The Belles

by Dhonielle Clayton

  I will play this game with her tonight.

  She nods and motions for me to join them. Rémy joins the other guards fanned out across the room. Auguste sits to Sophia’s left, along with a beautiful redheaded woman. Prince Alfred sits to her right with a greasy smile on his face. I startle at the sight of him.

  He was supposed to have been banished.

  He blows me a kiss when I pass by. Every part of me clenches. Anger sits just beneath my skin, mingling with my arcana. I spot Elisabeth at a separate child’s table, glaring down into her lap with a scowl. Sophia’s ladies—Gabrielle, Henrietta-Marie, and Claudine—sit to her right. The rest of the courtiers present are strangers.

  Singe dines with us, and Sophia presents her new, tiny teacup giraffe to the group. A gift from her mother. The animals eat from porcelain plates and stalk along the table.

  “Camellia?” Sophia calls. “Have you met Lady Georgiana Fabry, my suitor Auguste’s esteemed mother?”

  “No, I haven’t,” I reply. “A pleasure to meet you, my lady.”

  Her mouth is a straight line. She gazes at me and nods, before turning to whisper something to Auguste. I try to make eye contact with him. He avoids my gaze.

  “Where’s the food?” Claudine jokes, and taps her knife on a plate.

  “Oh, do have manners,” Gabrielle says.

  “We’re waiting for one more guest,” Sophia reveals with a smile. She turns around and waves a hand at her guard. A new place setting is added to the table.

  Whispers about the mystery guest ripple down the table through the voice-boxes.

  “Any guesses?” Sophia says. “I’ll gift a beauty token to anyone who gets it right.”

  Gabrielle and Henrietta-Marie bet on a famous singer. Others list beautiful courtiers who have landed in the beauty-scopes this week.

  “She’s here,” Sophia says.

  The doors creak open.

  We all turn.

  My jaw drops when Amber strides in. A jade-green gown blooms around her waist like flower sepals stitched all together. “Ambrosia Beauregard,” the attendant announces. “As you requested, Your Highness.”

  “Amber!” My heart fills instantly, and I realize just how alone I’ve really been without her. I leap up, run across the room, and hug her. “I’ve missed you,” I whisper into her neck and hair.

  “Me too,” she replies. It’s so good to hear her voice after all this time that I almost burst into tears.

  “A nice surprise, right, Camellia?” Sophia says.

  “Yes, Your Highness,” I say.

  Amber sits beside me. I have to let go of her hand as the food appears, but I don’t want to. I’m filled with all the things I want to ask her, all the things I need to tell her.

  The courses appear in rapid succession—savory rabbit and roasted duck and fish, platters of vegetables and salads. I’m careful to only eat after the others have taken bites, and tell Amber to do the same. Amber and I slip into our own bubble. Conversation swirls around us but we only whisper to each other.

  “What happened while you were here?” I ask.

  “I’ll tell you later,” she replies. “Have you heard from the others?”

  “Not for a few days,” I say. “But Edel—”

  She nods and lifts her eyebrows with acknowledgment.

  Sophia taps a champagne flute. “I have an announcement.”

  Conversation at the table stops. All eyes turn to her.

  “My dearest lady-of-honor Claudine will be married.”

  Claudine drops her spoon in shock. My heart instantly goes out to her.

  “I can’t have my ladies rotting on the vine,” Sophia says. “So I’ve decided to arrange suitable mates for each of them before my own nuptials.”

  “Who is the lucky person?” a guest calls out.

  Sophia clasps her hands together over her chest. “One of my very own cousins. Prince Alfred.”

  I grip the fork in my hand so tightly it leaves a chrysanthemum-shaped imprint in my palm.

  Sophia puts her hand up. “No need to thank me, Claudine. He noticed how beautiful you are, and we’ve been discussing it. I thought you’d make a lovely match. I did think about arranging you with Lady Walden’s daughter Rebecca from House Lothair, but she was already betrothed to another.”

  Prince Alfred stands. He walks to Claudine’s side and drops to one knee. “I’m certain I can make you the happiest woman in all of Orléans.”

  Claudine’s cheeks flame red. Sweat dots her brow.

  “But—”

  “You’re so welcome. You’ll be a princess du sang. We will be cousins.” Sophia pulls Claudine from her seat and hugs her. Claudine is like a statue. Her lips quiver.

  “I don’t think I’m ready for marriage, Sophia,” Claudine says when the princess finally pulls away.

  “Oh, don’t be silly. You were so devastated by the last person who dumped you. I thought I’d spare you the further humiliation. This way you’re all settled.”

  “But, please, Sophia. I need to tell you—”

  “Not another word. It’s time to celebrate. I have chosen for you. That is my divine right.”

  I spot Claudine’s attendant in the far corner. She stares forward, glassy-eyed and near tears.

  “Now, my cousin Alfie can be quite particular about the way his wife should look. He’s been through quite a few.”

  Alfred chuckles. The whole table laughs.

  “But since we have another Belle in our midst, I figured I’d give you the opportunity to try on a new look. Feel more confident. Have you both choose your forever look together. And for my closest friends to see, in the open, more displays of our lovely Belles’ talents. We should have more exhibitions like the Beauté Carnaval on a regular basis to remind us of their talents.” She rests her hands on top of Claudine’s now-slumping shoulders. “Stand for me.”

  “Sophia, I’m happy with my look,” Claudine says. “I’ll just settle into this one.”

  “But I’m not,” Prince Alfred says. “I think you could be a bit bigger in your middle section. I like women with curves.”

  The table laughs again. Panic shines in Claudine’s blue eyes.

  “Let’s be a little adventurous, shall we?” Sophia says. “After all, I’m in mourning from the news about my mother, and I need cheering up.”

  “Sophia, please,” Claudine begs.

  “May you always find beauty, Claudine.” Sophia pivots back to the table. “Ambrosia and Camellia, please join us.”

  “Your Highness, this is highly irregular.” Elisabeth stands. “We cannot have beauty alterations done like this. So exposed. So out in the open.”

  Sophia eyes her. “You are dismissed. I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

  “But . . . but, Your Highness . . .” Elisabeth stammers.

  “Escort Miss Du Barry out of my chambers and back to her office,” Sophia demands.

  Elisabeth stares at me as the guards flank her and lead her out. I try to control my breathing.

  “You and I didn’t get along when you first came to court,” Sophia says to Amber. “I didn’t understand you. I thought you were a little boring. All rules and order. But now I think I want both you and Camellia here. At least for a little while. This whole process can cause such tension between the Beauregard sisters. So much pressure being the favorite, isn’t it, Camellia?” she asks. “And so much upset over not being the favorite anymore, Ambrosia?” She claps her little hands together.

  Amber balls her fists. The warmth of her anger radiates like a high-noon sun. A little hiccup escapes her mouth when she opens it to speak, but she, as always, says the right thing. “Thank you for this honor and opportunity, Your Highness.”

  Sophia lays one hand on each of our shoulders. “I’m desperate to see your different styles in action.”

  A cold sensation drops into my stomach.

  “We’re not different,” I say. “We don’t need to put on a show.”

  “I agree,” Auguste
chimes in. “This is a party, Sophia. The Belles shouldn’t have to work.”

  “Auguste, hush,” his mother says. “Let them show us their divinity, their connection to the Goddess of Beauty.”

  “She’s my sister. She’s talented. You experienced it for yourself when she was first chosen,” I say. “There’s no need for further comparison.”

  Sophia grins at her, then turns to me. “Camellia, you must really love Ambrosia so much to tell that lie. You were thrilled to take Ambrosia’s place at court. You believed you should’ve been chosen from the very start.”

  Heat flushes through me by the minute.

  “I won’t participate,” I say. “This is ridiculous.”

  My words set off a firecracker in the room. The guests gasp at my insubordination. Sophia’s face turns an embarrassed shade of red.

  I think of Ivy.

  I think of Astrid.

  I think of Arabella.

  I think of all the pain she’s already caused.

  Claudine exhales, a sound like air whooshing out of a post-balloon.

  “You won’t participate?” Sophia laughs in my face. “What do you mean? I command you to help Claudine.”

  Amber squeezes my hand and leans in to whisper, “Camille, please. Play along so we can get out of here.” Her eyes flash with worry.

  “Well, favorite?” Sophia says, crossing her arms over her chest.

  Amber releases me and rises to her feet. “I’m game. Let’s see who the better favorite is,” she says.

  Courtiers nod and clap, ready for a show. Sophia jumps up and down with excitement.

  “Amber, I’m not going to do this,” I say.

  “Are you scared?” Amber garners a laugh from the table. Her words bite. She stares at me, begging me to play along.

  “No,” I say.

  “Ladies, please. This is outrageous,” Auguste shouts.

  “We don’t need your opinions, Auguste,” Sophia snaps. “Camellia will do it because I want her to.” Sophia looks me dead in the eye. “She knows what will happen if she doesn’t.” She plucks a strawberry and flower from one of the fruit baskets and saunters over to Amber. “Do you like strawberries, Ambrosia? Or flowers, even?”

  She rubs the strawberry across Amber’s lips, then tickles Amber’s cheek with the flower.

  I jump forward. “Don’t eat that, Amber.”

  Sophia strokes Amber’s head and adds the flower to Amber’s Belle-bun. “Why?” Amber asks me. She opens her mouth to eat the strawberry.

  I slap it from Sophia’s hand.

  Sophia leaps back. “You act as if it’s poisonous,” she adds with a giggle. “And if you had struck me, even by accident, you could spend twelve years in the dungeons. Did you know that?”

  “Fine!” I say. “I accept your challenge.”

  Sophia plucks another strawberry from the basket and bites. Its flesh stains her teeth red. “It’ll be a friendly game. And Alfred will pick the winning look. Any wagers?”

  A woman takes bets at the table and collects spintria and leas coins in her pouch.

  “Bring me a mirror!” Sophia calls out.

  One appears moments later and is set against a nearby wall. Servants bring carts holding our beauty caisses. Sophia walks Claudine before the mirror. “Three tries. Whichever look Alfred likes best wins.”

  Claudine bursts into tears. Sophia uses her handkerchief to wipe them away. “You’ll thank me.” She kisses Claudine’s cheek. ”You can even take your servant with you after you marry. I know how fond you are of her. I just want us to be sisters in the eyes of the gods.”

  “Oh, goodie. How I love this!” someone at the table says.

  “Do you understand the rules?” Sophia asks.

  I stare at Amber. Her brow furrows. The is no game.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Yes,” she answers.

  Sophia stretches out Claudine’s arms before stepping out of the way. Amber coats bei powder on Claudine’s face and then gathers supplies from the drawers. I order a servant to bring Belle-rose tea. My hands shake with nerves as I offer it to Claudine. She takes only a few too-hot sips. Her eyes brim over with tears. I squeeze her shoulder in the hope that it consoles her.

  “Aren’t you going to get supplies?” Amber asks me.

  “No, I don’t need them,” I say.

  Her mouth drops open with annoyed surprise. “Well, then. You first, since you’re the favorite now and all.” Her eyes narrow.

  I move to the other side of Claudine. My body warms like the roaring hearth at our backs. The veins in my body swell. They rise in my hands.

  Claudine appears in my head: doughy gray flesh, beautiful round frame, dull brown hair, big eyes.

  I touch her hair. The strands darken and fall down her back in ribbons.

  I touch her eyelashes. Her irises lighten to dove gray. Brown shades of eye shadow appear on her lids, and mascara elongates her lashes.

  I touch her lips, painting them to look like a flower in bloom.

  I run my fingers along the edges of her body, smoothing her legs and hips to make her thin and willowy like the imperial dancers on their tiptoes.

  Claudine wipes her forehead with a handkerchief. Her breathing accelerates and she grimaces a little.

  I stop. “Are you all right?”

  “She’s fine,” Sophia interjects. “Continue. It’s beautiful.”

  I make her breasts larger.

  “I’m finished,” I say.

  The table claps.

  “Don’t get excited, Camille. My turn. Step aside.” Amber takes a hot iron from its caddy. She wraps a strand of Claudine’s hair around the barrel, and it turns white-blond and twists into tight corkscrew curls. Soon her hair halos her head.

  The courtiers at the table ooh and ahh.

  Amber wipes a pecan-brown paste over Claudine’s skin in quick strokes. Claudine’s face comes out a little darker than the rest of her. But I don’t point that out. Amber changes Claudine’s eyes back to hazel.

  “Lovely,” I say. Amber’s mouth tightens.

  Claudine’s knees buckle. Sophia’s attendant sweeps in behind her before she falls.

  “We should stop,” I say.

  “Not yet,” Sophia replies. “Look how beautiful she’s turning out. She’ll be fine. Right, Claudine? You’re just fine.”

  “I . . .” Her voice trails off. Her eyes flutter and fight to stay open.

  “More tea,” Amber says.

  I gaze up at Amber and wonder if this is really just a ploy to help get us out of here. If she’s just playing along, or taking this seriously. Her eyes are steely and cold. “Let’s stop now, and the table can be the judge of it,” I suggest.

  “No,” Amber and Sophia say in unison.

  “It’s your turn,” Amber states.

  I close my eyes and think through what to do next. I don’t touch Claudine this time. I let my mind randomly fill in the details. The corkscrews Amber placed in her hair shrivel down into a thick fish-tail braid dangling below her waist. Her hair color darkens to a pale gold the color of spintria coins. I reshape her body again, stretching her limbs like sugar-sticks, cinching her waist, and making her a whole four inches taller.

  Her skin lightens to the color of whipped butter and cream. I use her dress to create a new one, stretching it over her frame and letting it bell out at her waist like a parasol.

  Amber scoffs.

  I open my eyes and admire Claudine. She could sit atop a royal wedding pastry.

  Claudine gasps for breath and bites down on her bottom lip. Her head bobs toward her shoulders. “I didn’t know it would hurt so bad,” she mumbles.

  “We need to stop,” I say.

  “Not before I get a second chance. You’re trying to cheat me,” Amber says.

  “Can’t you see she’s hurting?” I yell.

  “Just give her some tea. She’ll be fine.” Sophia snatches the teacup from the tray and forces Claudine to drink it all. The scalding liquid drib
bles down her chin, leaving two pink burns behind. Claudine cries out.

  The room sits in stunned silence.

  Auguste stands. “I’ve had enough.” He strides toward the door. Sophia motions to her guards. They step into his path. He tries to move around them.

  “Have a seat, Auguste, or the guards will force you to sit, like a baby.”

  “Sophia, this is ridiculous,” he protests, and my heart swells. At least he is on my side.

  “The show has just begun. Enjoy it.” She winks at him.

  His mother leaves her seat and leads him back to the table. Each breath I take catches in my throat as I watch.

  Amber steps forward. “My turn!”

  Guards hold Claudine up. Amber draws black kohl lines over Claudine’s chest and arms and face, making a beauty road map. She changes the contours of Claudine’s body, shrinking her down and erasing the height I’d given her but making her round as a ripe apple. She uses a kohl pencil to mark Claudine’s face. Amber chisels out higher cheekbones and a more pronounced forehead.

  Claudine puts her hands to her cheeks. She flushes crimson. The blood inside her is aggravated, trying to get out.

  I reach for Amber to stop her.

  Amber moves away and paints a sapphire-blue smudge on Claudine’s gown. It changes to match the color of Auguste’s mother’s gown. Claudine’s limbs whiten like rice grains, and her hair explodes out from the braid I put in, hitting the floor in one cascading wave. Amber uses a hot iron to start straightening it, then changes her mind and grabs a steam-roller for curls.

  Claudine jerks forward.

  “Amber, stop,” I yell.

  “No, you won’t win.” Amber continues to work. “I’m not done yet. I’m not done.”

  Claudine’s body morphs so quickly I can’t identify all the changes. Her skin shifts into a mosaic of colors. Mahogany brown. Sandy brown. Midnight black. Creamy white. Her hair alternates its texture and length. Her breasts balloon and shrink and balloon again.

  “Amber!” I grab her arm.

  “Get off me, Camille. You’re not going to cheat. I’m going to beat you.” She clamps her eyes shut and pushes forward. Makeup races over Claudine’s face.