The Belles (The Belles #1)(105)

I pull away to catch my breath.

“I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you,” he says.

I tap my fingers over my puffy lips. They tingle. I don’t want to lose that feeling.

“I know,” I say, still breathless. “Me too.”

“You should leave with me,” he says, kissing my forehead, then nose, then mouth again. The heaviness of his words settles into my shoulders.

“Where would we go?”

“To the edge of the world, beyond the barrier.”

“They would hunt us. Sophia would—”

“I don’t want to marry her. She’s a—”

“Monster,” I say, and he smiles.

“So leave with me. It would be an adventure. We’d be together.”

“I would get sick. I’m not supposed to love. I’m a Belle.”

“But you can.” He traces a finger along the rim of my mouth. He lifts my chin and kisses me again. I imagine what it might be like—us in a boat, leaving Orléans and seeing the world, kissing him every day, learning what it’s like to be loved by someone other than my sisters.

I sink deeper into his kiss. I float alongside the fantasy, giving it breath and flesh and bone. It could happen. I could leave with him.

Maman’s voice whispers: Do what is right.

Charlotte’s face flashes in my mind.

The promise to Arabella and the queen.

I place a hand to his chest and slide my mouth off his.

“I can’t.” I whisper so softly, maybe he won’t hear; maybe it won’t be true.

“Is it because you love all of this too much?” He steps away with a frown. The warmth of him is lost, and a sudden chill settles in.

“No. Auguste—”

“I should’ve never come here.” His expression hardens. I reach for his hand. He yanks away.

“Auguste.”

Without another word, he storms out. I follow him into the hall. Tears well up in my eyes. There’s no trace of him. Just Marcella standing there holding the golden tail ribbons of the queen’s glittering postballoon.

I snatch it from her and retrieve the note.


Camellia,

Sophia is visiting her sister today. I’ll send an escort tomorrow.





HRM





46


The next day, bells chime through the belly of the palace in honor of the queen. In preparation for the Declaration Ceremony, she’s announced her sickness. The court sent out mourning postballoons, complete with the queen’s joyful miniature portrait, and words about all she’s done for the kingdom during her reign. They putter along in the halls and corridors, and leave a sad trail of tear-shaped glitter and the noise of tiny wailing cries. The court is called to prayer in the Receiving Hall at different intervals of the day. Today will be marked as a day of mourning.

I wait for word from her but instead receive a dress and a summons from Sophia. I walk to the princess’s chambers with Rémy at my side.

Sophia’s private dining room sparkles like a diamond. Coldseason flowers burst from every surface. Goblets, champagne flutes, and tumblers boast jewel-toned liquid. Towers of silverflecked macarons sit like snow-covered trees on the grand table. Heat-lanterns add their warmth and light over us like stars.

I am announced to the room, the last guest to arrive.

“So glad you could make my spontaneous feast,” Sophia says. She wears a black mourning dress and a black diamond draped around her neck. Her blond hair-tower features a cameo of her mother.

“May I express my sincerest apologies for the illness of your mother, our queen,” I say with a bow, and kiss two fingers to place at my heart. The whole table mimics my gesture to show respect for the dying.

I will play this game with her tonight.

She nods and motions for me to join them. Rémy joins the other guards fanned out across the room. Auguste sits to Sophia’s left, along with a beautiful redheaded woman. Prince Alfred sits to her right with a greasy smile on his face. I startle at the sight of him.

He was supposed to have been banished.

He blows me a kiss when I pass by. Every part of me clenches. Anger sits just beneath my skin, mingling with my arcana. I spot Elisabeth at a separate child’s table, glaring down into her lap with a scowl. Sophia’s ladies—Gabrielle, Henrietta-Marie, and Claudine—sit to her right. The rest of the courtiers present are strangers.

Singe dines with us, and Sophia presents her new, tiny teacup giraffe to the group. A gift from her mother. The animals eat from porcelain plates and stalk along the table.

“Camellia?” Sophia calls. “Have you met Lady Georgiana Fabry, my suitor Auguste’s esteemed mother?”

“No, I haven’t,” I reply. “A pleasure to meet you, my lady.”

Her mouth is a straight line. She gazes at me and nods, before turning to whisper something to Auguste. I try to make eye contact with him. He avoids my gaze.

“Where’s the food?” Claudine jokes, and taps her knife on a plate.

“Oh, do have manners,” Gabrielle says.

“We’re waiting for one more guest,” Sophia reveals with a smile. She turns around and waves a hand at her guard. A new place setting is added to the table.

Whispers about the mystery guest ripple down the table through the voice-boxes.