“I would have thought that you would be deep in preparations for the Longest Night. Is Dahlia House not missing their Second and her critical eye? Who else will ensure Dahlia triumphs at the Cereus Masque?”
“You are in a jesting mood, Your Grace,” Odilia said, her head high as her horse pranced under her. “And I am a talented woman. I can do many things at once.”
“I would expect no less.”
“I would hate to disappoint.”
Roland de Chalasse, Duc of L’Agnace, smiled at her, his seat sure in his saddle as his stallion tossed his great head. The horse was impatient to be out of the city streets and in the freedom of the countryside to run how he pleased. The Duc’s gloved hands held the reins firmly, allowing the stallion the freedom to make his opinions known without ever sacrificing his control over the animal.
Odilia nó Dahlia shot him a sly smile, her brown eyes glancing at him from under her lashes as her gelding followed the stallion’s lead down the Rue Courcel and out the western gate of the City of Elua.
He had been almost surprised to receive her card asking if she could call on him. It wasn’t an assignation, he hadn’t sought her out purposefully after she had so neatly manipulated and manoeuvred him into lifting the silver embargo those months ago. He had been quite impressed with her, actually, but it wouldn’t do for the Duc de Chalasse to be seen to be captivated by her, the King’s Courtesan.
The Dahlia Queen, some of the more daring gossips were starting to whisper. With all the business of the King finding a wife, no few of the courtiers had whispered about his mistress and what could become of her. What few options there were available for her.
And here she was, walking his borrowed horse beside him, her dark eyes trained on the gates and the rolling countryside beyond.
Just what did she want from him?
He kept his peace as they enjoyed their ride, giving the horses their heads and letting them run as they pleased through the meadows and grasses of the countryside beyond the City of Elua. The air was brisk, winter threatening to come in earnest, the nights were getting colder and the sunlight during the day was a crisp, cold kind of light. Merciless. It was one of his favorite times of year.
The horses slowed, cantering along a rocky stream. His ducal guards fell back, giving the couple some space as they rode on. At some point, the contained wildness of the forest and stream would give way to organised gardens and manicured meadows, but for now it was pleasant to canter upstream towards the copse of young birch trees.
Safely away from the tall, white walls of the city, Roland turned his horse to cut her off. Her horse danced back, her hands sure on the reins as she kept her seat. He was pleased to see her eyes betrayed nothing when she looked at him, no anger or frustration, just expectant politeness. He let his horse prance a circle around hers, saying, “I am no fool, Dahlia. You want something from me. Come now, what paltry favor would you ask?”
“Paltry?” Her brows lifted, “The last two favors I have extracted from you have hardly been paltry.”
“No,” he agreed, smoothing his gloved hand down the proud neck of his stallion. “They have been earth-shattering in their intensity.”
She watched him, the tiniest flicker of a smile toying at the corner of her mouth. “Precisely.”
“You would ask another grand gift? Careful, Dahlia, you may soon seem ungrateful.”
“Hardly,” she said. A lock of her dark hair had fallen from her golden hairnet, the curl framing her face prettily as she looked at him. And he watched, more interested than he should be, when she chose to set her haughty mask aside and speak freely and openly with him. She shifted slightly in her saddle, “You know what is happening in the palace. The latest excitement of the court.”
“The women presenting themselves to your royal lover to win his hand?” He took pleasure in the soft viciousness of the words, “Yes. I have several bets going. Do you want me to deal you in?”
His eyes glittered, “Or will you ask me to interfere?”
“I don’t give a damn about those women,” Odilia said coldly, and it was her turn to urge her horse around his, the pretty features of her face at odds with the cutting, simmering anger in her eyes. “What I care about is the gossip of the court and that they will think me replaced. Or weak. They want to see me frightened and threatened.”
“You don’t seem to scare easily.”
“I don’t,” she said, drawing her horse up beside his again so she faced him, meeting his gaze squarely. “And I want to make that unquestionably clear.”
He surveyed her, considering this new opportunity. Just what was this move on that famous chessboard of hers? It was certainly a bold one, he did like it. But he wondered what had prompted it. Was she lashing out in defense or taking an aggressive offense now? Was she truly feeling threatened and trying to mask it? How fascinating that he could not tell.
His head tilted back, regarding her contemplatively before he said, “Do you remember once, I told you that you had a soft heart.”
“I remember.”
“It does not seem so soft now.”
“It is not.” The winter sun flashed in her dark eyes, her brows lifting as she continued, “And do you remember, Your Grace, when you said I was not the threat the rest of the court and country thought I was?”
Oh, yes, he remembered. She had been seated across from him in his carriage and they had been speaking so daringly about what they could offer each other. And he remembered well what he had said then, echoing it now, “But you could be.”
She leaned toward him in her saddle, the leather creaking, her face fierce and eyes unblinking as she hissed, “That is what I want from you. And in return, I will give you what you want.”
“And what did I say I wanted?”
The smile on her lips did not thaw her eyes, “Influence. Over the King. Over the country.”
His gloved hand reached out, fingers toying with the lock of her hair. Green eyes roved over her, measuring this girl from the streets against her ambition and what she could give him in return.
Finally, he spoke, his voice little more than a whisper as he breathed to her, “Do you understand what you are asking of me? Do you understand what an arrangement like this will mean, little Dahlia?”
“I do.”
His gloved fingers ghosted across her cheek, brushing the curve of her bottom lip, “Very well.”