Midnight Beauties (Grim Lovelies 2)

Chapter 14

Petra and Anouk hurried upstairs, and Anouk cleaned her wounds as best she could; fortunately, the gash at the back of her head had stopped bleeding. They washed off the mud and changed clothes and then found the rest of the acolytes gathered in the enclosed cloister to watch the Royals’ arrival, their breath fogging the glass.

The Royal procession descended upon the Black Forest like something out of a dream. The flock of birds was only the first herald. Next, the treacherous mountain path, normally accessible only by foot or by mule, smoothed and unrolled itself, carpet-like, into a meandering road that led across the bridge to the abbey’s front steps. Birch trees curled their branches inward to form an archway. Snow swept itself to either side of the road and rose up in ice statues.

Anouk and Petra kept carefully to the back of the group of girls, placing as much space as they could between themselves and Frederika, who threw them wild-eyed stares.

“Look,” Jolie cried. “That must be the Court of the Woods!”

They had all heard rumors of the various Courts, and it turned into a fabulous game of guessing which Court was which and trying to name the princes and princesses who stepped out. The Court of the Woods’ delegation drove up in a hunter-green Daimler with spotless chrome and oak running boards. It purred as it stopped in front of the bridge, and a princess dressed in thick furs climbed out on the arm of a duke in an ink-black suit. Behind the Daimler, a pair of cream-colored coupes that the girls guessed belonged to the Crimson Royals pulled up, and a delegation of three—?the queen and her sisters—?climbed out, their eyelashes and brows dusted in butterfly wings. Next to arrive was the Lunar Court, composed of a gray-haired king and his brown-skinned son, whose barely tamed long hair was swept back in a loose plait. The Minaret Court came in a horse-drawn carriage that, no doubt, had been glamoured to look like something mundane to the Pretties in the valley—?a trolley car, perhaps. A count and countess descended, both dressed in red capes and with garnets dotted around their eyes.

“Where’s the Court of Isles?” Marta asked. “They’re missing.”

Anouk kept her mouth shut. She’d been careful since her arrival not to tell anyone but Petra about the Coven of Oxford’s takeover of London. She liked most of the acolytes but that didn’t mean she trusted them. They were all willing to risk their lives for magic—?it wasn’t a stretch to think they might try to seek favor among the Haute by warning the Oxford witches that Anouk and Rennar were planning their downfall.

A fleet of silver motorcycles that could only belong to the reckless Barren Court arrived, and the missing London Royals were forgotten.

There was one car left at the end of the procession, a sleek black Rolls-Royce with a gleaming hood ornament in the shape of a crow instead of a winged woman. Anouk drew in a breath. She’d seen it before, outside the to

wnhouse and in front of Castle Ides. The door opened and there he was, Prince Rennar, dashing in his frost-gray suit and crown of golden briars. A few of the acolytes sighed. He limped only slightly. If you didn’t know his right leg was made of stone, you might not even notice.

Two lesser Parisian Royals accompanied him: a young black man wearing a hat that shaded his face and a preteen girl in a silver gown and glass slippers with polished black claws affixed to each of her finger­nails. She bore an uncanny resemblance to Countess Quine, who had been dead for months and whose body, as far as Anouk knew, was still at the Château des Mille Fleurs, decomposing in the rose beds. She hadn’t known that Quine had a daughter, but the Royals valued family only as far as lineage. It was entirely possible the girl had wanted her mother dead as much as Anouk had.

“I thought Prince Rennar’s entourage would be twice that size,” Sam mused. Anouk felt a stab of guilt—?it would have been twice that size if Anouk hadn’t killed the other members.

Jolie let out a long sigh and stroked her braid dreamily. Seeing the glittering princes and princesses setting their fine shoes on the abbey grounds only highlighted how bleak their home truly was. Bare floors. Dust and the cobwebs. The eternal winter.

Anouk glanced again at Frederika. A bruise was blooming on the girl’s left temple, although it was mostly hidden by her hair.

A car door slammed and Anouk’s attention returned to the Royals. The Crimson Court delegation’s vehicle seemed to have bumped fenders with another delegation’s. Curt words were exchanged between the Court of the Woods and the Barren Court, and then, suddenly, the girls heard someone pointedly clearing his throat right behind them.

Several of the girls jumped.

Duke Karolinge gave them a stern look. “Girls. You’ve seen cars before. You’ve seen dresses and diamonds. Don’t embarrass yourself by swooning over riches. Show the Royals that you are not impressed by their glamour; you didn’t fight your way here to learn how to shroud yourself in luxury. You came with nobler aims.” He added in a gentler voice, “Tomorrow you will have your chance to prove your worth.”

A ripple of anxiety spread through the girls. As dazzling as the Royals’ glitz was, it heralded the next day’s deadly trials.

“Today, however,” the Duke continued, “is just like every other day. There are chores. Responsibilities. Go.” He barked the command and the girls leaped to attention. “Do a final check of the guest rooms. Freshen the rose petals. Glasses of champagne waiting in each room. Anouk.” He rested a heavy hand on her shoulder. She flinched, all too aware of the bell hidden in her clasped palm. “They’ll expect perfection from tonight’s Eve Feast.”

Her shoulders relaxed when she realized he was talking about her cooking. “They’ll have it.” Not that they deserve it.

His black eyes held hers for a long second, and she felt her cheeks burning as brightly as the stolen bell. She threw herself into a long, sweat-soaked afternoon over the kitchen stove.Sam and Karla were abuzz with gossip as they helped her chop and peel. They discussed which Royal lady wore the loveliest dress, which had the most enviable shoes, which young men they’d sneak into a closet with. If anyone knew about Frederika’s attack that morning in the goat pen, it was forgotten, eclipsed by the Royals’ arrival.

While preparing courses, Anouk stole glimpses out the kitchen windows, but she never caught sight of Rennar. He was likely in one of the elegant upper chambers with the other guests, sipping something sweet, speculating about which girl might survive the Baths. She wondered if he’d told the other Royals about her—?the beastie girl he’d bargained with—?or if their deal was a secret.

While the soufflé was baking, she grabbed the leftover ham scraps and stole away to visit Little Beau. When she reached the bottom stair, she made out a figure kneeling in the mud in front of Little Beau’s stall. She slowed, uncertain, the memory of Frederika’s ambush that morning still fresh. She grabbed one of the shovels. But from the clothes, she could tell that the person was a Royal. He was whispering something too low for her to hear. She curled her fingers around the shovel handle. If he tried to hurt Little Beau . . .

“Excuse me, monsieur.” Her words were hard.

The man turned. She couldn’t see his face in the shadows, but she recognized the hat. It was the baron who’d arrived with Rennar. He took a step into the lamplight.

Anouk’s throat went tight. It was a face she hadn’t expected. She was used to seeing his face dusted with potting soil, not rouge.

“Luc?” Her voice was breathy, uncertain. She felt as though she were seeing a ghost. Then he grinned and the spell broke.

“Dust Bunny.”

“Luc!” She dropped the shovel, stumbled toward him, and tripped over a basket of eggs, but he caught her before she fell. Laughing, she ran her hands over his arms and the sides of his face. “You’re here! You’re . . . you!”