Jet Cho swings, and when the bloodied knuckles of his fist connect with Pell’s jaw, he can hear the bone crack.
Pell crashes to the dust, narrowly missing a spiny cactus. His massive body quakes the earth, and Jet feels the tiny oscillations through the soles of his shoes. Pell’s two thugs clutch bloody noses with both hands, scramble to their feet, and scurry down the road that leads back to town.
Jet sucks in a breath, surprised to feel the burn in his lungs, and watches Pell through narrowed eyes as he groans. “I know I said it before,” Jet snaps after a long pause, “but fuck you.”
“Everything I said is true!” Pell grunts, rolling to his stomach. He spits a mouthful of red dirt from his lips. “Your brother is a criminal. He deserves to die.”
Jet sees red, his sore hands tensing into fists once more.
“Jet!”
The voice stops him, familiar and stern. He turns to see Evie, out of breath, skin gleaming with sweat in the brilliance of the sunset. She’s not smiling, full lips drawn into a distinctive frown. Evie reaches out.
“Jet. We’re going home.”
Numb, he takes her hand.
“Lucky little sister is here to save you, Jet!” Pell calls after them, but Jet’s head buzzes and he can’t feel his fingers. “Her face is the only reason your family isn’t complete trash!”
Jet and Evie walk along the red path in silence, both reluctant to speak. He glances at her every so often, nervous, anxious.
Evie’s purple-calla-lily hair is twisted atop her crown to keep it out of her face. The gleam of sweat on her warm, umber skin begins to dull as it evaporates in the heat. She keeps her doe-like eyes fixed on the road, and refuses to spare him a glance. Jet knows the boys their age think Evie is beautiful. He’s had to kick more than a few asses since Evie grew up, and he’s always wary of men like Pell, who throw lewd comments around like they actually have a chance.
Jet’s thoughts spiral as they walk. If the town wasn’t already intimately aware of their family business due to the misconduct of their mother and the news of their brother, no one would guess Evie is his sister. Sometimes he can see the resemblance in their strong jaws or the hue of their eyes, but more often than not it slips through the cracks.
They were always close.
The last year only made them closer.
“They’ve canceled the trial, Jet.”
His feet stop dead, kicking up a cloud of red dust around their ankles. Their house isn’t far now, the sparse quiet of Velodale suburbia shimmering like a mirage on the skyline. Several mud-splattered trucks pass on the road, heading deeper into the desert. They won’t make it to the next city before morning.
“So when did they move it to?”
“They haven’t moved it.”
His mouth is dry, head swimming, throat on fire. “The execution is in six months.”
She turns her face away. “We’re out of options. I’m angry, too. Mom still hasn’t come home, I don’t think she even knows.”
“It’s been on the news for a year, everyone from here to the Crown City knows.”
“She doesn’t care, then. No one does—no one has listened to us.”
Jet doesn’t know what else to do, he’s so lost. “Nikhil is not a murderer.”
His little sister puts a hand on his arm, gentle, tender. “I know that, Jet. You know that. But we’re the only ones.”
The rest of the walk to their small home is silent, filled only with the song of crickets and the scurrying claws of desert critters against loose earth. The stars illuminate in the deepening blue sky, and Jet wants to sleep.
The radio is still on when they return, crackling static, and the front door is ajar. Jet glances at Evie, a brow raised. She shrugs.
“I was in a bit of a hurry to rescue you from a night at the guard’s office.”
He smiles, but then his eyes catch the broken window in the kitchen. Glass is scattered over the tile. He exhales sharply. “Pell’s thugs—you’d think a broken nose would teach them not to mess with us.”
Evie opens her mouth to respond, but pauses, looking to the warbling radio as the announcer cuts into the song.
“Sis? Should I beat them up more?”
“Hush,” she says. “I was listening to the coronation before I had to drag your ass back here. It’s starting soon, and I don’t want to miss the speech.”
Jet stills as the announcement progresses.
“Today, Prince Viridian Gaelen X will be crowned as the King of Gaelenheim. Following the death of King Thulian, Prince Viridian has refused to comment, despite reports that the prince was sighted in Bergula at the time of the king’s passing. There are also unconfirmed reports of the prince’s iconic royal car having crashed on a Bergula roadway.”
Jet snorts, and the radio continues.
“Following previous outbursts and media scandals, experts on the royal family say that an activity such as street racing would not be out of character for Prince Viridian, some even suggesting that he may have engaged in this highly illegal activity even after being informed of his father’s death. Prince Viridian’s public relations manager has offered no comment on our inquiries.”
“The Big Bratty Prince is back at it again,” Jet says, shutting the front door behind Evie. He searches the cabinets for a sheet to cover the shattered window.
“His father died, Jet. He’s being made King of Gaelenheim before he’s even twenty-two. He’ll grow up.”
“Wouldn’t hold your breath about it, if I was you.”
The announcer chimes in again.
“The coronation will take place at eleven in the evening. Prince Viridian has declined to give the traditional speech, and instead will retire after the festivities.”
“Oh, great,” Evie complains. “Turn it off, Jet—I only wanted to hear how he sounds live.”
Jet puts down the sheet he’s found and reaches for the knob.
“The week following the coronation will be busy for the newly crowned king, as the time-honored search for Queen Consort will begin.”
Jet’s fingers freeze centimeters from the radio.
“Queen Dowager Primrose will help to oversee the selection process, having been chosen from thousands of applicants at the time of King Thulian’s reign. The final decision, ultimately, will come down to the prince—”
Jet spins on his heel, and Evie blinks. “My god, what is it?”
He points to the radio. “The queen selection.”
“What about it?”
“Sis,” Jet breathes, “the trial was canceled. Do you remember how much time we spent poring over the laws in case something like this happened? Do you know what the only thing that can save Nikhil is?”
Evie’s eyes widen. “You don’t mean... Not a royal pardon?”
“Why wouldn’t he pardon his own wife’s brother?”
“Jet, if they know Nikhil is my brother, they won’t let me anywhere near him.”
“Who would know?” he continues, a hitch in his voice, in his mind, in his heart. “We all look different. We have different last names, different fathers.”
He can see the gears turning, processing the idea, but she shakes her head. “I’m a nobody. We live in a ghost town, in Velodale! There’s bound to be hundreds of prettier girls from Bergula, o-or Holiwreath...”
He takes her slim shoulders, looks her dead in the eyes. “Evie Maganti. You’re the prettiest girl in Gaelenheim. No, the prettiest girl in the world. There’s no way that royal brat won’t fall in love with you.”
She’s thinking again, eyes darting back and forth, writing invisible words. “It might work.”
“You can’t tell anyone who you are,” he cautions. “Once he’s chosen you as his queen, then you can mention Nikhil. If anyone knows before that, they’ll kick you out before you can blink.”
“And then what? I’ll be queen?”
Jet smiles, but it’s weak, the shocking news of the canceled trial still tingling in his bones. “It’s a step up from working at the diner, don’t you think?”
“I’ll be giving up my life,” she continues. “I’ll never be able to leave the Crown City. They’ll expect me to have heirs—and what happens if he chooses me and refuses to help Nikhil?”
Jet hates listening to news on Viridian Gaelen; he’s the opposite of what Jet thinks a person should be. It’s no secret that he’s stubborn, selfish, and taciturn when the situation doesn’t benefit himself. There’s a reason they call him the Big Bratty Prince.
Jet hasn’t considered of any of this. Even if they succeed, Evie will be trapped in a life she never wanted. And if the prince refuses to help them, then what? Can Jet stand to lose two siblings? He swallows.
“I’m sorry, sis. Just forget about this—we’ll find another way.”
“I’ll do it.”
He stares. “Evie?”
“I love Nikhil as much as you do, Jet. If being made queen is what it takes to save our brother, I would live a thousand lifetimes in the Crown City.”
Evie’s lips split into a smile, and he’s taken aback by the utter conviction in her face, not even a hint of insecurity or fear. Evie never says anything she doesn’t mean. Jet takes her hand.
“I’m coming with you. I’ll get a job washing dishes or something—anything. I can watch your competition, help you stand out.”
“They can’t know we’re related, either,” she tells him, kind but serious.
Jet laughs, feeling the warm wave of hope envelope him for the first time in a year. “Who would even guess? Honestly, Evie, as long as I don’t have to deal with your future husband, this whole thing will feel like a vacation.”
Comments (18)
See all