“Sophia, please,” Claudine begs.
“May you always find beauty, Claudine.” Sophia pivots back to the table. “Ambrosia and Camellia, please join us.”
“Your Highness, this is highly irregular.” Elisabeth stands. “We cannot have beauty alterations done like this. So exposed. So out in the open.”
Sophia eyes her. “You are dismissed. I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
“But . . . but, Your Highness . . .” Elisabeth stammers.
“Escort Miss Du Barry out of my chambers and back to her office,” Sophia demands.
Elisabeth stares at me as the guards flank her and lead her out. I try to control my breathing.
“You and I didn’t get along when you first came to court,” Sophia says to Amber. “I didn’t understand you. I thought you were a little boring. All rules and order. But now I think I want both you and Camellia here. At least for a little while. This whole process can cause such tension between the Beauregard sisters. So much pressure being the favorite, isn’t it, Camellia?” she asks. “And so much upset over not being the favorite anymore, Ambrosia?” She claps her little hands together.
Amber balls her fists. The warmth of her anger radiates like a high-noon sun. A little hiccup escapes her mouth when she opens it to speak, but she, as always, says the right thing. “Thank you for this honor and opportunity, Your Highness.”
Sophia lays one hand on each of our shoulders. “I’m desperate to see your different styles in action.”
A cold sensation drops into my stomach.
“We’re not different,” I say. “We don’t need to put on a show.”
“I agree,” Auguste chimes in. “This is a party, Sophia. The Belles shouldn’t have to work.”
“Auguste, hush,” his mother says. “Let them show us their divinity, their connection to the Goddess of Beauty.”
“She’s my sister. She’s talented. You experienced it for yourself when she was first chosen,” I say. “There’s no need for further comparison.”
Sophia grins at her, then turns to me. “Camellia, you must really love Ambrosia so much to tell that lie. You were thrilled to take Ambrosia’s place at court. You believed you should’ve been chosen from the very start.”
Heat flushes through me by the minute.
“I won’t participate,” I say. “This is ridiculous.”
My words set off a firecracker in the room. The guests gasp at my insubordination. Sophia’s face turns an embarrassed shade of red.
I think of Ivy.
I think of Astrid.
I think of Arabella.
I think of all the pain she’s already caused.
Claudine exhales, a sound like air whooshing out of a postballoon.
“You won’t participate?” Sophia laughs in my face. “What do you mean? I command you to help Claudine.”
Amber squeezes my hand and leans in to whisper, “Camille, please. Play along so we can get out of here.” Her eyes flash with worry.
“Well, favorite?” Sophia says, crossing her arms over her chest.
Amber releases me and rises to her feet. “I’m game. Let’s see who the better favorite is,” she says.
Courtiers nod and clap, ready for a show. Sophia jumps up and down with excitement.
“Amber, I’m not going to do this,” I say.
“Are you scared?” Amber garners a laugh from the table. Her words bite. She stares at me, begging me to play along.
“No,” I say.
“Ladies, please. This is outrageous,” Auguste shouts.
“We don’t need your opinions, Auguste,” Sophia snaps. “Camellia will do it because I want her to.” Sophia looks me dead in the eye. “She knows what will happen if she doesn’t.” She plucks a strawberry and flower from one of the fruit baskets and saunters over to Amber. “Do you like strawberries, Ambrosia? Or flowers, even?”
She rubs the strawberry across Amber’s lips, then tickles Amber’s cheek with the flower.
I jump forward. “Don’t eat that, Amber.”
Sophia strokes Amber’s head and adds the flower to Amber’s Belle-bun. “Why?” Amber asks me. She opens her mouth to eat the strawberry.
I slap it from Sophia’s hand.
Sophia leaps back. “You act as if it’s poisonous,” she adds with a giggle. “And if you had struck me, even by accident, you could spend twelve years in the dungeons. Did you know that?”
“Fine!” I say. “I accept your challenge.”
Sophia plucks another strawberry from the basket and bites. Its flesh stains her teeth red. “It’ll be a friendly game. And Alfred will pick the winning look. Any wagers?”
A woman takes bets at the table and collects spintria and leas coins in her pouch.
“Bring me a mirror!” Sophia calls out.
One appears moments later and is set against a nearby wall. Servants bring carts holding our beauty caisses. Sophia walks Claudine before the mirror. “Three tries. Whichever look Alfred likes best wins.”
Claudine bursts into tears. Sophia uses her handkerchief to wipe them away. “You’ll thank me.” She kisses Claudine’s cheek. ”You can even take your servant with you after you marry. I know how fond you are of her. I just want us to be sisters in the eyes of the gods.”
“Oh, goodie. How I love this!” someone at the table says.
“Do you understand the rules?” Sophia asks.
I stare at Amber. Her brow furrows. The is no game.
“Yes,” I say.
“Yes,” she answers.
Sophia stretches out Claudine’s arms before stepping out of the way. Amber coats bei powder on Claudine’s face and then gathers supplies from the drawers. I order a servant to bring Belle-rose tea. My hands shake with nerves as I offer it to Claudine. She takes only a few too-hot sips. Her eyes brim over with tears. I squeeze her shoulder in the hope that it consoles her.
“Aren’t you going to get supplies?” Amber asks me.
“No, I don’t need them,” I say.
Her mouth drops open with annoyed surprise. “Well, then. You first, since you’re the favorite now and all.” Her eyes narrow.
I move to the other side of Claudine. My body warms like the roaring hearth at our backs. The veins in my body swell. They rise in my hands.
Claudine appears in my head: doughy gray flesh, beautiful round frame, dull brown hair, big eyes.
I touch her hair. The strands darken and fall down her back in ribbons.
I touch her eyelashes. Her irises lighten to dove gray. Brown shades of eye shadow appear on her lids, and mascara elongates her lashes.
I touch her lips, painting them to look like a flower in bloom.
I run my fingers along the edges of her body, smoothing her legs and hips to make her thin and willowy like the imperial dancers on their tiptoes.
Claudine wipes her forehead with a handkerchief. Her breathing accelerates and she grimaces a little.
I stop. “Are you all right?”
“She’s fine,” Sophia interjects. “Continue. It’s beautiful.”
I make her breasts larger.
“I’m finished,” I say.
The table claps.
“Don’t get excited, Camille. My turn. Step aside.” Amber takes a hot iron from its caddy. She wraps a strand of Claudine’s hair around the barrel, and it turns white-blond and twists into tight corkscrew curls. Soon her hair halos her head.