The Everlasting Rose (The Belles, #2)(76)

“That’s not quite how it works,” I say, steadying my voice.

Her court gasps.

“What does that mean?” Her pale blond eyebrow lifts with surprise.

“If you aren’t present for their birth, my breed of teacup dragons must choose their owners. They must deem the person worthy. You see, they’re very noble creatures. Exceedingly rare. All dragons are said to have come from the womb of the Goddess of Love. Their affection, loyalty, and disposition mirror exactly what love should be.”

The crowd oohs.

Sophia scowls. “I am a queen. I was born deserving and worthy. My lineage and bloodline make it so.”

“Of course,” I say, and add a little bow to keep her from seeing me seethe. “But the dragons will have their say.”

My words sizzle and crackle in the silent room.

Her rainbow-colored eyes burn into the top of my head. Sweat rises from my skin, cold and clammy. Maybe I pushed too hard, said too much. I swallow and try to hold on to the glamour. A headache blossoms in my temples. The taste of salt fills my mouth. The nosebleed will come any second.

“I enjoy a challenge,” she snaps, reaching for Or’s golden tail. Or lets herself be caressed, then curls back into a corner in the cage. “I always win.”

“You are blessed by the God of Luck, and we will see which dragon chooses you.”

Her mouth parts, but she closes it and grins. “Until then, you shall remain here as my honored guest.” She waves a nearby attendant over. “Prepare the guest apartments in the east wing.”

“Pardon me, Your Majesty, I don’t mean to question your hospitality, but I must be in chambers nearest you. My breed of teacup dragons must acclimate to your scent. Bond, if you will. So that one or two may connect.” I let a clever smile play upon my lips, hoping she takes the bait and puts me in Charlotte’s chambers.

Her eyes widen. “I want them all to love me. So, yes, whatever is necessary shall be. I’m prepared to give you all the leas you could ever want, and spintria, too, if you prefer it.” She turns to another attendant. “Give her my darling and dearly departed sister’s room.”

Courtiers flap their fans wildly as if a flash of warm-season heat stormed through the room.

“I couldn’t possibly stay in Princess Charlotte’s apartments. I am not of noble birth. Would it not be inappropriate?”

“She has passed on.” The lie tumbles from her pink lips without effort. “At sunset tomorrow, I will present her body and we will mourn her officially. I cannot be queen until she is sent to the afterlife properly to be with my maman.” She presses two fingers together and taps her heart, a sign of respect for the dead. The entire room mimics her. “I’m having a pavilion built in her honor on the palace grounds. It is my desire that you and the teacup dragons are as close as can be. I make the rules and I can break them.”

I nod and bow. “As you wish.”

“I do. I do.” She takes my hands; hers are sticky and shaky. I try not to flinch or pull away. The rosewater scent of her sends a tangle of revulsion and rage through me, making it hard to hold on to my glamour.

“Your nose is starting to bleed.” She hands me her own personal handkerchief embroidered with her initials and the House of Orléans emblem.

I quickly wipe my nose, the beads of blood soaking through the expensive fabric. “The cold season and travel have exhausted me.”

“You must rest. The Coronation and Ascension Ball starts the day after tomorrow, and you must attend as my honored guest. You can wear one of my latest vivant gowns.” She whips around to another attendant. “See that she’s settled properly and all her needs are met.”

“You are most gracious,” I reply.

“And you are most welcome to my court.”

I bow.

An attendant rushes forward with a sealed letter. “Your Majesty, this just arrived.”

Sophia snatches it.

I stand up and see the words Gold and Charlotte and spotted before she rips up the note.

“I have to excuse myself,” Sophia says, rushing off.

My heart pounds in my throat.

I must warn them.





Sophia’s attendant walks me down a familiar hall to Charlotte’s former apartments. The glitter of the night-lanterns and the scent of fresh cold-season flowers and the sounds of nearby laughter hurtle me back into the past. Memories of the night we left slice in like nightmares with each step I take. Rémy carrying Amber. Arabella’s trunk and dragon eggs. It feels like both a lifetime ago and just yesterday—all spinning in my head to the beat of panic.

I need to find Rémy. I need to find Arabella. I need to figure out how to get to the Observatory Deck first thing in the morning. Trembles of exhaustion quiver through me, and the pain of holding the glamour sends more blood trickling out of my nose. I wipe it away as best I can, but it streaks the front of my gown.

The attendant pauses before a set of apartment doors. Charlotte’s royal emblem is now absent, the wood naked, her presence erased. Mourning balloons carry cameo portraits of the “deceased” princess and her royal emblem. They carry tiny sound-boxes hissing out wails and cries every few minutes.

“Are you all right, my lady?” the attendant asks.

“Just tired.”