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“It wasn’t my idea to take them back. The producer came up with that whole scheme.”
“Hmm,” I played up my sarcasm, “if only you were the prince in power who could throw his weight around to do some good.”
“Careful, Michaela…” Warning filled his tone.
If he thought his rank and title influenced me, it didn’t. Sure, I’d gotten a little twitterpated before, but he was missing his mark, and I wasn’t going to back down and let him make excuses when he knew he could make changes. The Fitz I knew wouldn’t hesitate for an instant.
I met his stare, though it chilled me to the bone. As much as we had connected instantly earlier, I felt the distance of the years between us now. While I had stayed in my humble home with my single mother, Fitz had returned to his life of luxury and privilege.
Maybe he wasn’t the guy I thought he was.
Maybe this whole thing was a mistake.
The royal guard stepped into the doorway. “It’s time, Miss Caldwell.”
I stood and started for the door, but I didn’t want to leave things tense and sour. He’d brought me overseas to give him counsel, and he deserved my trust until he showed me otherwise.
“Good luck.” His eyes softened as they met mine. I tried to smile as I said, “I know you’ll do the right thing.”
As I followed the guard, the realization settled over me. Fitz might not do the right thing. Back in the day, I could count on it, but I really wasn’t sure he was the same guy anymore.
Michaela
Iscolded a Crown Prince. Have to say, that wasn’t my normal Thursday night behavior. The divide between my friend and his role in the kingdom felt razor thin. My inadequacies blared from my subconscious like neon lights at a honky-tonk bar.
The guards escorted us into a hall of sorts. Chill bled into the room. Frosty floor-to-ceiling ornate windows stretched the length of one wall, ensconced in frames of hand-carved woodwork and gold leaf. Of course, there were more goats carved at the corners. In fact, everywhere I looked there was another goat with curved horns and a steely stare.
What was it with Nolcovia and goats?
More paintings covered the far wall, along with more woodwork, antiquities, and the lavish appeal that had become commonplace in the less than twenty-four hours I’d been in the country. Greenery draped from every surface—the perimeter of the room, the doorways, the trim of the windows, all intertwined with red ribbons and bright-green glass balls. Candles illuminated the sconces on the walls, flickering with the slightest breeze. They’d spared no expense to make the room come alive with Christmas magic. Excitement burbled throughout our group as we took in the wonder of it all. Even the nobles were left breathless at the sight.
The chandeliers overhead were dimmed to a soft glow, but all around us, crew members were finishing the set up for the lighting, cameras, and equipment that would capture the first choosing ceremony. Where the cameras were hidden in the rest of the palace, the same couldn’t be said for the hall. I counted at least five, two with wheels and three handheld, circling the room like we were bait to sharks.
“What do you mean we need more bracelets?” A woman’s voice behind me caught my attention.
A man answered quickly, “I don’t know. The prince said we don’t have enough.”
I played it off like I wasn’t listening, but really, I was hanging on every word.
“Is he keeping extra girls?” the woman asked. “That will really bog up production time.”
Their voices faded as they moved away from me, likely to fill Fitz’s request. My mind flashed back to the conversation we’d shared. Was he keeping more of his choices because of something I’d said? Hope sparked in my heart. Maybe he hadn’t changed that much after all.
“Okay, ladies!” After all the refined accents I’d heard since my arrival, the producer’s American voice grated a bit. “Line up here. I want three rows, tallest in the back.” Crew members started shuffling us about like cattle into a trailer. Because of my height, I landed between Blair and Esmerey. Her noble snootiness frowned as though my presence was more than she could bear.
Another man entered the hall. His broad smile locked in place, rehearsed and tight, like it was a prosthetic that he screwed on before showtime. His suit cut at such sharp angles, it almost looked plastic. The second he laid eyes on the lot of us, he started gushing over our beauty.
I remained skeptical. All used car salesmen were the same, even when they wore good suits and had enough cosmetic surgery to be considered a Ken doll.
“That’s Corbin Snyder,” Blair whispered. “He hosted So You Want to be a Princess? in Burdainia last year and Next American Soap Star the year before that.”
From the way his personality stole the focus of the room, it made sense.
“Ladies, seriously,” Corbin opened his arms wide and drew our focus away from the cameras and back to him, “you are so lovely tonight. I’m speechless.”
Not likely. He looked like the type of guy who loved the sound of his own voice, especially with cameras present.
Tom, the producer, acted as the responsible adult in the room and clapped his hands to get our attention. “We’re starting shortly. Prince Leonidas will enter, he will speak with Corbin for a moment, and then he will announce those of you who will stay. Those who are not given bracelets will be asked to leave.” He motioned to the left as two doors opened behind us, one on either side.
