A Dove's Tale

Chapter 87

Sariel's lessons started the next morning, and they were grueling. Politics, economics, geography, language, etiquette - I never knew so much went into being royalty. He brought stacks of massive textbooks to my room and split his time with reading them to me, quizzing me on what he'd just read, and indulging my numerous questions. At midday, I had a break for lunch and exercises with the doctor, and then the lessons began again. I wondered when Sariel was supposed to get his work done with this schedule.

And then Chevalier came at two thirty, and I knew.

"King Chevalier," Sariel said, inclining his head respectfully as he closed the textbook on his lap. "Punctual as always. I believe we are due for another visit from the doctor as well," he added, his expression souring.

"Sorry. He gets a little overbearing sometimes, but I'm sure he won't interrupt as much tomorrow," I said apologetically.

"One can only hope," Sariel said through his tight-lipped smile, standing up and heading for the door. "Before I take my leave, I would like to discuss your wardrobe."

"My wardrobe?" I asked, my cheeks warming involuntarily. Theresa had spent a long time on the topic of my undergarments the previous afternoon - specifically, that I had none, since she threw out what I had before we left Flandre's estate. She and Belle had a lot of embarrassing suggestions about what to get and who should buy it for me.

"Yes. I realize you cannot stand for a fitting yet, but I think it prudent to have the seamstresses begin work on your wardrobe now so you have a few pieces ready when you are back on your feet. Then they can make alterations as needed."

"I can't just buy something from a store?" I ventured, although I already knew the answer. The noblewomen I'd seen all shared one thing in common: a custom-made, perfectly tailored wardrobe. The higher the rank, the more extravagant the clothes. For me, having lived until now with one worn, patched dress, two if I was lucky, it was a little overwhelming.

"You may," Sariel said, amusement flickering in his lavender eyes, "but occasions such as the coronation ceremony require more elaborate dresses than what you will find in any store. Unless you have any specific requests or preferences, I will leave the composition of your wardrobe up to the seamstresses."

Chevalier had seated himself on the sofa, flipping through the textbook Sariel left there as if this conversation didn't concern him, but I knew Sariel wouldn't have waited to discuss this until he arrived for a reason. Without his input, though, I couldn't fathom what that reason might be.

"Um, there is something," I said hesitantly, wishing he weren't here. "I...have a lot of scars, so...everything needs to be...modest."

"Modest," Sariel repeated.

I nodded.

"How modest?"

I bit my lip nervously. "Long sleeves, long skirt, nothing backless."

"I see." He pushed the bridge of his glasses up his nose thoughtfully. "Would short sleeves and long gloves be sufficient?"

I looked at my upper arms, imagining the scars through the sleeves of my nightgown. "Maybe," I said slowly, bringing one hand up to measure with my fingers, trying not to wince from the movement in my shoulder. "But the gloves would need to come up to here."

"Perhaps it would be best if I sent the seamstresses here to speak with you directly," he said.

"That would probably be best," I agreed.

"What are you doing?" the doctor exclaimed, appearing in the doorway and rushing to my side.

"Sorry," I sighed, straightening my arm again. "But you said I could do more exercises if I felt up to it, and I feel up to it."