The Belles (The Belles #1)(46)

I laugh.

“I just finished working on her. She’s my first ship. Well, I don’t count the little rowboat my father made for me when I was a child learning to sail. I was saying that the whole kingdom is in a silly frenzy over you.”

“Silly frenzy?” I say.

He rubs his hand along the stubble on his face. “I meant, everyone adores you.”

“Should they not?”

“You must love it.”

“I don’t know how I feel about it yet. Have they said anything about my sister?”

“Aren’t you reading the papers?”

“I wouldn’t be asking if I was.”

He smiles back at me. “They’re calling her the disgraced favorite.”

The word “disgraced” thuds into my stomach. The pain of it shouts out in all directions. A determination swells inside me. I have to find her. She must be here.

“But the newsies don’t know which way is up. They just want to sell papers.” He pulls over a night-lantern and ties its tail ribbons to the hedge behind us.

“Afraid of the dark?”

“It’s so I can see you better,” he says.

“Oh,” is all I can manage to say, and I look away from him.

He stares at me. I feel his eyes drift from my hair to my eyes to my mouth. I turn, ready to walk off and resume the search for my sisters.

“Does it bother you to be the runner-up, now that you’re here?” he asks.

His question feels like a slap.

“I didn’t mean to offend,” he quickly adds.

“Then what exactly did you mean to say?”

He plucks a few leaves from my hair. The graze of his fingers sends a ripple through me, along with the realization that I’ve never been touched like this before. It softens the hard edges and fluttery nerves. “Is it difficult to be picked second?”

“This is all I’ve ever wanted.”

He grins, as if what I’ve said is funny. “That doesn’t answer the question, now does it?”

“Your question didn’t deserve a response.”

“That’s not very nice.”

“I never said I was nice.”

“Women are supposed to be sweet. Belles even more so.”

I make a gagging sound.

He laughs. “That’s what my mother told me.”

“And what do you know about Belles?”

“That they’re magical.”

I scoff. “Try again.”

“That they have magical abilities.”

“Try blessed blood.”

“What does that mean?”

“That our arcana—not magical abilities, since there’s nothing magical about them—lie within our blood.”

“Oh,” he says.

“Do they teach you about us?”

“A little . . . and if I were you, I’d outlaw that horrible trend of mosaic skin tones. It’s all the rage in the Gold Isles. People are walking around looking like kaleidoscopes.”

“Good thing you aren’t a Belle.”

He grins. “Do you have a hard time taking advice?”

“Do you always like to give your unsolicited opinion?” I try to sound exasperated, but the truth is, I like going back and forth with him.

“My mother would say so. I guess my father, too. My two older brothers tried to keep me quiet my whole life. I guess it didn’t work. And are you saying that you don’t like my opinions?”

“I—”

“Camellia!” Rémy races over. His brow is soaked with sweat. He stares at Auguste and brings his hand to the sword at his hip. “What’s going on here?”

Auguste laughs. “An imperial guard to your rescue. You are quite important.” He buttons the front of his jacket so Rémy can see his naval emblems. He puts his hands in front of him. “I’m without my dagger. No need to arrest me. I’m off.”

He saunters away, leaving a trail of heavy laughter. Rémy waits until Auguste is out of sight, then turns to me with fire in his eyes.

“What were you thinking?” he says. “Running off like that.”

“I just wanted to explore.”

“Court isn’t for fun. Not for people like you or me. You’re here to do a service.”

“I know.”

“You don’t seem to.”

“I’ve never seen anything.”

“Not all things are worth seeing,” he says.

I let Rémy lead me forward. He takes sharp turns, navigating the maze with expert precision. Guests whiz past, their laughter a faint, distant echo. The white marble stairs glow through the darkness as we approach. A girl’s giggle cuts through the garden. Her hair is piled on top of her head with ribbons and jewels that sparkle in the darkness.

“Wait—” I touch Rémy’s arm. “It’s Hana!” My pulse quickens with excitement.

I chase after the woman, swelling with happiness by the second.

“Excuse me.”

I duck past courtiers.

“Pardon me.”

I call out, “Hana.”

She doesn’t turn.

I reach for her arm. She swings around.