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“You can't punish him,” I continued. “You have to call off the search. It was self-defense. They were going to kill him.”

The King turned, his head cocked slightly to one side. “And what if they did? Who is he to you? This Caleb person, the one you sent the message to that night.”

I stepped back at the sound of his name, knowing that I had revealed too much. “I didn't know him well.” My voice was unsteady. “He acted as my guide over the mountain.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “I don't care what he told you, Genevieve. Strays can be incredibly manipulative. They're known for taking advantage of people in the wild.” He pointed out over the horizon, to where the mountains touched the sky. “There's a whole ring of them who trade women just like you. Any girl they can find.”

I wiped the sweat from my forehead, remembering Fletcher, that truck, the metal bars that seared my skin. There was truth to what he said, but if it hadn't been for the King none of us would've been on the run in the first place. There would've been nothing to escape from. “Is that any better than what you've done? What's the alternative? Fill our heads with lies and send us off to some building to have children we'll never see grow up, never get to hold or feed or love?”

“I made choices,” he said, his face suddenly flushed. He glanced back at the building, looking at the soldiers stationed at the metal scopes. Then he resumed, his voice much lower than before. “You've seen only a fraction of this world, and yet you stand in judgment. I was the one who made the difficult decisions.” He pressed his finger to his chest. “You don't understand, Genevieve. The Strays who live in the wild, even some people inside these walls, they speak about what I haven't done. What I could've done, how dare I choose this or that for the people of The New America. But this world is not the same anymore. Riots broke out everywhere. The Northwest was threatened with floods. Hundreds of acres in the South went up in flames. Those who did survive the plague died when the fires ripped through. They say they wanted choices—but there were no choices. I did what I had to do so people could survive.”

He guided me to the edge of the platform, the wind whipping through our hair. “We discovered we could use the Hoover Dam and Lake Mead in the restoration. We had to protect ourselves from other recovering countries that might see us as vulnerable. We made the decision to rebuild here, using power from the dam.” He pointed beyond the main strip. “A hospital was restored within the first two years. A school, three office buildings, and enough housing for a hundred thousand people. The hotels were converted into apartments. The golf courses were turned into vegetable gardens, three factory farms went up the following year. People no longer have to worry about animal attacks or gang raids. If anyone wants to attack the City, they'll have to trek through the desert for days, then get past the wall. And every day, improvements are being made. Charles Harris, our Head of Development, has been restoring restaurants and shops and museums, bringing all the life back to this country.”

I stepped away from him. It didn't matter how much good he'd done or how many buildings had risen from the dust. His men were the same men who'd hunted me.

“We were able to restore an oil well and refinery.” He followed me, leaning down to look into my face. “Do you have any idea what that means?”

“And who works at these refineries?” I shot back, thinking of Caleb and all the boys in the dugout. “Who did the construction on those hotels? You've been using slaves.”

The King shook his head. “They've been given housing and food in exchange for their work. Do you think anyone would've taken those children into their homes? People could barely feed their own families. We've given them a purpose, a place in history. There's no progress without sacrifice.”

“Why do you get to decide who to sacrifice? No one gave my friends a choice.”

He leaned in so close I could see the flecks of blue inside his gray irises. “The race is on now. Nearly every country in the world was affected by the plague, and they're all trying to rebuild and recover as quickly as possible. Everyone's wondering who will be the next superpower.” He kept staring at me, refusing to look away. “I decide because this country's future—because our lives—depend on it.”

“There had to have been another way,” I tried. “You forced everyone—”

“People weren't having children after the plague,” he said, a low laugh escaping his lips. “I could've spoken about the population decline, statistics, appealed to their reason, offered incentives. No one wanted to raise a child in this world. People were just trying to survive, just trying to take care of their own. Yes, that's changing now, little by little. Couples are having children again. But this country couldn't afford to wait. We needed new housing, a capital, a thriving population, and we needed it immediately.”

I stared at the sun-bleached buildings before me, their facades faded to creamy pastels—blues, greens, and pinks. It was easy to see what had been restored on the main strip: The colors were brighter, the glass gleaming in the midday light. The paved roads were cleared of debris, weeds, and sand. Then there was the stretch of land out by the wall, so different from everywhere else. Desolate buildings were half covered in sand, their roofs caved in. Signs had fallen over. Rotted palm trees littered the street. In the farmlands, cows, shifting ever so slightly in their tight-packed pens, made the ground look like a black, undulating mass. Rusted shells of cars were lined up in an empty parking lot. From high above, the improvements were clear—buildings were either restored, or sand-battered and broken. The King had either saved them, or they'd been left to rot.

“I can't forgive you for what you've done. My friends are still prisoners. Your soldiers killed good people when they hunted me; they didn't even flinch when they shot them.” I thought of Marjorie and Otis, who had given us shelter along the Trail, hiding us in their cellar before they were killed.

The King turned back to the tower. “In the wild, the soldiers' first priority is to protect themselves. I'm not justifying it—I won't. But they've learned from experience that encounters with Strays can be deadly.” He let out a deep breath and pulled at the collar of his shirt. “I don't expect you to understand, Genevieve. But I found you because you're my family. I want to know you. I want this City to recognize you as my daughter.”

Family
. I turned the word over in my mind. Isn't that what I'd always wanted, too? Pip and I had lain awake at night, talking about what it would be like to be sisters, growing up in the world before the plague, in some normal house on some normal street. She'd remembered a brother, two years older, who had carried her on his back through the woods. I'd wished for that, hoped and wanted it in those last days, alone with my mother in that house. I'd craved someone there beside me, to sit with me by her door, listening to the quiet rustling of her sheets, someone to help me endure the sound of those horrible, hacking coughs. But now that I had family I didn't want it anymore—not like this. Not the King. “I don't know if I can do that,” I said.

He rested a hand on my shoulder. He was so close I could see the thin dusting of sand on his suit. “We've planned a parade for tomorrow,” he said finally. “It's time the people know you're here, time that you take your place as Princess of The New America. Will you consider joining us?”

“It doesn't sound like I have a choice,” I said. He didn't answer. My stomach quaked. Arden was in some cold room and I was here, high above the City, the King's daughter, discussing a parade. “You have to release my friends,” I said. “Arden, Pip, and Ruby are still in that School. You have to call off the search for Caleb. I was the one—”

“We can't discuss this anymore,” the King said, his voice low. He turned back to the building, where a soldier was staring through the metal scope at something beyond us. “Two soldiers are dead. Someone needs to be held responsible.” He narrowed his eyes at me, as if to say,
And it won't be you
.

“At least tell me you'll release my friends. Promise me that.”

Slowly, his expression softened. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder. We stood there looking out at the City below. I didn't pull away. Instead, I let him believe that we were one, the same, united side by side. “I understand where you're coming from. Let's enjoy the parade tomorrow, give ourselves some time. I promise I'll consider it.”

THE BLACK CONVERTIBLE CREPT ALONG THE MAIN ROAD
, speeding up, then stopping, like a frightened cockroach. I rode in back with Beatrice, the King in the car ahead of us. There were nearly half a million people in the City, and it seemed as if all of them had turned out for the parade. They stood, hands outstretched over the barricades that lined the street, cheering and waving. A sign hung down the side of one building,
WELCOME, PRINCESS GENEVIEVE
painted in tall red letters.

We rolled forward. The Palace was just ahead, the cluster of giant white buildings a hundred yards away. A marble pedestal was set up in front of the fountains. A wooden podium faced out over the largest crowd of all, gathered on the street just in front of it. I couldn't stop thinking of Caleb, of the troops tracking him through the wild. I hadn't slept. My head ached, a dull, constant pain.

“Princess! Princess! Over here!” a girl cried. She couldn't have been much older than me, her hair a tangle of black curls. She bounced up and down on her heels. But I looked right past her, at the man hovering over her shoulder. His hair was so greasy it stuck to his forehead, his chin rough from days without shaving.

The car idled, waiting for the King to exit his vehicle in front of the Palace steps. The man pushed through the crowd. I gripped the seat, suddenly looking for the soldiers who were stationed along the parade route, guns in their hands. The nearest one was five feet behind me, his eyes locked on the King's vehicle. The man pressed closer.

Then his hand was up, hurling a large gray rock through the air. Time slowed. I saw it coming toward me in a clear arc. But before it reached me the car lurched forward. The rock whizzed behind my back and ricocheted off the far barricade, panicking the crowd.

“He threw it at her!” a heavyset woman with a blue scarf yelled to the soldier, as the rock skidded across the pavement, settling by the curb. “That man threw a rock at the Princess!” She pointed to the man across the street. He was already pushing into the crowd, away from the Palace, toward the vast stretches of land beyond the City center.

“Are you all right?” A soldier ran at the car, resting his hand on the door. Two more took off after the man.

“Yes,” I said, my breath short. Three soldiers surrounded the car as we moved closer to the Palace. “Who was he?” I asked Beatrice, scanning the crowd for more angry faces.

“The King has made the City a great place,” Beatrice said, smiling at the soldiers who now walked beside the car. “But there are still some who are unhappy,” she said, her voice much lower. “Very unhappy.”

One of the soldiers opened the door of the car, letting us out in front of the giant marble stairs. The screaming crowd drowned out my thoughts. People leaned over the barricades, their hands reaching out for me.

Beatrice stooped to grab the train of the red evening gown I wore, and I kneeled beside her, pretending to adjust my shoe. “What do you mean?” I asked, remembering what the King had said about the people who questioned his choices. Her eyes darted up to a soldier standing just a few feet away, waiting to escort me to my seat. “Are you unhappy here?” I whispered.

Beatrice let out an uncomfortable laugh, her eyes returning to the soldier. “The people are waiting for you, Princess,” she said. “We should go.” In one swift motion she stood, fluffing the train of the dress.

I climbed the stairs, the soldiers surrounding me. The crowd fell silent. The midday sun was scorching. The King stood to greet me, pressing his thin lips once against each cheek. Sergeant Stark sat beside him. He'd traded his uniform for a dark green suit, medals and badges marking its front. Beside him was a short, plump man, his bald spot pink and sweaty from the sun. I sat down in the empty seat next to him as the King took his place at the podium.

“Citizens of The New America. We have come together on this glorious day to celebrate my daughter, Princess Genevieve.” He gestured to me and the people cheered, their applause echoing off the giant stone buildings. I looked straight ahead, taking in the crowd, which expanded across the City sidewalks and into alleyways. Spectators hung out of the top floors of apartment buildings. Others stood on the overpass, their palms against the glass.

“Twelve years she was inside one of our prestigious Schools, until she was discovered and returned to me. While Genevieve was there, she excelled in every subject, learned to play the piano and paint, and enjoyed the security of the guarded compound. She, like so many of the School's students, received an unparalleled education. The Teachers spoke of her commitment to her studies and her boundless enthusiasm, describing it as the very spirit on which our nation was built so many years ago, and on which it has now been rebuilt.

“This is all a testament to the success of our new education system, and a tribute to our Head of Education, Horace Jackson.” The short man bowed his head, taking in the burst of applause. I looked at him in disgust, his shoulder just inches from mine. Sweat ran down the sides of his head and caught in the thin ring of gray hair.