The Everlasting Rose (The Belles, #2)(86)

Her words send a flicker up my spine.

“You are about to be married, anyway. He shouldn’t ask you to dance anymore. You didn’t choose him. Where is Auguste?” Rachelle asks. “Shouldn’t he be here by now?”

I was just wondering the same thing.

Sophia stiffens. “My betrothed is on his way. I received his post-balloon not too long ago,” she snaps. “And how dare you question it?”

Gabrielle glares at Rachelle. Anger stews inside me like a storm and triggers a headache to pulse in the back of my head. Pressure builds in my nose, signaling the start of another nosebleed. If I’m going to last all day, I need to take a break from holding the glamour.

I stand.

“Excuse me, Your Majesty. I am slipping off to the powder room,” I lie with a quick bow. “Be back momentarily.”

I don’t wait for a response from Sophia or the others. My pulse flies as I weave in and out of the crowd. Before leaving the room, I stuff myself with tiny apple blossoms and fruit tarts and chocolate ganache from golden trays, hoping they will help reset my levels as I desperately hold on to this glamour.

Women steal glances at me. Snippets of gossip escape their carefully cupped hands. I rush past the windows, heading for the door.

A vendor hands me a cup with a hot sugared square of dough. “For you, my sweet.”

I take it from him and force a smile. At that moment, the doors to the veranda are thrown open to let out a bit of the heat, and there it is—the Everlasting Rose. The building is massive. Its exterior glows, a sea pearl on a dark watery cushion. I crush the square in my hand like the head of a flower. The crumbs litter the floor beside me. The faces of my sisters and the other Belles flutter through my mind like the shuffling of a deck of cards.





Ivy





Edel





Hana





Amber





Delphine





Ada Where are Charlotte and Padma and Auguste and the Iron Ladies? They should have been here by now. I duck through the crowds. I need to go back to the Observatory Deck. Maybe the woman woke up. Maybe she alerted other guards. Maybe they’ve all been taken.

A trumpet blares.

The room freezes.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please turn your attention to Her Majesty, Sophia, the next queen of Orléans,” an attendant says.

Sophia stands. Everyone bows. I drop my head reluctantly.

“My loyal court, as we begin my Coronation and Ascension ceremony, I’d like to introduce you to several loyal people who made this whole thing possible. First, the newly titled Minister of Belles, Georgiana Fabry, and my favorite Belle, who will help me usher in this new age of beauty,” she replies.

A chill wraps its arms around me.

The side doors burst open. Palace morning-lanterns rush in, scattering jewel-shaped shadows over the floor. Auguste’s glamorous mother, Georgiana Fabry, strides into the room. Tall and stately, she towers over most in the crowd. Her yellow dress shimmers around her like sunlight woven into silk, and behind her, a rolling platform holds a life-size bell jar. Inside the jar is Amber.





The beat of my heart mirrors the rapid movement of the platform wheels. Amber’s hands press against the walls of the glass; she’s a trapped butterfly. Chains loop around her wrists like strands of golden pearls and her corseted dress holds her in place. Her pale and freckled arms wear jagged gashes.

I jerk forward, almost forgetting my disguise. The cold pain of the glamour pools with my rage. I duck and move through the crowd of bodies, trying to get closer to my sister.

Sophia springs up from her throne, her eyes wild as she gazes at Amber. “My favorite!” she taunts Amber, walking around the glass cage. “I have lots of new plans for the Belles, as evidenced.” She motions to the veranda and the view of the Everlasting Rose. “Now, my petite Amber, if I take you out of this jar, you must promise to behave.” Sophia traces her pointed nails along the glass, tapping it to make Amber flinch. “They’re slowly learning their place.”

The crowd chuckles.

Amber nods. “I promise.” Her eyes spill over with tears, and are ringed with bruises.

A single guard removes the glass. Another hands Sophia a silver whip. She snaps it at the courtiers and several of them yelp. Sophia laughs, a deep belly laugh.

Angry tremors work their way through every part of my body as acid rises up my throat.

“Minister of Belles, tell this esteemed group of my most loyal courtiers some of the things they have to look forward to once my Coronation and Ascension are complete.”

An attendant hands Georgiana a voice-box. “Good day to you all. I am so happy to join you on this auspicious occasion as we usher in this new age. Soon, I will set in place the Belle Codes, a new body of laws governing beauty work and—”

“Tell them about the facials,” Sophia interjects with a squeal.

Georgiana purses her lips. “Yes, Your Majesty. We will offer Belle-blood facials as one of our newest treatments. We’re unlocking the science of their blood. If you inject Belle blood into the top layer of your skin, you can defeat the gray.”

The crowd oohs and ahhs.

My stomach dips and knots itself into a tangle. I must do something. I must help Amber. But what can I do? There are dozens of courtiers gathered about, and I can feel myself weakening after holding the glamour for so long.