“No, and aren’t you spoiled.” He takes my hand. “Today, you are coming with me and the princess to the Dress Bazaar.”
“But I have more appointments.” I point to the wall ledger.
“And this is your most important one. We have yet to find a suitable fabric for her wedding gown. Nothing compares to the look you created. She says she needs you there, and future queens get what they want. Or have you not learned?” He waves the latest scandal sheet at me. “Come along,” he says, sensing my hesitation. “You never know what mischief one can get into. You might have fun. The Trianon Dress Bazaar is the largest in all of Orléans.”
Hearing the full name strikes something in my memory. A sign from the carriage ride on my first night as an official Belle. “The Trianon Dress Bazaar. Isn’t that near the Chrysanthemum Teahouse?”
“Why, yes, it is,” the minister says, and winks as if he knows what I’m thinking.
Amber.
I race to get dressed.
The minister smiles. “Now that’s more like it.”
After lunch, we ride in a procession past the royal hourglass. It wears a coat of ice and snow, its diamond-like sand swirling inside like an impending storm.
“More tea,” the Fashion Minister orders the carriage servants. Bree stokes the small fire and places more pots of tea on the iron rack. This is the largest carriage I’ve ever been in—like three regular-size ones put together.
I press my nose to the window. Sophia’s royal carriage glitters like a sun ahead of us. My breath makes tiny flat clouds across the glass. A plan to slip away and see my sister buzzes through me, alongside my ever-present fear and panic. Rémy sits beside me on high alert, as if he can sense I’m up to something.
I laugh and join the conversation, hoping to quell his suspicions.
We pass through the Market Quartier. Blue lanterns fight the wind, clutching the hooks above their stalls. Vendors stand before their pavilions and shops, hawking their wares.
“Silkworms—finest quality!”
“Cravats that change color!”
“Best brocades in the kingdom!”
“Glass beads from Savoy—this color is made for you.”
“Dresses that light up the night!”
Shoppers carry heat-lanterns over their heads like parasols to keep warm. They drift over high hair-towers and hats like tiny stars tied to ribbons.
The carriages snake through the narrow passageways as they enter the Garden Quartier. The stores are piled on top of each other, like gift boxes in all the colors of the rainbow. Emerald lanterns shine above doors and inside windows. Golden lifts and spiral staircases take passengers up to the highest stores—some are hidden by the thickening white clouds. I spot the Chrysanthemum Teahouse in the distance, its turrets shining like the wings of bright bayou fireflies in the dark of night.
The carriages park. We step out onto the street. Sophia’s ladies ooh and ahh at the sights.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Sophia says to me.
“Yes, Your Highness.” I paint on a smile.
She hands me a heat-lantern. Its warmth heats my Belle-bun. Part of me wishes it could lift me away into the clouds.
Imperial guards clear the shops Sophia chooses to visit—Prima’s Petticoat Palace, Gascon and Duhart’s Fichu Forge, Lady Cromer’s Brocade Bonanza. The Fashion Minister guides her through the complex vertical network of stores. Gabrielle, Claudine, and Henrietta-Marie saunter behind her. People bow and shout wedding blessings. Newsies sketch pictures and swarm us with gossip post-balloons.
The Fashion Minister’s dandies comment on the best shops to visit: where to get the richest silk, which shopkeeper gives customers the best-quality champagne, what dressmakers have the keenest eye, which of the owners are favored by the queen and the Fashion Minister himself.
We take one of the golden lifts up. The glass windows boast advertisements: vivant dresses that shift color every ten seconds, cravats that release cologne so a man always smells his best, matching outfits for teacup pets and their owners, hats and headdresses as tall as the ceiling, lace shoes that jingle pleasant tunes.
I try to imagine when I will be able to slip away. With seven guards around us and Rémy behind me, it’s going to be difficult. My head rattles with possible escapes. Maybe I can accompany Sophia into a dressing room and slip out a back exit? Maybe I can use the commode and sneak out through a window?
I try to keep track of the staircases, lifts, and shop names, but the corridors twist and turn with no orderly pattern. It’s a maze.
Sophia volleys in and out of several shops. Tailors, dressmakers, and merchants try to woo her with free gifts for her ladies, or offer pastries and champagne. The princess’s voice drifts down the passageways as she speaks with the Fashion Minister and her ladies.
“What do you think of this fabric?”
“I can’t decide, Gustave.”
“Beadwork or not?”
“Sleeves or no?”
“I haven’t liked anything you’ve showed me, Gustave. You’re the Fashion Minister. Find me something the world hasn’t seen yet.”
I slow my pace between the sets of guards and glance into a nearby shop called Shurette and Soie before we’re rushed along. It’s lined with shelves of twinkling apothecary bottles, and smaller tables hold even more. They contain animated dyes for vivant fabrics. The jewel tones shift from ocean blues to cobalts and magentas, from crimson reds to sunflower yellows. Others change from pastel pinks to sky blues to lemony creams.
It would take several days to examine each one, to watch for each color. There are thousands of them.
“Finest silkworms in the whole bazaar,” the owner says, motioning at the opposite wall. Live silkworms stretch across gently turning rods. Silk eases from their bodies onto a spoke-wheel. “Perfect for any dress. Can be dyed with animated ink.”
I nod my appreciation as I glance around for an exit.
“Camellia.” Rémy rushes me along to rejoin the tail end of the royal group, and I lose my chance. In the next shop, I stand alongside Sophia and her ladies while vendors parade around her with fabrics and dress samples. Again, I search for exits. There are two: the entrance we came through, and a door in the back.
“I don’t know about this dress.” Sophia examines a gown Gabrielle holds out for her. “But it could be the start of something. It would have to be altered, of course.”
“Try it on,” Gabrielle urges. “Let’s just see the cut to find a starting place.”
“Yes,” Claudine adds. “You won’t know until you see how it fits.”
“Wait, wait, I want Camellia’s opinion on all of this. She’s been awfully quiet,” Sophia says. Her ladies chuckle and hide whispers behind fans.
“What would you choose if you were getting married?” she asks me.
“I can’t even conceive of the thought, Your Highness,” I reply.
“Of course you can. Weren’t you with one of my suitors the other day?” The left side of her mouth curls up.
A cold stone drops into my stomach.
“He interrupted me. I did not welcome his company,” I lie. “I find him to be insufferable and cocky.”
“Is that so?” she says.