Kimberly
I was shaking.
I could feel the coolness of the stone floor beneath me as they dragged me. The chains made it hard to move, but I couldn't let that stop me. The realization of what had just happened, the public display, the queen's threat, the king's intervention, hadn't fully settled. Everything felt surreal, like a nightmare I couldn't wake up from.
But as the guards led us through a long hallway, fear began to consume me.
What had I gotten myself into?
The palace wasn't like anything I had imagined. The walls shimmered with gold and deep red accents, and the grandeur of it all seemed designed to suffocate anyone who wasn't royalty. It was a world built for the rich, the powerful, and the untouchable. But that wasn't me. I was just a girl from a small town, thrust into this chaotic world by something as absurd as a 'compatibility test.'
"Where are we going?" I asked, my voice coming out weaker than I intended.
One of the guards turned to glance at me. "To the grooming chambers. You will be prepared for your... meeting."
Meeting? What meeting? I couldn't even wrap my head around it. A 'meeting' with the prince, perhaps? The man whose fate had been tied to us in a way I had no control over? The man who was still probably trying to figure out how to deal with his queen mother's wrath?
The halls seemed endless, and the tension between the guards, me, and Patricia was heavy. I couldn't help but look over at Patricia, who was walking beside me, her face a mixture of defiance and confusion. She wasn't talking, not that I expected her to. She was probably as lost in this whole mess as I was.
We entered a room with soft, warm lighting. There were mirrors lining the walls and plush, velvety chairs placed around a large central table. The scent of lavender filled the air, trying to calm the otherwise tense atmosphere. A few women in royal uniforms were waiting for us, their faces unreadable.
One of them spoke first, her voice calm and professional. "Please, sit. We'll get started immediately."
I hesitated before lowering myself into one of the chairs. Patricia did the same, though she seemed much more at ease than I felt. The women began to approach, already assessing us with their eyes going round us. I wanted to protest, to demand to know what the hell was going on, but I couldn't find my voice. Not yet.
"You're both quite... fortunate," one of them said, her lips curling into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "His Majesty doesn't often allow such... surprises to go unpunished." She gestured toward the seat next to Patricia, where a woman began brushing out her hair, pulling it back into a neat, tight ponytail. "But it seems he's been... lenient with you."
"Lenient?" Patricia scoffed. "Is that what you're calling it? I'd say 'screwed over' would be more accurate."
"Patricia," I whispered, but she ignored me, her eyes burning with something I couldn't quite place. She was probably angry.
They worked in silence for a while, focusing on our appearances. The pressure of their hands on my face felt like an assault. I wanted to scrub away the foundation, the mascara, the lip gloss they kept layering on. I didn't need this any of it. I didn't need to look like a doll for some rich man to inspect.
But what other choice did I have? If I fought, they'd just drag me into the next room, tie me up again, and the queen would make her move. Death was too close. I couldn't afford to make a scene. I needed to survive, to escape, to do something.
"Lets hope we both survive this," a voice answered behind me.
I turned slightly to catch Patricia's reflection in the mirror. She was seated just across the room, also surrounded by attendants. Her thick curls were being straightened with something that looked like it belonged in a science lab. Her face was tight with fury.
"All this is funny," I said. "They chained us. In front of everyone. Then tried to kill us."
She smirked bitterly. "And now they want us to look pretty for our new prince? It's giving 'royal delusion.'"
"Stay still," one of the attendants said to me firmly, pinning my chin in place with two fingers. I flinched.
"They're not gentle," I whispered.
"They're not meant to be," Patricia replied, louder this time. "They're not here for our comfort. They're here to cover up the scandal we apparently are."
One of the stylists cleared her throat awkwardly. "You'll meet Prince Christopher soon. He has requested you both be well-presented before he arrives."
"Of course," Patricia said with mock sweetness. "He wouldn't want his accidental matches looking like rams."
"Pat..."
"I'm fine," she said immediately. "I just want this over with."
I didn't believe her. Not really. She was trembling slightly. We both were. The adrenaline from earlier still hadn't drained out. I kept seeing the queen's face, the cold fire in her eyes. Kill them, she'd said. Not send them away. Not imprison them. Kill. That kind of hatred wasn't something you forgot.
"You know," I said quietly, "I think we're still in danger."
Patricia blinked at me. "Obviously."
"No, I mean… if this system means so much to them, and we're the mistake? Then what stops her from trying again? Off the books?"
Patricia didn't answer immediately. Then she looked down and muttered, "Nothing. Except the king."
That chilled me more than I expected.
They finished with my hair and rounded up the makeup.
"You look regal," one stylist said, stepping back.
I looked into the mirror and didn't recognize myself. My features were the same, but everything else...this version of Kimberly wasn't me. She was a fantasy character made for the sake of spectacle.
Patricia had also been transformed. Her green eyes popped under smoky shadows, her lips a bold red that screamed defiance. She looked like a queen born of fire.
"You look… intense," I said.
"Good. If they're going to parade me, I want them to know I'm not afraid."
I admired her bravery. I was shaking inside, but she wore her fear like a crown.
Moments later, a guard knocked and entered. "Ladies. You're to come with me. Prince Christopher awaits."
We stood, then Patricia walked first. I followed, my heels wobbling slightly as I adjusted to the tightness of the dress.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
The guard didn't answer.
We were led down a corridor with dark wooden walls and golden lighting. It smelled of power. Old, expensive power. The kind that decided your life over a dinner plate.
"B Block," Patricia whispered. "They mentioned it before. I think it's a private wing."
The guard stopped in front of a heavy door, knocked twice, then opened it and motioned for us to enter.
There he was. Christopher was standing by the window. He looked different now less royal, more real. He had removed his formal robe and stood in a dark button-down shirt and trouser, looking out like he was questioning the whole world.
"Sir, here are the ladies."
When he turned, his eyes landed on me first, then Patricia and stayed there. It was obvious who had caught his attention more.