The next morning, I wake to the sound of birds chirping. When I open my eyes, I see three or four birds—doves, I think—perched atop one of the two wooden wardrobes in the room. They cock their heads, sizing me up, as I do them, as they peck and preen each other.

Talk about an over-the-top alarm clock. They really spare no luxuries here. I wonder how the doves got in here, and it makes me uneasy. Someone must have let them in during the night.

Did someone come in my room while I was asleep?

Nikolai?

I wouldn't put it past him after yesterday. I recall how he spoke to me in the courtroom, how cocky he was, and how he assumed his attention flattered me.

And I recall how his eyes undressed my body. And how I couldn't help mine from undressing his.

Despite everything.

God, I've gotta find a way out of here before this ball tonight, or I might do something I regret.

First things first, though. I'm absolutely filthy and I need a shower.

I get out of bed and walk toward the bathroom, my feet padding softly on the plush velvet carpet underfoot. Although there are no windows, soft morning light seems to shine down from the edges of the room, bathing it in a cool, natural glow. It must be recessed lighting, I decide.

The bathroom is enormous, and the shower is a full room carved from granite, not just a stall. The water is steaming hot, and there's a full spread of soaps and scrubs. I take a heavenly shower and dry myself with a thick blue towel embroidered with a heraldic eagle.

I dress myself in jeans and a plaid button-down shirt from my luggage. I instantly feel plain, and it makes me curious about the two wooden wardrobes in the room. When I peek inside, they're filled with beautiful, traditional North Molvanian robes and garments. Some are silk, others thick velvet. Under any other circumstance, I'd have loved to try them all on.

But right now, I have to find a way out of here.

Cleaned and dressed, I leave the bedroom and begin to wander the palace. It's a maze of indistinguishable black marble hallways. I lose my bearings before long. I pass few people, and when I do, they keep their heads down.

Eventually I come across a library. The walls are lined with bookshelves, and there's a computer terminal on a small wooden desk. I sit down at the computer. The screen looks familiar… but different. Curious, I double-click on the "Internet" icon.

A webpage comes up that says "Google.nm." It looks familiar, but when I search for "news," I only get hits from the North Molvanian state news agency. I type in "Wikipedia.com," but the computer redirects me to "Wikipedia.nm." It's nothing like what I expect. Instead of a free library of knowledge, the articles are all propaganda pieces that must've been written by government authorities. Most of the facts are blatant lies.

Okay, so they've got their own version of the Internet here. Guess that rules out the possibility of emailing an SOS message to my boss back home.

I close the browser, and as I swivel the chair around to get up, my heart skips a beat. In the library's doorway stands Gaius. He's wearing a suit that's just as clean and crisp as yesterday's, only this time it's black instead of blue.

Gaius crosses his arms. "The Crown Prince has ordered that you be made over before tonight's ball. Judging by your... simple appearance, we'll need to get started immediately this morning."

Man. At least Nikolai rescued me from the courtroom. This guy wouldn't piss in my mouth if I were dying of thirst.

"Whatever," I say. I need breakfast, though."

He looks down his nose at me. "I'll have something sent to the dressing room. You're to report there immediately."

"Fine." So much for concocting escape plans today. "Where is it?"

"Follow me," he says impatiently.

He walks briskly out of the library and down the hall, and I have to rush to keep up. He leads me to a messy dressing room. There's a woman of maybe 60 waiting for us. She's glamorous, like a model or celebrity. She's incredibly well put together. Not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle on her traditional dress. She must be the palace stylist or something.

"Marcha," Gaius says to her, "Get this one ready for a formal function tonight. With the Crown Prince."

Marcha takes one look at me and raises a carefully-sculpted eyebrow, as if she thinks it's a joke.

Damn. I may be plain, but I didn't think I was that much of a mess.

"Yes," she says, and Gaius departs the room.

"Sit," she says to me in a thick accent, pointing to a raised chair in front of a mirror.

I sit, and she begins to wipe down my face with cotton swabs dipped in a minty-smelling alcohol solution. Her hands move with the speed and grace of an expert. She's clearly been doing this for a long, long time.

I sense a kindred spirit.

"Is this your only job?" I ask.

"What you mean?" she replies, dabbing at my face. I squeeze my eyelids shut.

"Do you dress up all the prince's women for dates?"

She laughs softly. "Sometimes. But not seen likes of you before."

"What do you mean?"

"Prince has… many domestic and foreign guests. Beautiful, famous women. But till now no commoner girl."

I almost object to the words "commoner girl," but I think better of it. Instead, I ask her, "Did he say anything about me?"

"Dear," says Marcha, threading my eyebrows, "It be cold day in hell before I know of prince's love life."

"Love life?" I say, scoffing. "He doesn't love me. He's only met me once. He's an arrogant prick." I cringe immediately, wondering if I've made a big mistake by speaking out of line.

Marcha shrugs. "Not be so judgmental," she says. "Prince is very complex man."

"What do you mean?" I say. I've never seriously entertained the thought of Nikolai being anything other than a cruel playboy.

Marcha shakes her head. "Said too much already," she says. "Careful who talk to like that."

I swallow hard, and I say no more while she applies foundation to my face.

The ballroom is located deep within the royal palace. It's absolutely stunning. The walls and ceiling are made from ornate sculpted gold, the only room I've seen that's not black marble. Thirty or forty tables for the royal guests dot the perimeter of the room. The center is reserved for dancing.

When I arrive escorted by Marcha, guests are streaming in, socializing, and snagging hors d'oeuvres from waiters milling around the room.

I stand in the entrance and scan the room. That's when I see Nikolai. His figure is unmistakable. He stands at least six or eight inches taller than anyone else, and he's speaking to an enchanted audience of five or six men and women. He's regaling them with some tale or another, his hands motioning in the air, rich with expression. The circle of people around him laugh and smile.

Ugh. Why does he have to be so handsome?

This is like some kind of real-life scene from the movie Titanic. Only I'm not Kate from first class. I'm Leo, the dirty commoner from the bottom deck of the ship, mixed up in high society where I don't belong.

But at least I'm dressed to the nines in a stunning apple green dress and corset, my hair done up properly, my face stunningly made up. Marcha is a true expert. I can't help but feel a little smug.

Nikolai finishes his story and looks around the room. We make eye contact, and the side of his lip curls up as he cocks his head at me. I'm almost in a festive mood, but I refuse to give him the pleasure of knowing. I stifle my expression as he walks toward me.

"My little pet," he says to me as he approaches, "You are stunning."

"Right," I say, "Thanks to your slave, Marcha."

Nikolai cocks his head at me. "Do not demean my servants, Jenna," he says. "Marcha is not a slave. She is here of her own free will."

"Uh huh," I say, not believing a word he says. "Can we just get on with this?"

He smiles stiffly, and I sense that my attitude is getting to him a little bit. Good.

"Indeed," he says. "Let us sit."

He extends his elbow for me to take. I look at him with a confused expression, pretending I don't know what he wants.

He clearly expects obedience like he gets from all the other girls he invites here. But I'm not going to give it to him. I'm going to make this as hard as possible for him.

He leans forward and whispers sharply in my ear, "You will honor your end of this bargain."

I give him a sickly sweet fake smile, placing my hand in the crook of his arm, oozing sass.

I instantly feel the hard muscle beneath the fabric of his tuxedo. His forearm is powerful, bigger than most men's biceps.

I can understand why he has the charisma he does. He just projects strength, vitality, and... virility.

God. It's like my estrogen is working double time against me. I'm trying to will myself to be disgusted by him—and don't get me wrong, I'm very disgusted by him.

But at the same time, I can't help feeling some deep, animal attraction.

He leads me to an empty round table at the front of the room, bigger than all the others. We take our seats, me next to him. In the background, a string quartet plays a sonata.

Fancy shit. My parents would love this. They love to spend their money on all kinds of ridiculous expenses. Er, my money. From the trust fund that was supposed to pay for my college education.

Their bad habits have given me a disdain for extravagance. And this is most definitely extravagant.

Once Nikolai and I are sitting, he leans in to me and whispers, "Have you dined formally?"

"No," I whisper back. "Are you so out of touch that you think I've done this before? Normal people don't go to royal balls and banquets."

"Of course they don't," he hisses, his voice betraying frustration at my continued disobedience. "Follow my lead. Use the utensils I use. Eat the way I eat."

"Can't make any guarantees."

He makes a disgusted sound, but then sits up straight in his chair. "The King and Queen have arrived," he says.

I look over my shoulder and I see an older couple entering. They both wear crowns. The King is an older version of Nikolai, although not as tall. Their resemblance is striking, except for his eyes. Where Nikolai's eyes are sprightly and energetic, the King's eyes are still. Dead inside. There's something incredibly disconcerting about it.

The Queen doesn't look a whole lot better. She's old, white, and frail.

They look like a couple with a lot of weight hanging on their shoulders.

Two royal guards escort them to our table. Nikolai stands.

"My lieges," he says, bowing shallowly to them. He kisses each one on the cheek in turn. "Mother, father," he says, turning toward me, "Meet Jenna. Our special guest this evening."

I briefly think about standing up to show respect.

Then I think: forget that. I sit there with my ass on the chair. They're not my King and Queen. Not any more than Nikolai is my prince.

A small look of annoyance creeps onto Nikolai's face, and that almost does make me smile. Good.

"Nikolai," says the King, "Where did you find this little peach? At least Marcha managed to scrub the dirt from under her fingernails. Low standards even for you, son."

I'm flabbergasted at the King's rudeness. "Excuse me?" I blurt out.

Nikolai's cool exterior looks like it's about to crack. His perfect plans are crashing and burning.

He waves his hands as if to clear the air in the room.

"I find Jenna stunning, father," he says to the King.

"Well," the King says as one of the royal guards pulls out his chair, "That's charitable of you."

I can't believe how aggressive he's being. Shouldn't Nikolai stand up for me? I'm his guest of honor!

"Now, now" the Queen says. "Don't be such a sour old puss, Alexandr. She's cleaned up rather well for a peasant."

"Beatrice," says the King sharply, "Can you believe our son? Ever since Mona passed on, he's dallied with a most dreadful cadre of females."

There's no doubt I'm speaking out of line, but I just can't sit there and let someone attack me. "Listen," I say, "I'm not a dalliance. I'm not interested in your son. He forced me here. And people have manners where I'm from."

The King peers down his nose at me. "Good riddance, then. The royal bloodline is pure, not to be adulterated by the swill that runs through your veins."

I'm livid, and I envision launching over the table, breaking all the ivory dishes and tearing my beautiful dress as I choke out the King. But before I can snap, Nikolai tries to diffuse the situation.

"Father," he exclaims. "You'll not mention Mona again. And you'll show respect to the guests I bring to this table."

"Alexandr, please," says the Queen. "The sooner this is over, the better."

The waiters bring out a selection of breads, fruits, cheeses, and olives, an appetizer course. But I just want to get out of here. I no longer want to be in the presence of either Nikolai or his parents.

They're all royal pains in my ass.

I grab one of the many forks neatly laid out next to my plate, paying no mind to whether it's the appropriate one. I stab an olive with it, and pop it into my mouth, smacking my lips loudly.

"Good lord," exclaims Nikolai sitting next to me. "I told you—"

The King cuts him off. He clicks his mouth and shakes his head. "Truly a despicable sight," he says. "I can't bear to watch it any longer." He raises his hand in the air and snaps. It's loud. He's had a lot of practice bossing people around.

One of his royal guards steps up to him. "My King?"

"Escort me away from this ball," he says, giving me a dirty look. "Have a meal delivered to my private quarters. I can't bear to dine in the presence of animals."

The guard helps the King up, and as they begin to walk away the King looks over his shoulder. "Beatrice," he says. "Come!"

The Queen turns up her nose at us. Another royal guard rushes up to her, extending an arm. He helps her up, and they trail after the King.

I'm astonished at how rude the King and Queen were. They must absolutely hate me.

Nikolai sighs next to me. "Look what you've done."

"What?" I blurt out. "You think I started this?"

"Humph," he mutters. "Let's get out of here."

He stands. I don't dare do anything else but follow him out of the room. As we walk, I notice that the conversations at all the tables around us are hushed. All eyes are on me.

I scurry out of the room after Nikolai just as fast as I can, doing my best not to trip over my own dress.

Nikolai storms down the hallway in front of me, his long magnificent legs propelling him at a blistering pace. It's all I can do to keep up without breaking into a jog. But as I follow him, I wonder what my problem is. Why am I following him, anyway?

"Hey," I shout, holding my bunched-up dress in my hands, trying to avoid faceplanting.

He halts and pivots around fast. "What?"

"I'm going to my room," I say. "I've had enough."

"That won't do," he says smugly. "You'll accompany me to the smoking lounge and we'll salvage this evening over cocktails."

"No." I'm exasperated. "I do not want to spend more time with you."

"Why not?"

"This is all..." My voice trails off. I'm nearly at a loss for words. "This is absurd!"

"What is?"

"You bringing me here. What is this?" I demand. "Why are you playing this game with me?"

He sighs. "Jenna," he says, running a hand through his thick hair. "It's simple. At first I found you beautiful and I needed a date. But now, I find you positively intriguing."

I fold my arms over my chest. "You don't know anything about me. I think you just want me to replace your dead girlfriend."

He shakes his head. "No."

"Then what?"

"I can't recall the last time a woman denied me. It only increases my curiosity."

"Jesus," I say, "In America, we have this concept that no means no. You should learn it."

He runs his hand through his hair again and he looks so damn handsome doing it.

"This is why you intrigue me. Never before has a woman declined a life with me at this palace. In this glorious country. I can give you anything you like. You will never be left wanting."

I briefly think of my huge student loans. Then I think: no way. I don't need this arrogant prick to help me pay my way through life.

"Glorious country?" I say. "Glorious, like the glorious justice in that courtroom? Glorious like the fake Internet?"

"Fake Internet?"

"Yes. You're scared that people will read the real Wikipedia and discover your abuses."

"First," he says, "I know not what you mean 'fake Internet.' The Internet is an invention of the North Molvanian Military Research Council. Second, our people eat well. Beef, pork, lamb, sugar pastries. And the camps that you denigrate, they are perfectly humane and legitimate prisons for criminals."

I'm completely taken aback, but I sense that he's BSing me. "Are you joking?" I say. "Your people subsist on rice and pickled cabbage while you feast. And don't get me started on the work camps."

He looks genuinely offended and turns up his nose. "Anything you may perceive as an 'abuse' is my father's doing. Not mine. I administer the capital city of Caprion. The rest of the country is outside my purview until I take the throne next year."

"Caprion is the only affluent city in North Molvania. The rest of the country lives in squalor. How can you just ignore that?"

He pauses for a moment, and I think I see a flicker of emotion cross his face. Was that… sadness?

"Listen," he says, lowering his voice. "I know of what you speak. And I do not approve. But I am in no position to change it."

The truth finally comes out.

"Then you're a coward."

He grabs my arm. I shrink back instinctively, but his touch isn't unpleasant. He doesn't hurt me and his touch is surprisingly warm, actually. It sends an electric current through my body. "Do you think I would stand by and allow such abuses if I had a choice? My father would behead me if I challenged him. You saw how he is."

The feeling of Nikolai's hand on my arm is making it hard to speak. In spite of myself, it's all I can really think about.

"Whatever. I just want to see Ashley and then get out of here."

"You wish to leave the country?"

"Yes!" I exclaim. "I've wanted that all along."

He sighs. "Very well. If you truly despise me so, I shall grant you a full pardon and send you home. I shall mourn the departure of your beauty and strength. Come."

He turns down the hall and I follow, my dress dragging behind me. "Where are we going?"

"To visit your friend."

"She's here?"

"Yes," he says. "In the east wing."

He leads me through the palace to a residential wing, and knocks on one of the doors with the back of his hand.

The door opens, and there's Ashley, looking right at me.

"Ashley!" I cry, rushing around Nikolai. I brush up against him as I pass, and despite all my conflicting feelings about him, it sends a tingle through my body.

I hug Ashley. "What happened?"

"Oh my gosh," she says, and it sounds like she's about to break into tears. "I was so scared when they took us, Jen, I cracked. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, Ash," I say. "They knew even before we entered the country. It's not your fault."

"How did they know?"

I shake my head. "I don't know, but we're gonna get out of here."

I guess I hate Nikolai a little less now that he let me see Ashley. 

The next day, I awaken to the doves which are somehow in my room again. I immediately go hunt down Nikolai, who I find in the library. There's a work crew hanging up an oil painting, and he's supervising the job. I swear I've seen the painting before, and then it hits me—it's because it was stolen about six months back. EDGE ran a story on it. I shake my head. Of course a stolen painting would end up in the North Molvanian palace. Where else?

"I'm ready to leave," I say to Nikolai.

His eyes wander over me. He's wearing khakis and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His forearms are thick and taut, the veins well-defined, the hair on his arms coarse and thick. He looks like he hasn't shaved this morning. When he's not wearing ridiculous royal garb, he looks surprisingly normal. And dare I say… sexy.

"You are free to do so. Please coordinate with Gaius." He pauses for a few seconds, then reaches out and touches my arm lightly. The skin-on-skin contact sends goosebumps down my spine. "But I would like to ask you something first."

I'm almost afraid to find out what it is. "Okay."

"I would like for you to stay. To continue our last conversation."

"Is that an order?" His hand lingers on my arm, and I breathe shallowly and fast.

"No. It is a request."

"You want to discuss the condition of your country?"

"Yes," he says. "And, there is something else I want."

He lets his fingers run down the length of my forearm, and the sensation is shockingly intense.

"What's that?" I ask.

"Come closer."

I take a half-step closer to him, and then he reaches out, puts a hand around the back of my head, and pulls me in for a kiss.

I'm completely taken aback, and my first instinct is to pull away. But the kiss tastes better than I could have imagined. It's like sugar and oranges.

I can't believe I'm standing here kissing the Crown Prince Nikolai. I hate him.

But maybe I can make a difference for the people here. Maybe I can get through to him and make him change his ways.

At least, that's the excuse I tell myself when I kiss him back.