Flights are the worst.
I'm not scared of heights, death, or planes, but there's something uncomfortable being thrust thousands of feet into the air in a rattily tin can. Despite the numerous times I have travelled by air before, I can never talk during take-off or landing, and I always have to grip the seat.
Our private jet courses over the clouds as the sun hums over horizon. The first, eager sunrays pelt me through the window, so I shutter the light, recline my chair and try to occupy my thoughts with something other than either flying or this debate tonight.
The Selected, at least, seem to be enjoying themselves.
Nick, Ansel and Jeremiah had to stop to admire the jet's interior before take-off. It's a sleek short-flight build, so not our most impressive jet, but not even Ansel was able to hide his awe of the fitted sofas, the sleek geometric patterns, the polished walls and pristine white carpet. A sofa winds a U-shape in the centre, strewn with art deco pillows, with a dark coffee table in between. Besides us was the minibar for snacks and drinks, and the attendant gave us a smile almost as polished as the counter's marble.
"May I serve you any breakfast items this morning?"
"There's a minibar?" Jeremiah said under his breath. "Is this the afterlife?"
"Nope," I said. "Just my life."
Now that we've taken off, and seatbelts can come off (and Nick and Jeremiah pored over every option on the menu), I ease my breathing and peer behind me. The three of them are inspecting every element of the aircraft – right down to Nick smoothing his hand over the coffee table.
"It's flawless."
Jeremiah stares out a window. "Oh, if my sisters could see this."
"Your Highness?" Nick calls, noticing me watching. "Join us?"
"Okay." I stand – more like wobble – and stride – more like waddle – over and take a seat with Nick.
"This jet is amazing," he says. "You fly like this all the time?"
"On short-haul flights, yes. Our long-haul plane is bigger and has bedrooms." I gesture between them all. "Have you met one another?"
Jeremiah joins us in the lounge area. "We've met." He nods to Nick. "Yesterday, in the Men's Parlour." He glances at Ansel and goes quiet.
Ansel takes a seat opposite me, hands clasp, knees together like he's found his perch and seems content not to move for the rest of the flight. "I'm afraid I have yet to be acquainted with either of these gentlemen."
"We can't have that." I clap my hands. "Ansel Hewlett, this is Nicholas Jacobs and Jeremiah Hill. Nick, Jeremiah, meet Ansel."
Since Jeremiah is standing within reach, he goes for a handshake. Ansel raises an eyebrow, hesitates – for a second I think he'll decline, think he'll just make it super awkward, but he takes the hand for a brief moment and shakes. Jeremiah takes it as a sign to sit next to him.
Nick just makes a wave of his hand. Thank goodness. I can't take that again.
"Excited for the debate?"
I try to form my best yay, so excited! smile but it looks more like a scowl. "Oh, yes."
Jeremiah just laughs. "I have to admit, I was surprised you thought of me when you thought of a debate."
"Well, I thought it'd be nice to bring you along." I mock-whisper, "So it doesn't get too boring with these nerds."
"I enjoy a good debate," says Nick. "Nothing wrong with that."
Jeremiah coughs, but it sounds suspiciously like nerds again. Heh.
Ansel waves his hand. "Call us what you must. Debates provide a healthy perspective on topics utilising logic, evidence and context, and that's only if you were to watch, not participate. This particular topic will be important for us."
I can't help but wonder what all of their previous castes were. Maybe I should have chosen a mixture of Selected who come from the upper, middle and lower classes. Even though all three of them have now been thrust into the spotlight of my Selection, what were they before? Who were they?
Conversation peters, and we fall into contented silence. Travel takes a lot out of me, but I'm used to it, so for the boys it must be even more fraying.
"Your Highness," Ansel interrupts, nodding his head towards the front. "May I use the chess set?"
I peer around dozing Nick to see – yep, a chess set, black and white to match the decoration, each marble piece so polished I could use it as a mirror. It's more for show than to actually use, but I shrug, and Ansel retrieves it.
As he inspects the make, Jeremiah quips, "I've never played chess."
Ansel freezes. It's the closest I've seen him to bewilderment. "Do you… know the rules?"
"The pawn… moves one space."
"One space forward, except on its first move, in which it may move two." His brow tightens. "You… really have never played?"
"Too busy at my architecture firm," he says, with a light smile. "And learning the harmonica."
I wisely decide not to comment on his instrument choice. "I know how to play."
Ansel gestures to the board. "Then perhaps you would like to play a game?"
"Oh, nooooo. You'll crush me."
His lips curl upwards, so apparently that's the point.
"Why don't you teach Jeremiah how to play? Then I can versus him."
Ansel's face twitches, but it melts quickly into that vacant façade, and he clears his throat. "I'm sure Jeremiah would find that too nerdy."
"Hey, I called you a nerd," says Jeremiah, "not that it was bad to be a nerd."
Another pause, and then Ansel's voice is clipped.
"Very well. The basic rules are as follows."
So I watch, intermittently giving input as Ansel tells Jeremiah about how the bishop can only move diagonally, or the king one space at a time. To his credit, Jeremiah listen patiently, and somehow manages to inhale the information dump like it were a gourmet meal.
"Now you may move your knight—"
"The horse?"
"The knight," Ansel insists as I giggle, "to any square in an L-shape direction. You see?"
He demonstrates, plonking the horse— er, knight, three squares behind and one to the right.
"Huh. I think I understand now."
Ansel lets out a dark laugh. "Oh, this only scratches the surface. You don't know half the manoeuvres."
"And you won't be able to learn them all on this flight," I say. "Let's have a match!"
Ansel moves the board so Jeremiah and I are opposite. I'm actually terrible at chess, so given that Jeremiah is a noob, hopefully we're evenly matched. We start, and when I move a piece, Ansel twitches in my peripheral vision.
"Is there a problem with my move, Ansel?"
"No," he says through grinded teeth.
However, when Jeremiah makes a misplay, he advises another move before he lets go of the piece. "You must think ahead about what your opponent is doing. Try to predict what Her Highness will do."
"All right there, Spock," Jeremiah says.
Ansel doesn't smile, but it's in his eyes. He so takes that as a compliment.
Nick makes a grunting noise halfway through, rousing from slumber. "Chess?"
"Yep! Want to help me?"
He comes closer and examines the board. "You've made some… unique plays."
"That's what I've been saying," says Ansel.
"More like glaring," I mutter, and Jeremiah snickers.
The Gail vs. Jeremiah and Ansel game becomes Gail and Nick vs. Jeremiah and Ansel… and then eventually Nick vs. Ansel, when both Jeremiah and I start to tire of both Nick and Ansel's intense criticism of our move choices.
Eventually, a call comes through the speakers. "We're landing soon. Please make your way back to your seats."
"Oh thank goodness," I tease, as we clear away the board and strap ourselves in for landing.
"I would have won anyway," says Ansel. "There were more black pieces on the board."
"You were playing from the start," Nick counters, "whereas I only started halfway through."
"I got us halfway there," I say.
He makes a half-wince, half-smile, and I pout, which Jeremiah laughs at again. Is today Pick on Gail day?
The thoughts soon eject from my head as the plane nosedives to land. I clench the armrests, squeeze my eyes shut, keep thinking happy thoughts, and soon the tarmac greets us. Stale, dry air slaps my cheeks with a wind that blows like nails on skin. We are quickly taxied in a limo from the airport to the manor house I've rented for the day, as the arid landscape goes from brown to rich green.
I am instantly filled with regret that we are unable to stay longer than the day. The manor's sleek Mediterranean design boasts a front portico strengthened by a row of colonnades, beige archways, stucco exterior walls and low red rooves. With the sunlight, it's like we've stepped into Spain, rather than Midston City.
Of course, a swathe of security are already stationed outside, around the perimeter, even at the entrance to the driveway. Naomi hasn't left my side the entire flight, hovering at the back of the aircraft whilst the Selected and I occupied the front, and even now she adjusts her shades so she can keep a better eye on me. Aderyn travelled with her to help me prepare for the evening, and they exchange pleasantries, my lady's maid occasionally smiling my way.
Entering into the wide receiving area, with a huge staircase the centrepiece that splits to meet both sides of the mezzanine, I clap my hands. "The debate is late in the evening, so we have a few hours to enjoy ourselves and freshen up."
"And a few hours I will use," Nick comments.
We quickly split to explore the manor. It's not as big as the palace, of course, but impressive enough to raise my eyebrows. The living rooms are plastered with fancy paintings in gilded frames, and rugs that span the entire length of the hallway are plush to the touch.
"Alert!" I hear Jeremiah yell. "There is a pool!"
The back garden indeed houses a huge pool, stretching in a T-shape. There's enough room for a water polo match.
I release a long squee. Okay, this was one hundred percent why I chose this place. I race to my new room to change into a bikini (pink, with frills) and come back outside. Jeremiah and Nick have already changed; only Ansel is standing awkwardly by the deck chairs, eyes resting on the other boys.
"No wonder my valet made me pack a bathing costume!" says Jeremiah, now naked save his Hawaiian print shorts. Oh my, I think, staring at his glistening body and neat arms. He's not particularly muscled – no six pack like Sheng or anything – but oh boy is it nice to look at. A tattoo is visible now, a paper aeroplane with a real plane shadow on his right arm.
Totally the sun that warms my cheeks.
He dive-bombs into the pool, sending a tidal wave onto the pavement.
"Hurry up, you two!"
Nick tests the water first with a toe. He is also out here with shorts, a gradient from blue to white, before he sits on the edge and slips inside.
"To get my body used to the temperature."
No abs in his department either, but that's fine. I don't exactly have a supermodel body. I take a running leap into the pool. By the way the water engulfs me, the splash was humongous.
"Hey!"
I surface. Ansel's trousers are soaked.
"Oops, sorry!"
Jeremiah laughs. "Come on, Ansel, the water's great!"
"I think I may rest for a while," he says, glancing around once more before returning inside.
I frown. "Did I do something wrong?"
"You were fine, Your Highness," says Nick. "I don't think swimming is his sort of thing."
"I've known him about the same amount of time you have," says Jeremiah, eyes trailing the porch as if Ansel's ghost lingers. "His face doesn't seem to move very much."
No, he's right that it doesn't. It was obvious before, but now it sticks out like an island peninsula.
"He was talkative before," I point out.
"Yeah, on a jet, where he couldn't exactly run very far."
It's funny that chess seemed to bring him out of his shell, if only for a moment.
"I saw him in the Men's Parlour after my questions," says Nick. "He was sitting by himself with a book. Only when the queen came over did he shut it."
Trust Cami to spot the lone ranger amongst the boys.
"Well," I say, dashing the thought, "maybe he'll loosen up once the debate starts."
At least, I hope he does.
The hours sprint by with us playing piggy-in-the-middle with a huge beach ball, and then a devouring a meal concocted by the gourmet chef. Soon, the sun begins to dip, and Aderyn hustles me to the bedroom to prepare. I'm made up, slipped into the champagne tulle dress, and ready to go.
The boys meet me in the lobby, dished up in fancy suits. Nick stands impossibly, imposingly, straight, hands clasped behind his back, but relaxes when he sees me.
"You look very pretty, Your Highness."
"Aw, thank you, Nick. You clean up well yourself."
He makes a smile like he's been handed a baby and has no idea what to do with it. Bless.
Likewise, Ansel and Jeremiah scrub up well too. Ansel is in a dark navy suit, hands tucked in the trouser pockets, hair combed out of his face. There's a fountain pen sticking out his jacket pocket for, or for what I can only presume is, note-taking. Jeremiah, on the other hand, opted for a more casual style, with no jacket or tie and a light blue shirt untucked.
We tumble into the limo to head for the university grounds. It doesn't take more than twenty minutes, of which Jeremiah and I fill the silence with chatter. It dwindles when campus comes into view: huge, red brick buildings along a walkway that must take a solid ten minutes to traverse. At the very end is a library that kind of looks like Hogwarts, not gonna' lie.
The campus is dead of students, so it's easy to spot the aristocratic elite that line up outside the conference building, also primped in suits and ties and all manner of evening dresses. Looks aim our way as we skip the queue, our security and faces erupting whispers. I catch sight of a few people who stare, only to see they aren't making the face of oh wow, it's Princess Gail! but more confusion, sometimes hostility.
There isn't much chance to dwell on it as the director of the conference meets us inside, shaking my hand so vigorously I think he'll take my arm off.
"Your Highness, it is a huge honour to have you here. Thank you for coming, and for your interest in our debate."
"My pleasure. I'm always interested in issues that affect our country."
When he finally releases us to our box seat overlooking the podiums, I massage my cheeks. Smiling for so long hurts so, so much.
Ansel settles in first, as close as he can be on the front row. He takes out his notepad, unclips his pen, and waits for the moderator to start. Nick ropes his jacket around the back and sits next to him.
"Well… back row for us?" Jeremiah gestures.
"Looks like it," I snort.
We sit.
"You said you were, er, interested in issues that affect our country." Jeremiah hesitates, but powers on. "So you must come to these sorts of things frequently, right?"
Smiling a long time may hurt, but not as much as restraining to wince does. "Oh, well… this is the first time I've left home for something like it, but I do take an interest in Illéa's social and political climate. I have to. It's practically my job."
"It's just…" He shrugs. "I don't know. Every time I saw you on television, it was for a reality show, or entertainment, or… something."
My chest constricts. At my pause, he gulps super loud.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply you can't do both."
"No, no. It's fine."
Am I really easy to see through? I might not have been the heir and less focus placed on me, but the fact remains that I had little to no clue about the Resurgence's influence. No wonder people were looking at me strangely when waiting outside. They must have been thinking, why is she here? She doesn't belong.
The moderator comes on stage.
"Good evening, ladies, gentlemen, esteemed guests, and Her Royal Highness." He flicks a quick glance at us – at me – before continuing. "Tonight here, in the honoured establishment of the University of Midston, we have come to discuss a prevalent issue regarding classism."
I can barely register the names of the debate team, even though they're big names in social media, politicians, law students and leaders of socialist movements. Ansel begins scratching notes, but to me the words fly over my head.
"The abolishment of the caste system was a necessary measure to reunite the country and its divide." One person pronounces loudly to the humming crowd, plucking me from my wandering mind. "However, there still remains a chasm between the rich and the poor. Statistically we have more high- and low-class citizens than middle class, and it is wrecking us economically."
I glance at the three boys, but my focus ends up on Jeremiah, who has his head canted slightly but makes no other facial expression to give up how he's feeling.
"Erm, Jeremiah?" I whisper.
He faces me. "Yes, Your Highness?"
"Do you mind if I ask a… personal question?"
He goes still. "That may have to depend on the question."
"Your old caste." I speak it before I lose my nerve. "What was it?"
"Ah." He scratches his head. "My parents were Threes. My mother is a surgeon and my father is a doctor, so…"
An affluent family.
"The caste abolishment… did it affect your family?"
"To be honest, I don't think it affected them too much, besides having the label removed. They were still doctors of their professions, after all. But I was too young to understand if there were any small ramifications."
"Right, right. Thank you."
He smiles and returns to listening. The caste abolishment wasn't an immediate thing; it started with Eights, then Sevens, then Sixes, Fives, and so on. Eventually the labels were no more, and people were free to choose whichever profession they most desired.
But the Resurgence arises now because even that is flawed. Because even Roy's attempts to build a bridge over the divide has left the chasm unfilled.
So that mammoth task is left to me.
And I am wholly unprepared.
Refreshments begin as soon as the debate is over and the applause quietens. We are herded out to the lobby, where a clothed table houses platters of finger foods and small flutes of wine. I take a glass, but my appetite has all but left, even though my chest feels hollow.
Meanwhile, Ansel prattles on quietly to Nick about the debate. "It's obviously discriminatory to refuse employment to someone simply for their previous caste, but how can we police such behaviour when it can be regarded as 'personal reasons'?"
"Don't tell me we shouldn't at least try," Nick responds. "That's like citing 'personal reasons' to refuse employment to someone who is gay, or black…"
"And I agree, with you and Councillor Bayim's team in regards to the matter, but where do the boundaries lie? At what point is 'personal reasons' no longer a legitimate stance?"
Jeremiah bobs his head along. I can't tell if he actually agrees or if he has his own opinion locked in his head somewhere, but doesn't want to cause argument.
"Princess?"
I startle. Nick is facing me. "What do you think?"
"Oh, well… classism is bad." Which is the worst answer ever, so I try again. I did pick up some of the debate. "I guess… I guess 'personal reasons' isn't a legitimate stance anymore."
"But then one could argue that doing so is a removal of agency and rights," Ansel says, with an expression that seems to neither agree nor disagree, and a voice on monotonous level. "Especially for small, independent business owners—"
"Your Highness! Esteemed Selected!"
Councillor Bayim approaches us with wide arms.
"I'm thrilled you could come today. Did you find the debate stimulating?" He directs the question to me. Unfortunately.
"Oh. Yes. We were just discussing the 'personal reasons' portion, actually."
"Ah, a tricky one, that. Have either of us swayed you to a particular opinion?"
I sweat on the inside.
"I… am still on the fence."
Instead of being disappointed like I thought, he nods. "And that is good. It's always better to think things through."
"I am more in agreement with your point, Councillor Bayim," Ansel says. "In fact, I was hoping we could discuss a few of your points." He reproduces his notebook and pen. Bayim seems thrilled, and the two enter into intense discussion. Frankly, it's nice to see Ansel in his element – where he performs best.
It makes for a good prince, to be engaged.
You know, unlike me.
"Well, I'm going to get some food." Jeremiah jams a thumb at the buffet table. "Any requests?"
"I'm okay," I say, though maybe I should get more wine.
"No, thank you," says Nick, holding up a glass of water, and Jeremiah leaves.
We stand in silence as conversations pool around us.
"So… what did you really think?"
"Hmm?"
"The debate," he says. "It's sort of obvious that you were struggling to stay awake. I've sat through enough tax lectures to understand that glazed over expression when I see it."
I go red. Lucky we were in our own box. "I did try…"
"I know." He smiles. "Just seems like debates aren't your thing."
And with resounding certainty, I agree, but it comes with a wave of disappointment. It's an intellectual pursuit, perfect for anyone politically engaged, right? Why can't I just enjoy it like Ansel? He looks like me when I'm watching a hockey game.
"Ah, Your Highness, and Sir Nicholas Jacobs."
A prominent council member for the Midston province, Finley Hopkins, slides over like there's grease on the floor, and extends a bony hand my way.
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I don't believe we've met."
Immediately my hair is on end. This guy gives me the major creeps. Alas, I'm sure it's just the unfortunate gauntness of his cheeks and slick hair that give off that impression. Definitely not the smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
I grasp his hand to shake. Hopkins has a hold stronger than he looks. After he shakes Nick's hand and introduces himself, his arms go behind his back and he hunches forwards.
"I did not think debates were your… style, ma'am," he continues.
It's an echo of what Nick said to me literally a minute ago. "It's never too late to try new things."
"And did you find it interesting, then?"
"Oh, yes." It comes out before I can even register how hard a fib that is. "It's always good to hear opinions and pieces from the people. It doesn't have quite the same emotional impact when you're reading statistics on paper."
His lips form a thin line. "Quite. And… you involve yourself with the political situation in this country often?"
I withhold a visible baulk, because I hear an accusatory tone laced within the question. "Yes."
"How intriguing," he murmurs, "that only now have you begun to take noticeable active interest. Quite phenomenal timing, is it not, with the unfortunate Resurgence on our doorstep, and your Selection underway?"
My tongue glues to the roof of my mouth. Oh god. I didn't think that me holding a Selection and going to things like this had such obvious intentions. Politicians are always able to see behind the curtain.
I don't have an answer to give him, but Nick reminds me he's here by standing just a little closer to me. "I think that is an unfair statement, Councillor." It's that same pose: back straight, head tilted up ever so slightly that he looks down the bridge of his nose upon Hopkins. "Her Highness has only recently come of age."
"There are many young people involved in politics, young man."
"Perhaps, but there are many older folks who have not a wink of interest, certainly not to attend debates such as these." His words, though smooth as silk, only hide the spikes beneath. "Would you not agree that it is better to want to grasp our country's political situation now than later, regardless of timing?"
Hopkins pauses, strokes his chin.
"Yes, you are correct, of course. I would never insinuate that Her Highness is not welcome to engross herself in the political sphere." He turns his gaze to me. "You are, after all, our princess."
Still, I have no words.
Hopkins bobs his head. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I hope you enjoy the rest of the evening."
He glides away.
All the tension that has unwittingly knotted in my chest unravels and pools at the bottom of my chest.
Nick lets out a little breath. "That was… interesting."
"Do you mean horrible?"
"Heh. You're not wrong."
Once again, I'm speechless at the number of people who have clocked that my Selection isn't just for giggles.
But it's not only that.
It's that no one believes I'm really here of my own accord. That I'm only doing this to pacify the rebels or improve my family's image.
Am I really so obvious?
"Hey." Nick touches my arm – tentatively at first, but when I don't pull away, he holds and squeezes. "Don't let people like Hopkins get you down."
"I'm fine," I say.
He frowns. "Okay. He just… looked like he shook you, is all."
And he did. But I'm not Gail Su-Jin Schreave if I don't shrug off all the Hopkinses in my life.
"Thank you." I take him by the arm and squeeze too. "You really had my bacon."
"No problem." His smile is easier now, not like that fake one shone at Hopkins. It's… sweet.
"Hey, who was that guy?" Jeremiah pops up behind me with a plate of food.
"A Midston councillor," I say.
And if he's the worst one I'll meet tonight, maybe I'll be just fine.
The jet touches down on Los Angeles soil at nearly eight, and I'm so socially exhausted that I barely say more than an appreciative thank you and goodnight to the Selected as we head back to our rooms.
Talking, smiling, talking, smiling. An endless monotony. No wonder Omma sent me in her stead.
Aderyn parts ways with me once I dismiss her, but my room is sadly occupied once I crack the door open.
"Gail!" Zelda leaps up. "Quick, shut the door!"
I pass a wary glance at Naomi, who shrugs and returns to her post, before doing as asked.
"Zelda, I'm tired. Can this wait?"
"No it freaking cannot."
She shoves her phone into my hand. On screen is the website for the Angeles All-Stars.
HOCKEY TRY-OUTS it screams in big, bold letters. Don't miss a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to become part of something bigger, better. The Angeles All-Stars are holding open try-outs for any ice hockey enthusiasts wishing to join a casual community of players and have fun.
Meet the legendary Bellona Strike, new manager for the All-Stars team, who will be holding the try-outs and watching YOU play!
I nearly drop the phone. Suddenly, I'm wide awake.
"She— she's holding try-outs?"
"Hell yeah she is! This was her secret project, all along!" She scrolls. "And look here. Bellona Strike herself is hosting the try-outs! We'll get to meet her! Tonight!"
I freeze. "We?"
Zelda drops her arms. "Gail, come on. We can't miss this opportunity to meet our freakin' idol! We'll be in the same room as her! We'll be breathing the same air!"
I can picture it now. Me, gliding up to her with the gracefulness of a swan. Her, flustered at my exalted presence. Your Highness, what a pleasure it is to meet you. I heard you're a big fan. Then she, Zelda and I become besties forever and we get invited to every game in the league.
But as quickly as the fantasy comes, it dashes.
"Roy will never let me go, and I'm tired. Maybe I can convince him tomorrow?"
"It's one night only."
What sort of slap-dash try-outs are these?
"Then I will need to have a guard contingent and emergency escape plans—"
"Or," Zelda says, "we can just go in a disguise."
This idea is getting worse and worse, and I rub my temple. How did I miss this? I was probably too busy in Midston to pay attention to Bellona's announcement.
"There's no way Roy will give me permission—"
"Yeah, like he gave you permission for your Selection?" Her eyebrows wiggle. "He doesn't need to know."
Her tone is uppity, an implication—
Oh. Oh no.
"Definitely not," I say. "I am not sneaking out."
"Gail, please." She clasps my arm. "It says it right here. Once-in-a-lifetime. We can't miss this."
"You can go by yourself."
"No I can't! You know how uncool I'll look in front of Bellona if I go up to her alone for her autograph?"
I poke her. "You are uncool."
"Yeah, yeah." She shakes me off. "I mean it. You've snuck out before."
I go a little red. "Yeah, to the stables to go on secret dates with Chocolate Ninja. Not out of the grounds! Not in disguise!"
"Besides," she cuts across, "I have to sneak out too. No way in hell is Rudy gonna' let me saunter to LA at this time of night." She grips her phone. "The try-outs end at ten. We have time if we go now!"
She's wearing me down. I can feel part of me twisting, already eager to rifle through my drawers for sports tape. Despite her public image, Bellona is a private person – as evidenced by her refusal to accept palace invitations – so maybe this is the only way to meet her.
"We go, get an autograph, and leave. That's all."
"Yes. Yep. One hundred percent." Zelda claps her hand together. "Is that a yes?"
I can't believe I'm doing this.
"Only if we're not spotted." Impulse wins out, and the drawers shrill when I open them. Underneath my bras and underwear is the sports tape I keep hidden for nightly excursions. "Where will we meet?"
"Unloading bay in the servant's wing in the next thirty minutes. I can grab you some stuff for disguises."
It's like she prepared beforehand. "How exactly do you plan to escape?"
"We're on the ground floor, Gail," she reminds me. "Rudy will still be with the king, June will be asleep, and Joseph snores so loudly you could steal the bed beneath him and he wouldn't wake."
"And the guards? Security cameras?"
She merely laughs under her breath. "You make this sound like it's my first rodeo."
Without another word, she winks, opens the door, and strolls out.
After I mumble something to Naomi, leaning against my parlour door, about not being disturbed for the night, I return to my plan. The servant's wing is on the other side of the palace, and there's no leaving my room without her spotting.
So it looks like my normal route will have to do.
I have to take time to prepare. I stretch, warm up my muscles, and wrap the sports tape over my hands. Cami gave me these skills "for emergencies only"… but since Bellona will likely never make an appearance again where I can meet her, I would totally count this as an emergency.
After I change into sturdy boots and a tracksuit, I pack a small backpack of sports tape, a flashlight, water, a small poster of Bellona for her to sign, and another change of clothes. Not too flashy, but warm enough to last in an ice rink. And also look super cute.
Cracking open the balcony door, I peer out. It's a warm night, and the sun has just about set, giving me the perfect cover.
Maybe this is extreme, I think. Is it even worth it? To sneak out?
As I take one last look at my room, seeing all the hockey posters on my walls and the signed pucks on my stand and the team photos on my bedside table…
Yes. Definitely worth it.
It's time to climb down the palace walls.
A/N: Cami's skills are being put to good use! … Or perhaps not... ;) What did you think of Ansel, Nick and Jeremiah? I hope you enjoyed the chapter!
Happy Easter to everyone who celebrates, and happy nondescript weekend to those who don't! I've struggled writing tratr these past two weeks BUT consolation: I figured out some eeeeevil plot twists so now I have some direction and more drama to write... huehuehue…
Thanks for reading and reviewing, lovelies!
~ GWA
NTT: "You saying I'm not cute?"
