A Dove's Tale

Chapter 132

I wanted to be alone with Chevalier so I could indulge the giddy excitement I felt now that the anxiety leading up to our engagement ceremony was gone. Barring that, I would have at least liked to dance with him right away. But he did not lead me to the center of the ballroom when the orchestra began to play, and the couples joining hands and taking their positions there weren't waiting for us. Apparently, we didn't have to start the ball with a solo dance at our engagement ceremony. Just his coronation ceremony. I wondered what the protocol would be at our wedding.

Marrying a king came with a lot of strange rules and traditions. And politics, of course. All things that I'd rather avoid. But judging by Chevalier's brisk stride toward an elderly nobleman I didn't know but recognized immediately, politics had to come first in this instance.

The Marquis de Michel. Chevalier's grandfather and closest living relative.

He had to be in his seventies or eighties, but the similarities between him and his grandson were striking. His broad shoulders and straight back showed no evidence of stooping, and I imagined his white hair used to be the same shade of pale blonde in his youth, although it could have been any other color. His blue eyes were even the same shape as Chevalier's, though they tended more toward a steely gray than a light crystal blue, and that sharp stare, combined with an aristocratic bearing that exuded power and wealth, made me feel immensely inferior. It didn't help that he was nearly Chevalier's height, too. I almost felt like an insignificant little maid who'd forgotten her place.

Almost.

Yves had told me before that looking the part of a Rhodolitian prince gave him the confidence to be a Rhodolitian prince, even when doubts and accusations about his Obsidianite blood assailed him. That was why he paid such close attention to his appearance. I took a deep breath and conjured the image of myself in the mirror after he finished my hair. The woman in that reflection looked every bit a princess. I was every bit a princess, and I had every right to be the woman on Chevalier's arm.

"Ivetta, this is the Marquis de Michel," Chevalier said coolly. "My grandfather."

I already knew they weren't close, but I wasn't expecting an arctic chill to settle in the air between the two of them. Still, I was glad Chevalier spoke first. I hadn't thought of how to address the Marquis. "Lord" didn't feel like it showed him due honor, but that was the appropriate title for any nobleman below the rank of duke, and as a marquess, he was technically a step down. Even dukes regarded him as the highest ranking nobleman in Rhodolite, though, because the Michel family was old and ran deeply through Rhodolitian history, with centuries-long ties to the throne. And, of course, he possessed more money than any other person in Rhodolite, including the royal family.

He didn't strike me as the type to appreciate me calling him "grandfather" right away. I had a feeling it was too much to hope for even a "congratulations" for our engagement.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," I said politely.

"Ivetta Romanov," he said, his deep voice every bit as chilling as Chevalier's. "A name belonging to a dead family from a country no longer in existence, an upbringing as the lowest of the lows among commoners, and no money to speak of. You've done well for yourself in this match."

Chevalier's arm tensed under my hand. I hadn't known what to expect from his grandfather, but that wasn't it. That was a targeted attack, insulting my background and implying I'd seduced Chevalier into making a huge political mistake by choosing me, and it would have left me reeling had I not already dealt with the same veiled accusations in one form or another since my debut into high society. But Chevalier remained uncharacteristically silent in the face of his grandfather's blatant disrespect toward me, and that made me wonder if there was more to this. Was the Marquis testing me? Chevalier had tested me a lot when we first met, too, and they were remarkably similar.