Once An Eve Novel

and forth. I’d been told Amelda Wentworth was a prominent widow in the City, one of the original founders who had given the King access to her dead husband’s assets, including his trucking company. She’d been like an aunt to Charles, watching him since he was a teenager, when he had first arrived in the City.
    “And you, Your Royal Highness,” she added, curtsying. “What a thrill this must be for you. One day you are living in the Schools and the next you’re here, inside the City walls. Princess Genevieve.” She was standing beside us, turning every few moments to glance around the crowded party.
    We were in the penthouse of Gregor Sparks, one of the men who’d donated resources after the plague. The three-story apartment at the top of the Cosmopolitan building had a waterfall in the center of the room and recovered Matisse paintings on the walls. It was yet another engagement party, this one with delicate crackers dabbed with cheese and a full roast pig laid out on a silver platter. It was larger than the ones we had at School ceremonies, its haunches spread wide as a worker cut into its tender flesh.
    “It’s been a dream,” I said, my smile tight as I took in her curls, stiff with spray, and the lipstick crusted in the corners of her mouth.
    Some guests reclined on Gregor’s long, S-shaped couch, their happy chatter filling the air. The women all wore gowns and silk shawls, while the men donned starched shirts, ties, and buttoned vests. It was a different world than the one beyond the wall, and at times like these, surrounded by the smells of mulled cider and lamb, the wild felt far away, another planet in some far-off galaxy.
    “Baby lamb chop?” a waiter asked, presenting me with a silver tray.
    I picked up a piece of the pink meat by the bone and brought it to my mouth, the sharp smell of mint stinging my nostrils. As I held it between my forefinger and thumb, a memory rose up: Pip and I on the School lawn, hovering over the gray mound we’d discovered in the bushes. A mound of fur, its tail hiding the rest of its body. Pip crept toward it, determined to pick it up, to figure out if it was sick or dead. She reached down and pinched its foot, then pulled, and the rotted flesh came loose. We started screaming, darting out of the bushes, but she had held it just one second—the thin, bloody bone.
    Bile rose in the back of my throat. I could still hear Pip’s scream. I dropped the lamb chop on the platter and stepped away.
    “What is it?” Charles asked, his hand still on the small of my back.
    “I’m feeling sick,” I said, ducking away from him. I pressed a napkin to my forehead and lips, trying to calm myself. I had dreamed of her last night. Pip in those metal beds, Ruby beside her, then Arden. Another girl had appeared, a younger girl, her features faint in the haze of the dream. When are you coming back? Pip had asked, her stomach protruding nearly two feet, breasts swollen and red hair sticking to her forehead. You’ve forgotten about us .
    “Would you like a drink?” Charles asked. “Water maybe?” He signaled to a server in the corner.
    “Just space,” I said, stepping away. “Give me one minute.” I held up a finger. Then I ducked out of the crowded room, not stopping until I was down the hall, beyond the kitchen, my back resting against the wall.
    I stayed there until my breath slowed. I had promised Beatrice. I’d promised her that I would help her find her daughter, and yet in the days that had passed I’d stood stupidly by Charles’s side as he opened the zoo in the old Grand hotel. I’d attended parties and galas and hosted a brunch for the wives of the Elite.
    “Are you all right, Princess?” Mrs. Lemoyne asked as she passed on the way to the bathroom. “You look ill.” She was a mousy woman with rigid manners, always reprimanding someone for making some perceived misstep.
    I patted my forehead with my napkin. “Yes, Grace, thank you. Just needed a breath.”
    “You should go by the window then,” she urged. “Over there.” She directed me into the formal dining room, where a server was hunched over the table, getting ready to serve the evening tea. Another was kneeling by a china cabinet, pulling cups and saucers from a shelf. Thankfully, the window was open, the cool night air rippling the curtains.
    I stepped into the room, the murmurs of the party still audible down the hall. “I hope you don’t mind,” I said as I passed the man at the table.