First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Childrenâs Books 2014 HarperCollins Childrenâs Books A division of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd, 77â85 Fulham Palace Road Hammersmith London W6 8JB
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FIRST EDITION
THE QUEEN Copyright © 2014 by Kiera Cass
Cover art © 2014 by Gustavo Marx/MergeLeft Reps, Inc.
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Source ISBN: 9780008129767
Ebook Edition © DECEMBER 2014 ISBN: 9780008129774 Version: 2014-11-25
TWO WEEKS IN, AND THIS was my fourth headache. How would I explain something like that to the prince? As if it wasnât bad enough that nearly every girl left was a Two. As if my maids werenât already slaving away to fix my weathered hands. At some point I would have to tell him about the waves of sickness that crashed without warning. Well, if he ever noticed me.
Queen Abby sat at the opposite end of the Womenâs Room, almost as if she was purposefully separating herself from the girls. By the slight chill that seemed to roll off her shoulders, I got the feeling that we werenât exactly welcome as far as she was concerned.
She extended her hand to a maid, who in turn filed her nails to perfection. But even in the middle of being pampered, the queen seemed irritated. I didnât understand, but I tried not to judge. Maybe a corner of my heart would be hardened, too, if Iâd lost a husband so young. It was lucky that Porter Schreave, her late husbandâs cousin, took her as his own, allowing her to keep the crown.
I surveyed the room, looking at the other girls. Gillian was a Four like me, but a proper one. Her parents were both chefs, and, based on her descriptions of our meals, I sensed sheâd take the same path. Leigh and Madison were studying to be veterinarians and visited the stables as often as they were permitted.
I knew that Nova was an actress and had throngs of adoring fans willing her onto the throne. Uma was a gymnast, and her petite frame was graceful, even in stillness. Several of the Twos here hadnât even chosen a profession yet. I guessed if someone paid my bills, fed me, and kept a roof over my head, I wouldnât worry about it either.
I rubbed my aching temple and felt the cracked skin and calluses drag across my forehead. I stopped and stared down at my battered hands.
He would never want me.
Closing my eyes, I pictured the first time Iâd met Prince Clarkson. I could remember the feeling of his strong hand as he shook mine. Thank goodness my maids had found lace gloves for me to wear, or I might have been sent home on the spot. He was composed, polite, and intelligent. All the things a prince should be.
I had realized over the past two weeks that he didnât smile too much. It seemed as if he was afraid of being judged for finding humor in things. But, my goodness, how his eyes lit up when he did. The dirty-blond hair, the faded blue eyes, the way he carried himself with such strength . . . he was perfect.
Sadly, I was not. But there had to be a way to get Prince Clarkson to notice me.
Dear Adele
I held the pen in the air for a minute, knowing this was pointless. Still.
Iâm settling in very well at the palace. Itâs pretty. Itâs bigger and better than pretty, but I donât know if I have the right words to describe it. Itâs a different kind of warm in Angeles than it is at home, too, but I donât know how to tell you about that either. Wouldnât it be wonderful if you could come feel and see and smell everything for yourself? And, yes, thereâs plenty to smell.
As far as the actual competition goes, I havenât spent a single second alone with the prince.
My head throbbed. I closed my eyes, breathing slowly. I ordered myself to focus.
Iâm sure youâve seen on TV that Prince Clarkson has sent home eight girls, all of them Fours and Fives and that one Six. There are two other Fours left, and a handful of Threes. I wonder if heâs expected to choose a Two. I think that would make sense, but itâs heartbreaking for me.