Her words confuse me. My eyes volley between her and the princess, who squirms and fusses with the ruffles of her dress.
“Nothing about this year has been easy, Camellia. I thought my eldest, Princess Charlotte, would have woken by now. I thought my cabinet would have passed legislation to help make beauty treatments more affordable for the Gris.” She sighs, and the king kisses her hand again. “I hope you’ll be patient with me.”
She rises. The entire court mimics her. My heart beats like a hummingbird’s wings. The room becomes a swirl of colors with the queen at the very center.
“I am going to do something unprecedented in the history of our kingdom, and I hope you’ll prove that it’s the right decision.” I hold my breath. I don’t take my eyes off the queen. I’m frozen. “My challenge for you, Camellia, is for you to become the favorite, and teach my daughter. Will you?”
The word favorite ruptures through me.
My heart might stop.
“Yes,” I almost shout.
Amber’s face pops into my mind. My excitement tangles with a thread of sadness.
“Behold, Camellia Beauregard, our new favorite!” the queen announces. “May you always find beauty!”
Small chrysanthemum flower-lanterns are released in the air. Thundering cheers and high-pitched whistles roar through the room.
17
The Receiving Hall turns into a chaos of light. Newsies flood the room, flashing their light-boxes in my face. Black gossip post-balloons storm overhead, with their candles shining down on me. The windows open, and a kaleidoscope of congratulatory post-balloons pours in from every corner of the kingdom.
I search for Amber. A glimpse of red hair sends me snaking through the crowd. Where is she? Is she okay? What happened to her? Women squeeze my hands as I pass, and wave their beauty tokens in the air. Men tip their hats and wink. They say how excited they are to work with me. They ask my thoughts on the latest beauty laws. They swarm me with questions about my favorite arcana. I give quick answers and continue to search.
But I can’t find Amber.
The Beauty Minister grabs my hand and kisses my cheeks.
“Where’s my sister? Where’s Amber?” I whisper to her.
“Shh,” she says, like I’ve uttered a dirty word. “No talk of that. Enjoy yourself.”
The night rages on in one continuous loop of laughter and dancing and questions and excitement until I’m brought to the Belle apartments right after the midnight star rises. The rich bed drapery now matches my signature pink camellia flowers. I think about the ambrosia-orange curtains that once hung here. A pinch burns in my chest, and I imagine Amber’s Belle-trunk being packed.
I climb into the big four-poster bed and stare at the ceiling for an eternity until I fall asleep.
“Time to get up,” a voice calls out. The bedcurtains rustle.
“But I’m not awake.” I open one eye. “Who is it?”
“Ivy,” she says. The favorite of the previous generation.
“You’re talking, so you must be,” she says, tugging at my sheets. “Always be up before they come in. So you can watch them and be aware of the things going on around you.”
Ivy’s veil reveals nothing. Not even an outline of her nose or mouth. The fabric completely hides her from view. I wonder how she can see through the shrouded layers. She wears a long-sleeved black day dress and lace gloves. Not one sliver of her skin shows. I touch her to make sure she’s real and not some dark spirit. She removes my hand from her arm.
“Where’s Amber?”
“Go on, freshen up. Questions later.” A pitcher of steaming water sits beside the porcelain basin on my new vanity. She watches while I wipe the sleep from my eyes and wet my skin. “I need you awake. You’ll bathe later.”
“What time is it?”
“Just after the morning star.”
I want to dive back into bed and tell her it’s too early to be awake, but she knows what palace life is like, and I need to learn from her. While I clean my teeth and mouth, the silence extends to every corner of the room.
“Ivy, please. Tell me where Amber is? Is she at the Chrysanthemum Teahouse now? What happened?”
“These aren’t questions you should be concerning yourself with.” Ivy takes the wet cloth from me. How I wish I could see her eyes.
“But—”
“I will show you how to be the favorite. I’m staying in the room just down the main corridor. I will be with you during your initial beauty treatments to ensure all goes well. I will help you navigate the rules of working with the queen and the princess.”
Ivy is all business, and I reluctantly accept that I’m not going to get any information about Amber. I’ll have to find out about her some other way.
“Why do you and the other big sisters wear veils now? You never did when we were at home.”
“Because it’s protocol, and to signal to the world that our generation is over.” She pulls one of the strings on the wall above the nightstand table, and a sleepy-eyed Bree appears.
“Bree!” I hug her.
“Congratulations,” she whispers.
“Are you happy to be back?” I ask.
“Yes”—she leans in—“and away from Madam Claire.”
We laugh.
“Breakfast,” Ivy barks at her.
Bree slides out of my arms and scurries from the room.
“Time to check the morning ledger.” Ivy walks to the main salon. “Follow.” She points to a board. Elisabeth Du Barry’s cursive handwriting spells out the date: DAY 262 OF THE YEAR OF THE GOD OF LUCK. There are no appointments listed.
Moments later wheeled carts arrive, chock-full of pastries, eggs cooked in every way, grilled meat, petit-pancakes with sugar dust, and bowls of colorful fruit. Ivy doesn’t touch the food, but I pick at it.
“We need to review a few rules for court life.” Her words sound scripted and practiced. She clears her throat. “You are not to pursue anything other than your purpose. You are a Belle.”
“Can we talk about what happened first?” I ignore her earlier warning and switch seats to join her on the couch. “Why was Amber dismissed? I need to know.”
“You are to act as if you’re an artist floating through this world. Your sole purpose is to beautify, and transform the Gris. You are a Belle.”
I put my hand up, hoping she’ll pause. “Ivy, can we—”
“You are to sell your skills—the arcana—not your body. You are a Belle.”
My anger rises as she ignores my questions.
“You exist inside a secret world of beauty. You were born full of color, like a moving work of art. The Goddess of Beauty has given you responsibility. You are not to reveal the inner workings of your arcana. You are a Belle.”
I touch her. Her whole body flinches and she stands.
“You are to respect your sisters—both past and present. You must respect those who are guardians of your kind. You are a Belle.
“You were cared for, and in return you must care for Orléans, the Land of Rising Beauty, and share your gifts. You are a Belle.
“You must vow to return home and continue the Belle line. These—”