Once An Eve Novel

sat in another, eating blueberry muffins and sipping coffee, a drink I’d yet to try. Rose was still in her silk pajamas, her blond hair pinned on top of her head, the day’s paper in hand. Neither of them looked up when we walked in.
    “So, these are the dresses,” Beatrice said, walking over to the stack. “They’re all from before the plague, but they were treated and preserved, so the fabric is still bright. You’ll see all the lace is intact. It’s quite remarkable.” She pulled the lid off a long box on the floor, revealing a white dress stuffed with paper. Its bodice was covered with tiny beads. I was supposed to be excited, I knew, but as my fingers touched the neckline, winding over the hard, puffy sleeves, I felt nothing but dread.
    “Do you have to do this now?” Rose said, setting down her paper. “We’re having breakfast.” She swished her coffee around before taking another sip.
    Beatrice let out a sigh. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but it’s the King’s orders. This must be done this morning, and I don’t suppose we can move these boxes now.”
    Clara rolled her eyes. She pushed her plate away from the edge of the table and stood, leveling her gaze at me before heading out the door. Her mother followed behind her. Even after they turned down the hall I could hear their angry whispers, Clara muttering something about my nerve.
    Beatrice pulled the first dress from the box. “That girl has wanted to be with Charles for years. Her maid says she’s not handling this well, carrying on and whatnot.”
    As Beatrice closed the heavy wooden doors I stripped down to my underwear, the air-conditioning raising goose bumps on my skin. I climbed into the dress and Beatrice zipped it up, spinning me around to face the mirror on the far wall. It plunged in a deep V in the front, sheer fabric with white beading clinging to my arms and chest. I pulled at the collar, nearly ripping it. “I can’t breathe,” I murmured.
    “There are more, love,” Beatrice said. She unzipped it and pulled another from its box. It was a puffy thing with a giant tail that followed behind me for nearly ten feet. I walked past the mirror, hating how it exposed the pale skin of my shoulders.
    “What does it matter?” I said sadly, as Beatrice packed it away. “Any will do.” Still, another was taken out. Another was put on. My thoughts drifted away from the room, from the Palace and the dresses and the incessant sound of zippers going up and down. Caleb must’ve reached a stop on the Trail by now. He would be back in communication with Moss soon. It wouldn’t be long before he would be able to tell people inside the walls what had happened.
    Beatrice buttoned up another dress. It was tight, the top of it squeezing my chest, suffocating me. “I’m sorry, Beatrice,” I whispered. “Can I please take a break?”
    “Don’t apologize.” Beatrice sighed, undoing the back of the dress. “Of course you can.” She unbuttoned it halfway and released me, handing me the simple jumper I’d worn downstairs. I slunk toward the table, collapsing in Clara’s vacant seat. “I’ll ask the kitchen for some ice water,” she said, disappearing out the door.
    The morning sun streamed through the window, hot on my skin. I imagined myself in the wedding procession, the shiny car that would wind through the City streets, the cheering crowd reaching beyond the metal barricades, banging against the glass overpass. In one week I would be Charles Harris’s wife. I would move out of my suite and into his. I would lie beside him every night, his hands reaching out for me in the darkness, his lips searching for mine.
    I was staring at the newspaper, half in the room, half somewhere else, when the boldface type came into focus— PRINCESS TEA . The same words Curtis had uttered were now right in front of me, printed on one of the paper’s back pages.
    The advertisement section was the one place where citizens could post messages to one another. There they offered to trade or sell items that they’d made, brought to, or acquired in the City, under the consent of the King. I ran my fingers over the bold font, knowing immediately what it was. The Trail often used coded messages to communicate. I remembered what Caleb had said at the prison, when he had leaned in and whispered in my ear. You’re not the only one in the paper . I thought of Curtis’s face in the dining room. His eyes had darted sideways as he spoke to me, his voice tense.