I open the double doors of Du Barry’s office. The wood whispers beneath my feet, and I’m a little girl again, bracing myself to get in trouble, waiting for her to step out of the circuit-phone booth in the corner, expecting her to appear behind me, and say, “What do you think you’re doing in here? Fetch your parchment and write fifty lines.”
The scent of her lingers—rose water, cloves, and a touch of sugar—and it makes me wonder where she might be now. The windy season is here, and it’s been three months since Charlotte locked Sophia in the Everlasting Rose.
Du Barry’s high-backed velvet chair is still creased with the memory of her shape. Her abacus perches on the side like a tanager bird. The walls boast portraits of her ancestors—eight generations’ worth, all stemming from the grand-mère who found the first Belle as she emerged from the dark forest.
Nothing has changed. All of it is frozen in place, anticipating her return, anticipating all things to settle back into place like they once were.
But everything is different now.
I sit at her desk, my legs finding the grooves left behind by her body.
The house bell rings. I glance out the window that faces the front. Padma ushers in more of Sophia’s pods. The growing Belle babies slosh in their cradles as they’re lifted inside. Hana follows behind, her arms full of supplies.
I step into the hallway. The lesson rooms are filled with small Belles examining flowers and products, the pitch of their voices bordering on squeals. Day-lanterns sail over the room like floating stars.
The foyer buzzes with activity as the nursery chamber welcomes the Belle-pods from the palace. Nurses rush in and out, following Ivy’s orders.
I leave the house through the back doors. The dark forest lies ahead, spread out across the rest of our island like a blanket of night. The Belle-graveyard sits along its edge, headstones poking like thumbnails from the rich soil. The three freshest graves hold the bodies of Amber and Valerie and Arabella, but already the earth around them has settled. They barely look new anymore.
My heart pinches.
I glance up at the sky, wondering if new Belles will actually fall from it one day. Will my sisters be replaced? What will happen in the weeks and months and years to come?
A warm and familiar hand slips into mine. I look up and meet Rémy’s eyes. “When did you get back?”
“Just now.”
“How are your sisters? And mother and father?”
“Better,” he says with a sigh of relief. He presents a ruby post-balloon. “This arrived from the palace.”
I rip open the back of the balloon, fish out the letter holder, and unroll the parchment. Rémy reads over my shoulder.
Camille,
I hope everything is all right at home.
I have news that you should know in case it leaks to the papers. I still don’t trust anyone here at court. Charlotte plans to abdicate the throne once things settle down. She wants to call for a new Beauty Trial.
It could be two months or two years from now. I don’t know.
But I’m looking forward to what comes next.
Be safe, and write me.
Love,
Edel
PS: Hi, Rémy!
Rémy and I exchange glances.
“What does that mean?” he asks.
“Maybe chaos. Maybe an end to beauty work for good.” I glance back at the house. “I don’t know. One can only hope our new leader will be wise and just, and nothing like Sophia.”
I look up at the post-balloon, and then at the sky as a streak mars the blue.
His hand finds mine.
“What would you say if I asked you to go into those woods with me? Would you be afraid?”
He turns my face toward him. “Anything for you.”
We walk forward into the shadows, hand in hand.
I have so many people to thank for helping me cross the finish line with this book. It was a struggle and a roller coaster, because during the writing of this book I was diagnosed with a very large, noncancerous liver tumor. Through numerous medical appointments, biopsies, and MRIs, I wrestled with this book and its plot and all my deadlines, and the reality that my quest for perfect skin was the reason I had this medical emergency. After spending several decades on oral contraceptives to control my cystic acne, I discovered it gave me a parting gift—a tumor the size of my hand. Beauty has a price, and I am learning the cost now.
It took a team to help me get this book to be its best. A list of thanks in no particular order:
My badass agent, Victoria Marini. Thank you for keeping me together. You are a superhero!
My amazing editor, Kieran S. Viola. Thank you for rescuing me. Always. Thank you for your patience as this medical crisis interrupted our normal editorial process. Thank you for helping me organize the chaos.
My amazing champion, Emily Meehan. Thank you for your vision and your support. I love being part of the Freeform family.
Marci Senders, brilliant cover wizard, you continue to amaze me with your cover-making powers. They just get better and better.
Maz Zissimos, best publicist in the freaking world, thank you for keeping me all together and making sure I get cool opportunities to talk about my world. You are amazing, and I feel lucky to also call you a friend.
Thank you to the whole Freeform team—Seale Ballenger, Holly Nagel, Dina Sherman, Mary Mudd, Shane Rebenschied, Elke Villa, Andrew Sansone, Patrice Caldwell. You are the dream team.
Thank you to my friends, my love nests, my group chats, my Slack channels, my covens. All those who keep me human. You know who you are. This was a tough year, and I barely made it through. Thank you for listening to me complain and whine and cry, and for keeping me all stitched together. Thank you for the chicken broth and the flowers and the tea and the steak.
Thank you, Mom and Dad, for everything. Always, and forever.
And thank you to the readers. Thanks for coming down this dark rabbit hole with me.
DHONIELLE CLAYTON is the author of New York Times best seller The Belles and coauthor of the Tiny Pretty Things series. She grew up in the Washington, DC, suburbs on the Maryland side and spent most of her time under her grandmother’s table with a stack of books. A former teacher and middle school librarian, Dhonielle is cofounder of CAKE Literary, a creative development company whipping up decidedly diverse books for a wide array of readers, and COO of the nonprofit We Need Diverse Books. She’s got a serious travel bug and loves spending time outside the USA but makes her home in New York City, where she can most likely be found hunting for the best slice of pizza. You can also find her online at www.dhonielleclayton.com or follow her @brownbookworm.
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