“But they get unruly.”
“Find a better way to maintain control and order. Otherwise, I will replace you at that teahouse and appoint another. Mother always said you didn’t have what it takes.” Du Barry wags a finger at Madam Claire, then sighs. “I’m sorry you saw that, Camille. It’s not customary. But you must understand—”
“I will never understand,” I spit.
“One day, with wisdom and age, you’ll see that I’ve done what was necessary for the survival of the art form. For the goddess. For all of us.”
I let out a guttural scream.
Du Barry laughs. She snaps an order at a servant, who produces a stack of newspapers. Du Barry reads aloud:
PRINCESS SOPHIA ALMOST KILLED WITH A POISONED GOWN
BEAUTY WORK SURGING TO A NEW HIGH—RUMORED TO
BE A BIGGER EXPENSE FOR HOUSEHOLDS THAN FOOD
OWNER OF GERALD’S GOWNS NOT COOPERATING
WITH THE QUEEN’S GUARD
A PLOT AGAINST THE PRINCESS FOILED—
THE REGENT HEIR STILL LIVES
THE FAVORITE CHOOSES A NEW WEDDING
LOOK FOR THE PRINCESS
“Do you know which of these headlines I care about? Rumored to be a bigger expense for households than food! Can you imagine?” She tosses the papers aside. “Spintria and leas and the longevity of Maison Rouge de la Beauté and Orléans. That is what I care about. To do my mothers’ and grandmothers’ and great-grandmothers’ work. The teahouses will continue to run as they always have: with order, grace, and dignity. There will be a favored set of Belles, and a secondary set to ensure that the needs of the kingdom are met. Basic supply and demand. That is the way it’s always been. And I hope I will be able to have even more Belles. In my mother’s time, there were a hundred per generation. I haven’t gotten as lucky, but I will change that soon. The God of Luck will bless me as I do this divine work.”
I seethe with anger.
“And if you or anyone else gets in the way of that, you will be repurposed,” she threatens haughtily. “Now, go to your bedroom. The nurses are waiting with the leeches. You’ve had enough excitement for a week. The toxins in your blood must be high. It’s what makes you behave this way.”
And with that, I am dismissed with the wave of a hand.
43
The next morning, I dress to see the queen. There are no beauty appointments this week. The Declaration festivities start today, and I sent word to Her Majesty that I’ve made my decision two days early.
The queen’s gold-and-white post-balloon sits tied to my vanity. The note is pressed flat on the lid of my beauty caisse.
Dearest Camellia,
I look forward to your decision.
Sincerely,
HRM
Fireworks illuminate the snowy clouds outside the windows. The kingdom of Orléans will learn of the queen’s illness and will have an heir announced this week, either Sophia or an awakened Charlotte. My stomach erupts just like the sparklers in the skies. My angry thoughts hiss and pop like lightning. My heart thunders in my chest. My hands tremble with rage. Every thought of Du Barry and Madam Claire and the other Belles and my mother’s Belle-book sends another surge through me.
“Tighter,” I tell Bree as she ties my waist-sash. I have to keep it all in.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Elisabeth strides through my bedroom entry with her arms crossed and her signature pinched expression.
“Ivy and I have an important meeting with the queen.”
“Ivy has been sent home.”
My heart plummets. “Why?”
“My mother doesn’t like the influence she has over you. And I agree. I never really liked Ivy either. She wasn’t very nice.”
“Where is she?” I rush out to the hall and head off in the direction of Ivy’s bedroom.
“She’s already gone.”
I pivot to face her. Elisabeth has a smug grin on her face.
“Why wouldn’t you let me say good-bye to her?”
“So she can tell you to escape again? Or so you two can attempt to go together? Oh, yes, my mother knows Ivy told you to run, and the fact that you did—to the Chrysanthemum Teahouse—disappointed her even more. She thought you wanted to be the favorite so badly.”
I open my mouth to lie. The sense of dread wraps itself around me. There isn’t a private place in these apartments. They could know everything I’ve ever discussed with Ivy or Bree.
“Don’t even try it. ”She waves her hand at me. “But Ivy will be punished for it. As she should be. Meddling in our business and making things more difficult.”
“She didn’t meddle. She warned me.”
“That was not her purpose. That’s not what big sisters are supposed to do. She was supposed to prepare you.”
“She did,” I yell.
“Soiled you, is more like it. And you better get back to work, before Mother sends you home, too.”
Rémy and I walk to the queen’s chambers. His strides are heavy blows against the floor.
“Are you still angry with me?” I ask.
He steps ahead of me. His jaw clenches. “This way.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
He turns a sharp left.
“I needed to see my sister. Surely you understand that.”
“I don’t understand many things about you. Or your choices,” he says.
Two guards and an attendant step into our path.
“Lady Camellia.” The attendant bows and presents a rose-petal-pink post-balloon.
Sophia.
“You’ve been requested by Her Highness, the princess.”
“I am headed to see the queen.”
She thrusts the post-balloon’s tails into my hands. I open the back of the balloon and remove the letter from its compartment. I open the privacy casing.
Your presence is requested by Her Royal Highness Princess Sophia in her tea pavilion immediately. My mother says you can come see her afterward.
I glance at Rémy. He glares straight ahead.
Does she know the reason I’m meeting with the queen?
“You are to come now.”
In the gardens, a tea pavilion shimmers: a thick white-fur canopy draped over a beautiful low table, set with flowers, pastel teacups, and flickering candles. A cold wind loosens the curls from my Belle-bun as Rémy and I follow the attendant, weaving through the maze of winter shrubbery. A shiver races across my skin, and I’m not sure if it’s a reminder that more snow is to come, or if it’s because anger rattles every part of me.
Sophia’s ladies-of-honor sit on plush cushions and feast on petit-foods. Heatlanterns float overhead, casting a copper glow and warming the inside of the tent.
The attendant announces me. “May I present Lady Camellia, the favorite,” she says with a curtsy.
I bow my head, then look up and spot Auguste sitting to the left of the princess, feeding her grapes one by one.
The sight of him makes my breath catch. He winks.
“How are you feeling, Your Highness?” I pretend to show concern.
“Much better. The rash is gone. The poison is out of me. I’m back to feeling like myself.”