Leaving the walls of the city immediately eased the summer heat. Out beyond the walls, the winds could more freely blow and cool the riders as they cantered easily away from the city and along the verdant valley, following the winding shores of the Aviline River.
The Duc de Chalasse had greeted Odilia with a swift kiss and showed her the horse she would be riding for the day, even assisting her up into the saddle himself. She rode at his side, her riding clothes a soft cream to ease the heat of the sun and contrasting with the sable of her hair, kept contained by a pearl netting. The hunting dogs trotted ahead, heads down as they tracked the scents of the various prey, but there was no rush. This was a hunt, certainly there would be some prey taken, but they had all day.
Fording the river towards the northwest, they took some ducks startled by the horses, crossbows singing among the cries of the birds, and the attendants raced to claim the prey. There was light conversation among the other nobles that were in attendance, compliments to the other’s horse or bow or bird, but Roland kept himself apart from the others, his attention on the horizon and then, every now and again, the brunette riding at his side. She had spoken truly, she rode well enough to not embarrass him, and while she did not participate in the hunting activities herself, she nevertheless cheered appropriately when a good kill was made, clapping her gloved hands with a bright smile. The Night Court did always raise exceptional companions.
Avoiding the heat of the day and having well worked up an appetite, the attendants spread out a picnic in the shade of a copse of trees, unpacking the cold luncheon they had prepared for the nobles. They scattered themselves across the shaded ground and lounged on the grass, the picture of wealthy ease.
And Roland took Odilia by the arm to stroll among the trees, stretching his muscles after a morning in the saddle. They walked together, she in her cream and he in his soft summer gold.
“What did Jocaste tell you of me, Odilia?”
“She said you were a generous patron, Your Grace,” she answered lightly, considering the way the midday sun filtered down through the green leaves. “That you were a powerful friend to have, of course.”
“Of course,” he said, green eyes glancing down at her. “I’m sure she also warned you I would be a powerful enemy, too.”
“Do you hope I will attempt to persuade you to be one or the other?” She continued walking casually, her grip light still on his arm. “I know better. I would not presume to think I would have any kind of influence over you.”
“Not like you do the King-to-be?”
He was rewarded with the tiniest twitch of her fingers on his arm, no more than the tiniest hitch of her step before she continued walking.
“I did not realise you listened to the idle gossips, Your Grace.”
“I can hardly get away from it,” he said, enjoying the tightness at the corners of her mouth. “If the nobles aren’t whispering about a commoner in the future king’s bed, it’s the merchants and shopkeepers of the City discussing the tensions among them as a Guild Master seems to be stirring up dissent.” He saw the tiniest flex in her jaw and smiled. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
“I have not encouraged it, before you try to insinuate that,” she said quietly. “I have even attempted to placate the disgruntled voices how I can, but there is little I can do when those conversations continue to happen behind my back.”
He steered her slowly away from the others spread out on the grass, sipping their lemonade and wine and lazily eating cheeses and fruit, seeming to show her a particularly picturesque bark pattern as they stood together framed in the trees, seen but far enough away to be private as he said, “So it would seem to me that you are in need of a powerful friend, little Dahlia.”
“Like you?” She finally looked at him, something derisive in her dark eyes as she said, “I know well I cannot afford a friend of your caliber, Your Grace.”
“An exchange, then,” he said lightly, granting her a genteel smile. “A quid-pro-quo. Favors for favors, hm?”
“I hardly think I have anything you could want,” she said carefully.
“Of course you do,” he said. “You have what everyone in the city wants, my dear. You have the ear of the future King. People of my rank have killed for less.” Her face smoothed into stone and he reached his gloved hand to lift her chin, assuring her, “Oh, do not fear. I will ask nothing of you that would put him into danger. Set your gentle heart at rest.”
Her eyes flashed with lightning, a flare of Azza’s bronzed pride, and her hand struck his away from her chin, her lip curling as she snarled, “I do not have a gentle heart.”
His head tilted slightly as he rocked back onto his heels, studying the sharpened features of her face. “No,” he agreed finally, “perhaps you do not.”