“Maid Madity,” I say softly. “You must get me out of here.”
She laughs. My eyebrows shoot up. Is she mocking me? She shakes her head, her auburn curls bouncing loose from her braid. “You’re a dramatic one, m’lady,” she says. “But I suspect the prince will enjoy the challenge.” She sweeps past me with a white gown draped over her arms. “You have all day to settle in and prepare yourself for the betrothal. I’m sure by then you’ll see how foolish you’re being. You’ve been given a great privilege. I can name countless ladies who’d love to fulfill this duty.” She tsks. “There will be some jealous maidens at the ceremony this evening, no doubt.”
My shoulders slump as she lays the gown across my bed. I close the door. She thinks I’m joking. Or rather, she’s unwilling to believe anyone would not want to marry the prince. I see kindness in her eyes, however. She may be the only one stationed in the castle who will help me. “Please, Maid Madity,” I say, inflecting as much feeling into my voice as possible. “I cannot—will not—marry the prince. I beg of you, help me to—”
Her hand covers my mouth, her eyes wide. “Nay, princess. You must call me only Madity.” She nods. “Please, I insist.” There must be listening devices, I realize, and she’s stopped me from blundering into treason.
I step back, and my eyes search her serious face. She won’t help me escape; that is clear, and I have no right to ask it of her. She’d risk her very life by helping me. No. I couldn’t live with that. I need to find a way out that doesn’t compromise her.
She lifts the white gown. “The prince loves white.” Her fingers caress the satin. “He had your betrothal gown made just for you.”
Realization dawns. How long ago must someone have begun this gown to have it ready on the day after my arrival? How long have they been planning a ceremony involving me without my knowledge? How long has the Force been watching me?
Because of this betrothal, my father is in the Oubliette now.
Anger boils under my skin. “Then he can wear it,” I snap, in spite of our tapped chamber.
She frowns and drops the dress back on the coverlet. “So many other maidens, princess,” she reminds me, and steps into the bathing room.
Despite her cheeriness toward my predicament, I admit she’s probably correct in thinking my plight futile—that I should wrap myself in the elegant garment and shuffle off to marry the most sought-after man in Karm. She’s right, of course; it’s utterly futile.
Even if I somehow made it out of the castle undetected, and past the towering walls, where would I go? Not only would the farmhouse be the first place the Force would look, but I’m positive new residents have already moved in to take over the cloning procedure.
I have no home.
I stare at the white gown. Its shimmery skirt hangs over the edge of the bed. Today is my birthday, and I’m now of marrying age by Karm’s standards. Just over four weeks ago, Prince Sebastian announced his intention to find a maiden to wed. As he’s only nineteen, all assumed this was a move toward him taking the throne. A wife would mature him in the eyes of Karm.
The news had spread through the realm like wildfire. Or, how I imagine a wildfire would spread and consume if it were allowed. Every girl of age had gone into a frenzy. Hadley had talked about it nearly every day.
Not me. I watched my father wither.
The force field may imprison Karm, but Prince Sebastian has imprisoned me. I’m trapped in a prison within a prison.
After I’m dressed in a soft cream gown—much nicer than anything I’ve ever worn before—and Madity has brushed out my hair, she claps her hands together and toddles over to the com interface along the chamber wall.
“The princess is ready,” she says into the com, then turns toward me. “Sir Devlan will be here soon to escort you to breakfast with the prince.”
I nod absently, my brain steadily concocting schemes and escape scenarios.
During my shower, I noticed the glass-encased stall had a com, too. I was relieved to find there was no camera above it, like the Eye on my balcony. Afterward, I studied every inch of my chamber, looking for Eyes—the camera devices used by the Force to ensure our safety, or to spy on us, making sure we’re obedient citizens. There were none that I could find.
However, my chamber is bugged. Madity proved that when she wouldn’t allow me to speak anything against the prince. I’ll have to watch myself around him and make certain I don’t give away my intentions. That will be difficult, as merely looking upon his face will surely elicit the hatred I feel toward him and the Force.
Prince Sebastian may not have been the one to raise his hand to my father, but he commands the hands of those who did. He is every bit as vile to me as King Hart and the Force combined. He’s the reason I’m not with my father now—the reason my father is suffering and dying alone in the Oubliette.
“Princess?” Madity approaches me. “Are you ill?”
Alarmed, I right myself on the settee and clear my throat. “Nay, I’m not. But—I’m sorry. Should you be addressing me as princess? I’m not technically…yet.”
“The prince has instructed as much, my lady.” She bows her head.
Of course. “I’m curious about the prince.” I smile, sit forward. “Tell me, what is his manner?”
Madity wrings her hands. “Oh, I’ve known Prince Sebastian since he was a little boy.” She beams. “I admit, one might think him conceited”—she eyes me—“but he has a good heart. I think he will be a fine ruler and husband…in time.” She says this last part so low that the listening devices may not have picked it up.
I think on her words. Using the prince’s self-importance against him could work in my favor. Those who view themselves as so desirable never question whether others don’t, and he’s never met me. He has no reason to question whether today is not the happiest day of my life. To him, I’m simply another maiden of Karm who pines after him. Which does raise the question: Why me? Why, out of all the more suited noble ladies and courtiers, would he choose a country girl?
I shake the thought from my head. It’s unimportant. Finding a way to escape the Force and those who would lock me up at the slightest show of illness is my only concern. Another plan has been formulating, too. The Oubliette is somewhere on the court grounds. What if I could free my father?