The Belles (The Belles #1)(25)

Edel gulps down a flute of red liquid and takes another. Valerie fusses at her for drinking the last one.

Padma clears her throat. “Cheers to each other. Cheers to this night. And cheers to what’s to come.”

We lift our glasses and sip.

“Me next!” Valerie leaps up from her chaise. “Even though I was upset about my placement earlier today, and I love all of this . . .” She waves her hand around. “In my heart I’ve always known I was supposed to go back home. My maman was the Belle of Maison Rouge de la Beauté, so deep down I knew that I had to fill her shoes. But please don’t forget about me. Send me post-balloons about the things you get to see and do. And better yet, don’t get too busy to come visit.” Her voice cracks. “I will miss you all.”

We take another sip. Her words hit me. She’s doing what her mother did. I was supposed to be the favorite, like my maman. I’ve let her down.

“Ugh, you girls are getting emotional,” Edel complains. Hana jostles her shoulder, which makes Edel break out in a smile. “I guess I’ll miss you all, too.”

Servants present us with thick traveling cloaks lined in white fur and covered in tiny gold stitches in the shape of Belle-roses and our royal emblem.

We’re slipping our arms into the cozy sleeves when Amber strides into the room. Her heavy footsteps pound the floor as if it should crumble under the weight of their importance. The petit-crown on her head glitters like it is made of stardust.

“Hello, my sisters!”

She prances about, swishing her gown left and right, beaming brighter than a morning-lantern as she waits for us to gush over her.

“Congratulations.” Valerie steps forward to hug Amber.

“We’re so happy for you.” Hana swirls her around and around until both of them collapse in laughter and dizziness. A selfish emotion bubbles up in my chest. It grows larger by the second, stealing my breath. It won’t pop. I want to wrap my arms around her, sink my face into her neck, and whisper how proud I am of her, but my feet won’t move, and my mouth is full of syrup, the words stuck.

“You’re going to make a beautiful favorite.” Padma blows her a kiss.

“Well.” Edel looks her up and down. “I suppose someone had to win.” And then she sweeps out of the room.

A travel attendant steps aside to let Edel go, then taps an hourglass hanging from her jacket lapel. “Carriages will soon depart.”

Everyone gives Amber one last hug. I linger in the room after my sisters leave.

Amber and I stare at each other.

“I can’t believe Edel,” she says. “Are you happy for me?”

“I am,” I say. “Just trying to let it all sink in.”

“You’re at the most important teahouse. The Chrysanthemum. It’s where the royal ladies-of-honor go. At least you’ll be here in the city—”

“Don’t try to make it sound better, Amber. I’m not the favorite.” The sound of it out loud sends another surge of disappointment through me. I hear Maman’s disappointed voice and see her furrowed brow.

“But you’re still important. We’re all important.”

“It’s not enough.” I finally let out the little sob in my chest.

She rushes forward, grabs my arms, and pulls me close. I sink my face into the nook between her shoulder and neck. “It’s going to be fine.” Her words land on my cheek. She smells like a mishmash of courtier perfume. She’s been hugged a hundred times tonight. “You’ll be able to visit me, and I’ll invite you to everything I can. Also, I’ll come see you.”

I pull away from her embrace. My failure crashes back in, hitting me in a hot wave. I am not the favorite. I can’t take her pity, and when she reaches for me again, I push her away.

“Stop,” I say.

She looks hurt, but there’s nothing I can do. “You can’t be happy for me.”

A tornado of heat swirls around me. My stomach flip-flops, and my face runs with sweat. “I am.” I fight back tears. Can’t she see how hard this is?

“You thought you’d beat me easily. You got to go last at the Beauté Carnaval. Anyone who goes last gets to leave the best impression. Placement drowned out those of us in the middle. Du Barry set you up to be the favorite, but the queen chose me.”

“Is that what you really think? Du Barry doesn’t like me. Never has. She’s never understood what I have to offer,” I say, searching Amber’s face for traces of my friend. “Do you know how hard I worked? Researching for months about past carnavals, thinking through different looks, stealing Du Barry’s pamphlets and beauty magazines from the mail chest to study trends. I worked just as hard as you did.”

“Well, you didn’t follow the rules at the carnaval, or ever, really,” she says. “You didn’t deserve to be the favorite.”

I glare at her. A wrinkle of concentration mars her forehead.

“You’re my best friend,” she says. “You should’ve been the first one to kiss me after the announcement and the first one to tell me how proud you were. Instead, you’re sulking and being jealous. I followed the rules, Camellia. I deserve this. You don’t. You always get so upset when I beat you at anything. What would Maman Linnea think of your behavior?”