“You have a letter,” Evangeline said.
“Thank you.” I hadn’t heard news from home for a few days. Hoping it was from my mother with an update on Winnie, I opened it eagerly.
Dear Gwyneth,
I hope you are well and that your travels were not too exhausting.
I’m writing to tell you that your sister is much improved. She got up and played with her dolls for several hours today. It was the longest she’d been off the couch. Her color is returning, as is her appetite, all thanks to the prince.
I hope you know how much I appreciate that you came here to help us. Also, our last words have been troubling me. I do not want you to think that I’m burdening you with too much responsibility or that I don’t have faith because I do, absolutely, have faith in you. Since your father and Balkyn have been gone, you have helped me run the household and care for your brother and sister. I know you are more than a selfish girl.
I might have spoken too harshly—but I see that the prince is within your grasp, and you might not. It was amazing to experience the transformation that his power can bring. He saved your sister’s life, and he did it because he favors you.
That sort of power should not be ignored. Think of all the good you could do if the crown was yours. Not to needle you, my love, but I am your mother. It’s my job.
Please tell the prince we send our warm thanks and kindest regards.
Love,
Mom
I snorted when I put the letter down. No pressure or anything, Mom. But of course, she was right. The prince’s power should not be ignored, in particular, the power he had over me.
Head muddled with competing thoughts, I hurried to get dressed.
Shaye came and sat with Blake and me at breakfast. “I don’t know if I can handle Tamara any more,” she moaned.
“I heard that.” Tamara plopped herself down next to her, grinning madly. “And I refuse to get worked up about it.”
“Because you were already too worked up by the prince, and you’ve got nothing left?” Blake asked, clearly joking.
“Ha,ha.” Still, Tamara looked like a cat who’d just been served cream. “The prince sent me flowers this morning. Just look at the card!”
Dear Miss Layne,
Thank you for your kind attention during our date and all the post-production work we had to do. I appreciate your patience with me more than you know.
The episode turned out well. My father was very pleased with it.
Look forward to beating you at chess again soon.
Sincerely,
Prince Black
I nearly spit my tea out. My father was very pleased… That did not bode well for me—not at all.
“I don’t know what you’re so excited about,” I said meanly. “‘Post-production work?’ It sounds like he’s talking about tuning up a car.”
“Now who’s the jealous cow?” Tamara smiled at me merrily.
“I’m not jealous.” The lie was feeble at best.
Do not doubt me. I heard it again.
Then do not behave like a jackass, I thought back.
Tariq zipped over to our table, beaming. “I just heard about the flowers. Congratulations, Tamara.”
“It feels good to be the front runner.” She shot him a megawatt smile. “I’m just hoping these other girls can keep up, so the show doesn’t get boring too fast. We need to keep those ratings up!”
“Things are never boring when you’re about.” He smiled at her indulgently. “But speaking of the other girls, Blake my dear, you have a first date tonight. Shaye, you have a second this afternoon.”
“Today?” Shaye spluttered.
“Yes.” Tariq looked her up and down. “You might want to address your hair. Ladies.” Always in a self-important rush, he turned on his heel and was gone.
Shaye examined her hair, perplexed, as Blake pushed the pancakes around on her plate.
“What’s the matter with you?” Tamara snapped.
“Nothing.” Blake blinked at us. “But what on earth am I going to talk to him about?”
“If you ask Tamara,” Shaye said, tucking a curl behind her ear, “she’ll tell you talking’s overrated.”
Tamara rolled her eyes then turned to Blake. She looked at her as if seeing her for the first time, perhaps recognizing Blake’s beauty and viewing her as a threat. “You should talk about your hair and how you do your makeup. Ooh, and about your period. Tell him all about your menstrual cycle. Men love that sort of talk.”
“No they don’t.” Blake scoffed. “I have a brother. He likes talking about farts.”
Tamara shrugged, dismissing her. “So talk about farting then, and see how far that gets you.” She got a dreamy look on her face. “It doesn’t matter anyway. He sent me flowers. He only has eyes—and lips, might I remind you—for me.”
Oh, sure, you squat-loving douche-nozzle.
But I said nothing, forcing myself to enjoy my pancakes instead. I was making myself look on the bright side, but it wasn’t easy because sitting here, listening to Tamara go on and on about her relationship with Dallas, I was starting to feel as if I was going a bit crazy.
Was it only a few days ago that we’d visited my sister, that Dallas had held me in his arms? It seemed as though centuries had passed. And seeing him in the hall like that, cool and distant, had only made me feel more schizophrenic.
It’s the contest. It’s the game. It’s political. Still, I felt disjointed, as if all of my pieces weren’t adding up.
Maybe if I told my friends the truth, it’d make me feel better, more whole. But even though I could have bragged, and talked about the moments the prince and I had shared, I wouldn’t do that. Those moments were private, for him and for me. In addition, it would hurt the other girls’ feelings. I might be a jerk sometimes, but that was when my temper got the better of me. I would never do that on purpose.
But Tamara would. I watched her as she continued chatting—about her favorite topic, herself—occasionally popping a grape into her mouth. I remembered everything Dallas had said about her and how he claimed that he could never care for her.
I’d believed him. I still wanted to believe him. But if he’d told the truth, what on earth was he playing at now?
Tariq pulled me aside after our morning lessons. “Miss West. I need to speak with you, please.”
“Oh joy, your Royal Emissary.”
He frowned, then ushered me into the library. “I have a favor to ask.”
“Like I said, joy.” I knew he’d do this sooner or later. It just happened to be sooner than I’d like.
“I want to film a scene with you and the prince this afternoon.”
“But you said he had a date with Shaye and then one with Blake.”
“He does.” Tariq clasped his hands together. “But that is none of your concern. I’ve sent a special dress to your maids. Put it on after lunch. I’ll send for you when we’re ready.”
“But what do you want me to—”
His eyes flashed in annoyance. “As I said, it’s none of your concern. The production crew and I are handling everything. See you in a bit.” He hustled off before I could finish my question or object. As I watched his retreating form, I felt certain that’s exactly the way he wanted it.