“Things are precarious enough as it is,” Corrian said as she flicked through the papers set on the table between herself and the king as they took their midday meal together. “Everything hangs on a knife’s edge, turning one way or the other with but a whispered word. We cannot afford to ruffle any further feathers by being thoughtless in this.”
The king, a few strands of slowly graying hair falling forward on his brow—young as he was, the weight of the crown was heavy and the stresses were many—released a heavy sigh, “I still have not found who sent the message to be announced at Cereus. Of all the ways to have the news come to the Night Court…”
“I know,” Corrian said quietly, watching him. It should never have happened like that. There was, once again, a silent faction among the nobles and the court making their displeasure clear with the king’s actions and attempting to ruin what little peace they had managed to find for themselves. “But what is done is done, and she must know the truth.”
“At last,” Gustav nodded wearily. He had danced to the court’s game for far too long and let them run his life. He was the king of Terre D’Ange, and he would handle this at last like a man. “Let us then write to her, invite her here. To extend the olive branch may quell any whispers of her being set aside.”
Privately, Corrian thought that there was no way to control the direction the gossip would take— perhaps the people would see the gesture as one of kindness as the king hoped, or perhaps they would see it as the king bringing his former mistress to instruct his betrothed in the matters which pleased him best. But, at least they were agreed that Odilia had been kept out of this for far too long.
“Let us write it together,” she suggested. “That she knows it comes from the both of us.”
Together, they penned the invitation:
From the Royal Palace of Terre D’Ange, the private offices of His Majesty, King Gustav de la Courcel and Her Ladyship Corrian de Borlean, the King’s Betrothed.
To Odilia nó Dahlia, Second of Dahlia House of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers, greetings.
An invitation is extended to you to join His Majesty the King and the Lady de Borlean for light refreshment in the royal gardens of the palace. Your presence is expected a sennight from the date of this invitation.
Beneath the official seals and signatures were two more private messages:
It is time that the air was cleared between us all. Please Odilia, do not let them make us enemies where we should be bosom friends. ~Corrian
Please, my heart. If ever you believed I love you, which I do with all that I am, please come to us, that we may make this right. My sky is incomplete without your star. ~G
When the embossed letter arrived at Dahlia House, Dowayne Jocaste nó Dahlia turned it over in her elegant hands and released a long, heavy sigh.
“Please, Blessed Elua,” she whispered, holding the letter to her heart in her prayer, “Let this bring them peace.”
And she handed it to the waiting page. “Ride fast. Bring it to Odilia at the Duc de Chalasse’s estate. Go!”