moisture, but the other remains in Prince Kevon’s grip. If it wasn’t for his steadying presence, I’d probably have collapsed the moment Queen Damascena called out my name. Guards at the gate leading to the stage let us through, and a huge figure seated on the front-left stands. It’s Berta’s father, General Ridgeback, and the man whose accusing eyes seem to have penetrated the lies I told the Minister of Justice about what happened to Berta. The twelve girls who made it to the palace round of the Trials gape as Prince Kevon and I approach. My last conversation with Berta explains why. Even the girl who spent the most time with me thinks I cheated, paraded myself naked, and seduced Prince Kevon into favoring me. We haven’t even kissed. A few dumb words I uttered about someone else made Prince Kevon think I was serious about becoming his bride. Through some harrowing events like the murder of Rafaela Van Eyck, we sort-of became close. Ingrid Strab, the Chamber of Ministers’ favorite, scowls at me as though I’ve cheated her out of her prize. Never mind that each time she’s spoken with Prince Kevon, her abrasive personality has made him bored or annoyed. Queen Damascena steps toward us with her arms wide. The ivory gown she wears looks like a single piece of silk draped to shape her body. The fabric gathers below her collarbones in a cowl neckline, and the only jewelry she wears is a delicate tiara that blends with the honey-blonde locks flowing down her shoulders. To me, she looks like an angel of death. “There she is.” The queen’s voice is as sweet as the borax and powdered sugar we use to trap killer ants. She wraps her arms around my shoulders, engulfing my senses in a cloud of mandragon blossoms. It’s no coincidence that this flower is a cousin of oleander dirus—a plant so deadly that hunters who use it to tip their arrows and darts die from eating the meat. Her fingers close around my shoulders, squeezing them so tight that there’s no mistaking the warning or the bitter hatred in her embrace. “I’m sorry for your loss.” She’s saying this for the cameras, of course. What she really means is that I’m going to join Berta in death pretty soon, and she’s only sorry that I didn’t die the moment I discovered the dangerous secret. My mind races for a clever response. Something that implies I’ve safeguarded my knowledge of the underground river and if I die, everyone will know of her secret water source, but the thought of her sending minions to my friends and family fills my veins with ice and traps the words in the back of my throat. Queen Damascena releases me, and I can finally exhale. Prince Kevon stands at my side, his brows drawn. I guess he doesn’t know why his mother has recalled me to the trials—I didn’t tell him that I struck Berta with a paralyzing dart and left her to drown. “Thank you.” My voice projects across the auditorium, and I turn to the audience rather than face the blonde viper at my side. “But I don’t deserve the honor.” The queen shakes her head and beams. “Berta would want you to continue, and I insist on keeping you with us for a little longer.” Anxiety ripples across the lining of my empty stomach, and I glance at Prince Kevon, who nods. Maybe I’m safer here, where he’s close. If I left the Oasis, the queen would likely have me assassinated before I even reached Rugosa. Montana wishes us all good luck on this exciting, new round of the Princess Trials and gestures for us to leave through a door to the right of the ministers’ seats. The applause continues as Queen Damascena leads us out with her arm looped through mine. Prince Kevon walks at my side, and to anyone watching, it looks like they’ve already decided on who will become the next Queen of Phangloria. I glance over my shoulder at the procession of girls following us, their glares sharp enough to slice twelve daggers through my back. Far behind them in the audience, General Ridgeback remains standing. The door opens into a wide hallway lit by spotlights that run down the ceiling and around the corner. Dozens of assistants stand at the walls, clad in the same kinds of purple uniforms I’ve seen on palace staff and on those who wait tables in Oasis restaurants. They all bow low for the queen, who doesn’t acknowledge their presence. The door behind us shuts, muffling the auditorium’s applause. Queen Damascena releases my arm and smooths down the cowl of her silk dress. I turn to her and inject as much sincerity as I can into my voice. “Your Majesty, I don’t know—” “There will be plenty of time to pour out your heart during afternoon tea,” she says. “Pardon?” My voice trails off as I remember something I saw in the previous Princess Trials’ palace round. The former queen and ladies-in-waiting would invite a girl to the queen’s parlor for mentorship meetings.