The Belles (The Belles #1)(48)



My stomach tightens. Eyes are sweeping over me from head to toe. My knees shake, and I’m grateful for the thick layers of tulle.

I glance up and feel Auguste’s eyes on my face. The heat in my cheeks threatens to melt my makeup.

Polite applause echoes through the hall.

I curtsy, keeping my gaze on the floor. I return to my seat. Sweat pools beneath my arms, and I use a lace handkerchief to blot my face.

The meal is served. I can’t keep up with all the silverware and dishes appearing and disappearing in front of me.

A servant dips a spoon into the princess’s bowl, tasting it. Sophia studies the girl’s face as she swallows, then after a few moments waves her off. She spots me watching the exchange, and frowns. I drop my gaze and dig into the wedge of cheese that’s been left beside my bread.

“Isn’t that goat cheese just divine, Camellia?” The Beauty Minister leans close to my ear. “Just keep smiling and pretend that I’m discussing the cheese. Be wary of staring too much. I know this environment can be shocking. I swear, Madam Du Barry shelters you Belles way too much for my tastes.”

“But what was that woman doing with the princess’s food?” I whisper.

“That woman was a food-taster. That young girl’s tongue has been trained to detect over ninety-eight types of poisons to be found in our kingdom.”

I try not to let the shock show on my face. Instead, I smile and ask another question. “Is it common to find poison in the palace food?”

“Poisonings have become more frequent than an assassin’s dagger, my dear. The illness of Princess Charlotte makes the queen even more vigilant in taking care of her children.”

With that, she turns her attention to another courtier. I remember the pictures of Princess Charlotte from our history books and the newspapers. Two years older than Sophia, she fell into a deep sleep after her fifteenth birthday, and hasn’t woken up for four years. Periodically, the queen releases a new portrait of her—sleeping soundly in a four-poster bed—to assure the kingdom that their heir is still alive.

Another plate is put in front of me. I eat to distract myself.

“Camellia.” The queen’s voice travels through the sound-box again.

My fork clatters against my plate. People stare at me—eyebrows raised, expressions puzzled. My etiquette is usually impeccable. We had years of lessons on it. But now Du Barry glares at me, appalled.

“Pardon me, Your Majesty,” I say.

“How are you enjoying your first few days at court?” the queen asks.

The Beauty Minister nudges me to lean closer to the sound-box. “Speak into it,” she whispers.

“They’ve been wonderful, Your Majesty,” I say. “Thank you for your kindness and generosity, and for this second chance.” The noise of my voice drifts down the long table. Du Barry nods at me with approval.

The Fashion Minister draws the queen’s attention away from me with a question about silkworm production and winter gowns. I exhale.

Auguste’s voice travels as he tells a grand story about a sea monster he kept from capsizing the imperial fleet last year. The women don’t take their eyes off him. Elisabeth puts an ear-trumpet up so she can hear every word.

“Did you capture the creature?” Sophia asks him.

“Of course,” he boasts. “I’m quite strong.”

“Did you cut its head off to make a trophy?” her lady-of-honor Gabrielle asks.

“I carry one of its tentacles in my pocket.”

The ladies giggle and the gentlemen chuckle at his outlandishness. I hide a laugh with a forkful of salad. Waiters clear our plates. The fourth and fifth courses appear, and then the table is prepared for dessert. Three women wheel out a thousand-layer crepe cake with massive strawberries the size of snow globes. The princess and her ladies leave the table and pose in front of the cake. Newsies draw pictures for their late-night editions. The room’s candles are extinguished. Sparklers blaze on each cake layer.

Everyone shouts “Happy birthday!” and Sophia blows out the hundreds of candles with help from her friends.

The cake is cut and served, and gifts are presented to Sophia. A royal attendant parades around an all-white teacup tiger with a jeweled collar from the royal House Lothair. The leash trembles in his grip as he walks the beautiful animal around the table. A display of plum-colored jewels and diamond necklaces comes from the mercantile House of Bijoux. A teacup dragon sails in through one of the doors with the House Glaston flag in its jaws.

Guests clap and comment as more gifts are showered on the princess. The treasures all seem to please Sophia and her ladies. Especially the dragon.

The king clinks his glass. The table falls quiet. “My darling girl,” he says to Sophia, “dance tonight, for in the morning and the days to come, you will face more responsibilities as you take your place in this world. Your mother and I have also selected three suitors to vie for your heart. Marriage is on your horizon.”

The crowd applauds. Sophia’s eyes light up. Her ladies-of-honor perch in their seats, their mouths permanently fixed in smiles.

“On behalf of our entire family, Queen Celeste and I would like to extend the warmest welcome to Sir Louis Dubois and his son Alexander, from House Berry; Sir Guillaume Laurent, his wife Lady Adelaide, and their son Ethan, from House Merania; and the Minister of the Seas, Commander Pierre Fabry, and his son Auguste, from House Rouen.” He raises a glass. “Thank you for being apt suitors for our daughter.”

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