Chapter 25: Cleavendale Dreams
Hey Josh,
You always hated soft openers, so I’ll skip it. Just checking in. I’m deployed on a long-term assignment: Ministry orders, a bit hush-hush. You’re a career soldier, you understand. You still polishing those boots so shiny you can see yourself in them?
You always kept things clear. Orders precise. No Belfemmian flirting rituals, no Cleavendale tail codes. I remember South Grove, when that Therian liaison bunked with us. You didn’t say anything rude, but you moved your cot twice and muttered regulations like they were prayers, something about unauthorized Therian scent projection and mixed-species bunking protocol violations. The rules didn’t apply to the diplomatic branch, and it drove you nuts.
Anyway, I thought of you the other day. That book I lent you, the one you never finished because, quote, “not enough field tactics.” Still makes me laugh.
Not much more to say, just a letter from one soldier to another. Maybe I’ll see you in the field.
Regards,
Cameron Ailistar
Candy reviewed the letter. It was short, but Josh wasn’t one for long reads, and he was the one she’d known the least. Still, it said what it needed to. She slid it into the pre-prepared envelope and tucked it into the outgoing Ministry mail slot.
She yawned and stretched. It had been a long night of writing, but at least she’d accomplished something, and as Cameron, no less. That part felt good. Settling, almost.
She wandered into the living room, where Marcus sat watching the news.
“Anything good on?” she asked.
“Eh,” he said, not looking up. “Paddlewick updated the official sub-captain uniform from grey to ‘squirrel grey.’ It’s causing quite the scandal.”
Candy shook her head. “How can a nation with giant paddles, training collars, and tattling spy sigils be this boring?”
Marcus smirked. “That’s the magic of bureaucracy. Always killing excitement in the dumbest possible way.”
Candy chuckled and crossed her arms. “Change it to CNN.”
Marcus didn’t argue. The sigil flickered, then shifted to Cleavendales News Network just in time to catch the tail end of a segment.
“…reports confirm that Paprika Pig’s limited-release perfume, Ethereal Essence, malfunctioned at last night’s fashion gala, generating fully visible thought bubbles above every attendee’s head. The alchemic blend was meant to ‘release your inner sparkle,’ but instead revealed everyone’s private thoughts, uncensored. Highlights included Miss Pig herself reading, ‘Why’d I eat so much? I’m gonna cropdust everyone,’ and visiting knight Travis Tithe’s bubble, ‘Gods, this party’s so boring I’d fight a bra dragon just to get out of it.’ No injuries reported, though several social careers are on hold.”
Candy gaped, then exploded. “See? Now that’s news. Cleavendale is outright bonkers!”
“Well, it’s more interesting than changes in the color grey, I’ll give you that,” Marcus conceded.
“Oh shush shush shush, I wanna hear this!” Candy yelled as a colorful commercial came on. A burst of buttered trumpet fanfare.
ANNOUNCER (recorded):
“Broadcasting all the way from Cleavendale’s flavor capital… Gourmand’s Haven!”
A stripe of orange and black blurred across the screen.
Tony Klaw, a muscular Tiger therian in a flour-splattered apron, spun into view with his striped arms and mirrored spatulas. A grin so wide it might’ve been enchanted. His restaurant’s logo flared across the corner of the screen in cheerful yolk-yellow lettering:
KLAW’S BREAKFAST BARRACKS
Breakfast, All Day, All Ways.
TONY KLAW:
“Every day’s a good day for griddle cakes! Come on down to Klaw’s Breakfast Barracks in sunny Gourmand’s Haven, Cleavendale!”
His apron was splattered with flour. His claws gleamed. His tail swished with charisma as he flipped a triple-stack griddle cake six feet into the air.
“Here at Klaw’s Breakfast Barracks, we do one thing and we do it right: breakfast! Every day, every hour, every bite! Because who says pancakes are just for mornings?” he asked, winking to the camera. “Not this kitty. 'Cause baby… they’re grrraaaand!”
He roared with joy as syrup rained down over a spinning waffle sculpture in the shape of a llama. Behind him, an army of enchanted spatulas with little arms and legs were flipping hashbrowns and stirring cornbeef hash while Tony moved a waffle the size of a shield.
“It’s time to go wild for waffles!”
Candy stared at the screen, visibly entranced. Her lips parted slightly. One of her feet curled beneath her.
“That’s it,” she murmured, drooling slightly. “That’s where I’m going. First trip. As soon as they take me off the no-travel list, I’m there!”
Marcus looked up from the documents he had been reviewing, raising a brow. “Gourmand’s Haven?”
“Yup,” she nodded. “Klaw’s. I want breakfast. Real stick-to-your-ribs breakfast. Not Ministry-approved toast rectangles and porridge.”
Marcus frowned. "You think he gets fur in the food? I mean, he'd need a hair net, arm net, face net..."
"Oh, don't be a buzz kill!"
Marcus chuckled and smiled faintly. “Fine, I’m in.”
Candy gave a soft, satisfied hum, folding her arms. Her gaze lingered on Tony Klaw, mid-spin, mid-flip, mid-pour. For a moment, the world felt soft and orange-tinted, and in her head she thought, “Maybe I'd just stay. Maybe Gourmand’s Haven could be more than a vacation. Maybe Cleavendale could be a beginning.”
Gourmand’s Haven, a city that didn’t require weekly correction. Where breakfast wasn’t scheduled around obedience logs. Where nobody tracked how many times you curtsied or whether you said “sir” before speaking.
Queen Carmella hated Paddlewick’s patriarchal laws. That was no secret. After a misfire from one of the ministry’s training dummies had smacked her rump during a goodwill tour, she’d sworn off the kingdom entirely. These days she sends only ambassadors and snide public jabs about “spanking the patriarchy.” If Candy could get an audience with her... if she asked... would she offer sanctuary?
“One can dream,” she whispered.
Yet dreams had teeth, and Candy was unaware of the danger that could put her in. Marcus knew, and had Candy said those thoughts aloud, he could have warned her: there were reasons she couldn’t renounce Paddlewick. Reasons that went beyond the ministry. Despite all its oppressive patriarchal routines and invasive monitoring, Paddlewick protected its own, with the largest standing army in the Cone. Even inconvenient citizens like Candy. But once you were no longer a citizen, you gave up that protection. You were fair game to the horrors of the Cone, to predators and the Prince.
Candy handed the crystal remote back to Marcus.
“Bedtime,” she whispered, stretching as she rose. “I see Viv and Alyssa tomorrow.”
“Goodnight. Oh, and don’t forget we do your maintenance spanking tomorrow night.”
“Ugh,” she said, rolling her eyes. “How could I forget?”
She padded away toward their bed, happy with the idea of a backup plan, and blissfully unaware of the danger she’d just dreamt up.
Quick Recap (No Spoilers)
- Candy (formerly Cameron) is trying to survive in Paddlewick, a kingdom of collars, correction benches, and very inconvenient marriage laws.
- She’s legally classified as a woman despite having shrunken male genitalia, and married to her best friend Marcus... but only a few people know who she used to be.
- Between mandatory etiquette drills, ritualistic and mandatory "oral devotion" apologies, a house-installed spy system, and government-approved porridge, she’s been writing letters to her old military buddies under her former name, trying to hold onto some piece of herself, but she only has 9 months left to do so.
- She's found a few things to look forward to: a wife's book club where they complain about their husbands, a self-defense class where she can punch out her anger, and friends she sees at the NO MEN ALLOWED bathhouse.
- Still, she lightly dreams of escape, but freedom comes with risks... and dreams of leaving Paddlewick behind may attract the wrong kind of attention.
Spoiler
At some point, Candy will learn what Marcus already knows: the real danger of renouncing Paddlewick. I've written the chapter, I'm just not sure when to slot it in. Anyway, if you’d rather discover it with her, skip this section.
But if you're the kind of reader who likes to peek ahead...
I've written a small collection of side stories set in the kingdom of Bellefemme. Most of them follow unrelated characters, like a young woman named Zivabelle who starts her career as a waitress at a lactation tea house. Still, at the end of each, there's a “meanwhile” moment revealing what the Prince (and others) are up to behind the scenes. They’re structured like post-chapter stingers or cutaway epilogues, gradually showing you the bigger danger Candy's unaware of.
To explore them:
- You can read the whole series for the character arcs and vibes.
- Or, if you're short on time or don't care for the stories in general, just scroll to the final section of each story. There's only one or two in the series where the entire story matters.
- Just want the core intel? Read PF2 and PF3. That’ll give you, eh, I'm going to say about 80% of the picture.
PF 1
https://www.NovelFire.com/read/1568034-welcome-to-cleavendale-a-collection-of-short-stories/chapter/1723907/
PF 2
https://www.NovelFire.com/read/1568034-welcome-to-cleavendale-a-collection-of-short-stories/chapter/1726081/
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