A Dove's Tale

Chapter 58

Guests trickled out of the ballroom as evening slipped into morning. Older people, tired from the night's festivities, hiding yawns behind their hands; couples whose night's festivities were only beginning, unable to stop touching each other as they hurried to his or her room; drunkards weaving back and forth across the hall, supported by friends or servants trying to get them back to their rooms before they collapsed. I stayed in the kitchens as much as possible, washing dishes, disposing of garbage, warming up milk and pouring cups of tea for other servants to take to their needy charges, and dreading Prince Gilbert's summons.

There was a reason I didn't tell Prince Chevalier about that, and it was that I still hoped I could fix this by myself. Finding an acceptable explanation for the Rhodolitian princes' behavior might be difficult, but if I could at least convince Prince Gilbert I knew nothing about Prince Chevalier's work, wouldn't that help? And if Prince Chevalier didn't come to rescue me, wouldn't that count for something?

It was a bad idea. Declining his summons was a bad idea, and accepting it was a bad idea.

"Ivetta."

I looked up from the sink full of dirty dishes to see Theresa standing next to me, pale-faced with worried green eyes.

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

"You need to go home now," she said.

I gave her a questioning look. "Why?"

"Because Prince Gilbert wants you, and if you leave now, I can just say I couldn't find you."

I dried my hands and swallowed the ball of lead in my throat to give her an encouraging smile. "It's fine, Theresa. I'll go."

"No," she said firmly, putting her hands on my shoulders to stop me from walking past her. "That man is dangerous. I can't let you do this."

"Don't worry," I told her, removing her hands from my shoulders and heading for the stove where a cook was already warming more milk for another guest. "He just wants a glass of warm milk."

"Are you sure that's all?" she asked accusingly.

"Calm down. Maybe you need a glass of warm milk."

"Don't go in his room, Ivetta," she warned me.

"I don't intend to. Ooh, maybe some warm cookies, too," I said thoughtfully, watching another cook pull a fresh tray from an oven.

"I'll go tell Prince Chevalier," Theresa decided.

I turned and grabbed her arm. "No. Don't do that," I insisted.

"Ivetta-"

"If you tell Prince Chevalier, there will be trouble. The kind of trouble that might start a war."

She pursed her lips into a frown. "I don't like this."

I shrugged. "We can't be spoiled all the time, right?"

She sighed and gave me a quick hug. "Just...be careful, okay?"

"Okay."

I kept up the calm, confident act all the way to Prince Gilbert's room, but it faltered when I raised my fist to knock on his door. He could just take the milk and cookies and tell me to leave. It was possible. It wouldn't happen, though, not with my luck. Once I knocked on that door, that was it. Whatever happened, happened, and I had to go along with whatever he wanted, because he was the prince of an enemy nation, and I couldn't risk offending him.

No pressure.

I took a deep breath and knocked. My heartbeat counted the seconds before the door opened.