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“Are you worried it’s you?” Alexander’s eyes are dancing.
“Not at all,” I reply curtly. “Is it the King? The Queen?”
“It’s the monarch, ma’am. The King, in this case,” Ralph replies. “Now, please do remember to tread carefully.”
“Do they spook easy?” I ask.
“They are known to, yes,” Ralph replies. “We need to refrain from speaking, if that is acceptable to you, Your Royal Highnesses.”
“Totally acceptable,” I reply and turn to Alexander, who gives Ralph a simple nod.
We walk in silence until we come across the most incredible site I’ve seen. It’s a whole congregation of peacocks—sorry, peafowl—in a clearing. It's like being at the most extravagant fashion show, with the males as the divas, strutting around with their tail feathers fanned out like oversized, psychedelic fans. They’re the peacock equivalent of runway models, showing off with a just look at how fabulous I am attitude.
Shame Ledonia’s national symbol isn’t the peacock. It would suit Alexander to a T.
Then there are the females, who seem more like the sensible audience, totally unimpressed by the males. Every now and then, a male makes a dramatic display, and the females just glance over with a look that tells them they’ve seen it all before.
Good work, ladies. I should take a page from their book where Alexander is concerned.
Ralph whispers, “It’s wonderful to find an entire ostentation of peafowl, ma’am.”
“An ostentation?” I whisper back.
“That’s the term used to describe a group of peafowl.”
“Got it. Are they native to Malveaux?”
“Oh, no, ma’am. Much like the lion is the symbol of England, the peafowl is not native to Malveaux. In fact, the first peafowl to live in our country were a gift to King Leopold by an Indian Maharaja some 800 years ago.”
“Seriously? That’s so cool,” I reply. “Okay if I get a closer look?”
“As long as you tread carefully and not try to touch any of them.”
“No touching. Got it.”
I creep closer, watching my step. Closer, closer. Then, I step on what can only be described as the loudest twig snap on record, like a firecracker on the 4th of July.
Uh-oh.
The peafowl erupt into a frenzy, flapping and squawking like I’ve just announced a pop quiz in calculus class. It's a flurry of wings and indignant bird noises. One particularly flustered peacock flies straight up like a rocket, while others run around like they’ve lost their GPS signal.
It’s unsettling and loud, and I steel myself before I turn back to face the others. What does it mean that on my formal introduction to Malveaux’s national bird, I give them the fright of their lives?
“Oops,” I say, hoping I can somehow style this out.
Not happening.
Ralph presses his lips together, probably to stop himself from telling me I’m a total idiot; Alexander shakes his head at me with a smirk teasing his lips, and I wish I could spook him so he’d fly away, too; and Vlad and Alexander’s bodyguard suddenly pretend to be searching for snipers, hidden in trees.
“Thank you so much for all of this,” I say to Ralph with a strained voice.
I don’t look at Alexander. I know he must be loving this, seeing me make a fool of myself with a bunch of birds.
Ralph’s jaw is slack as he watches the last of the birds scamper away. “You are very welcome, ma’am,” he says with uncertainty.
“I’m going to head back now.” I gesture in the direction of the palace with my thumb. “People to see and things to do. Princess things. So…yeah.”
Smooth.
