A Dove's Tale

Chapter 155

I thought Leon was approachable, but I'd seen nothing like this. Regular people on the street—rich, poor, young, old, men, women—came right up to Clavis and struck up a conversation with him. Nobody seemed to care that he was a prince at all. Nobody used titles. The little boy with grubby hands who strung a convoluted sentence about nothing together while rolling a piece of candy around in his mouth; the wealthy business owner who had seen an increase in clientele since taking Clavis' off-the-wall suggestion; the flirty barmaid who just had to tell the story about the time Clavis accidentally got drunk and then cried on her shoulder about his mean older brother; they all talked and laughed with him as if he was an old friend, and indeed, everybody we met seemed to have at least one personal story to tell involving him. He took a very personal, informal approach to government, it seemed, and people obviously liked that. Even if having him as a leader meant having to put up with crazy stunts every so often.

Then again, one of his crazy stunts was routinely sneaking across the border to smuggle Obsidianite refugees into Rhodolite. I'd heard about that when I was working as Chevalier's maid, but I hadn't realized how frequently he did it. At least half of the people we met were former Obsidianites who he and Cyran helped escape miserable situations such as poverty, starvation, injustice, and slavery, and now, they were flourishing under his care. That made him worthy of at least their respect, if not overwhelming gratitude. Gratitude that outweighed an occasional flower bomb in a wedding.

Yes, he did that. The newlyweds were still gushing about it. After the initial fright and confusion from the explosion, everybody realized the bridegroom had rushed to shield his bride, and suddenly, his new in-laws' opinion of him soared. And the honeymoon went well, too, judging by the bride's growing belly.

It was a fun day.

Clavis had accounted for every minute, as promised, but I didn't mind following him from store to store and house to house, learning more about this hidden side to him and meeting interesting people who treated me like I was just a normal person. And thanks to Theresa's remark the previous night, I spotted the perfect gift for Chevalier almost immediately. It was a hand carved dove in a woodworking shop, made with such fine craftsmanship that it was almost lifelike, part of a collection of small, unpainted pieces waiting for the painter's brush. The woodcarver offered to have it painted right away and then send it to the palace when it his painter finished, but I declined. It was just right the way it was. A pretty, common little wooden dove that flew into the palace one day and never left. If I was all Chevalier wanted, then this was perfect.

I couldn't wait to give it to him. And I also didn't see how he could possibly guess I'd picked this as his gift, which meant I really could surprise him.

"You can't say a word about this to Chevalier," I warned Theresa later that night. "Don't even mention anything about the shops we visited, or wood, or—"

"Oh, sure, I'll keep that in mind the next time I have a conversation with him," she said, laughing, as she brushed past me on her way to our bathroom. "Which is never!"

"And no talking to anybody else about it, either," I continued, raising my voice to be heard over the running water in the bathtub. "The slightest hint could give it away."

She turned to face me and put her hands on my shoulders. "I get it, Ivetta," she said, spinning me around and shoving me toward the door. "Go find your sappy book of poetry already and let me take a bath in peace."

I felt the warmth of a shy blush rising in my cheeks. "It might not be poetry..."

"Yeah, right," she said knowingly. "Because he isn't just as much of a sentimental fool as you are. On second thought, you have way too much energy for someone who spent all day on your feet, getting dragged around by Clavis. Maybe you should take the hot bath and I should go find the book, otherwise you'll be awa—"