When the Queen sent out the summons to call the court, the courtiers came. It was not often that Queen Anielle de la Courcel called the court, preferring private audiences and smaller receptions to handle the affairs of state that she could manage in her grief of losing her firstborn son. So, when the noble lords and ladies of the court came to the grand presence chamber of the royal palace, no few of them were whispering amongst themselves as to what could have inspired the Queen to summon them all.
When she entered, it was with her attendants, personal guards, and remaining children at her sides.
From his spot off to the side, Maël de Rocaille studied the face of the Dauphin, trying to see if he could read what his friend was thinking. Frustratingly, Gustav was carefully blank. Likely because he knew the nobles would be watching him to see if they could figure out what was going to happen, trusting in his lack of experience in court.
However, even if they had been able to read his thoughts, none of them would have expected what happened next.
“Lords and ladies, d’Angelines all, thank you for answering my summons and joining us this afternoon at this court assembly,” Queen Anielle said, standing before her throne wearing the fleur-de-lis crown of Terre d’Ange. Her son stood at her right hand, her daughter to her left, a triumvirate of the Courcel royal family that surveyed the people gathered in the opulent hall.
“I will not demand much of your time,” Queen Anielle said, her voice pitched to carry all the way to the back of the chamber. “Certainly not since the Longest Night is coming ever closer, and we all have impatient tailors waiting to complete our costumes.”
A smattering of polite laughter bounced through the gathered nobles and the Queen managed to smile warmly. The lines on her face were deeper than before, weariness and grief leaving their marks on her face with deep gouges of pain and age.
“The coming night, even with all of its revelry and celebration,” she continued when the laughter had quieted, “is still the turning point in our year, when the longest night of the year gives way to the sunrise and the Sun Prince returns to reinvigorate his Winter Queen into the glory of the coming spring.”
She clasped her hands before her, taking a moment to bow her head and study her interlaced fingers. Maël’s eyes darted around the chamber, taking a read of the faces and factions present. He had a terrible sense he knew what might be coming. For a moment, just a flicker of his eyes, Gustav glanced at him and Maël straightened from his careless lean at the hint of the emotion in the Dauphin’s eyes.
“And yet,” the queen said heavily, “the cold of winter has set into my bones, heavier with the weight of my grief. For me, the dawn of the lengthening days will not restore me to youth and glory. Long has this weighed on my mind in the wake of the plague that brought so many of our fellow d’Angelines to the True Terre d’Ange That Lies Beyond. The loss of my first son, Daniel, was a blow for all of us, not only my House. In the months following, we have all fought to return to what we can consider our new normal lives, knowing nothing will be the same again. We are all changed. I am changed. Terre d’Ange needs a new way forward into the golden sunlight of Blessed Elua’s vision for us.”
The chamber stood so quiet that one could hear the way the courtiers held their breath to listen to the Queen’s words.
“Which is why,” she said, lifting her chin again, her blue eyes bright with her tears and her strength, “I will be endeavoring to prepare Gustav de la Courcel to succeed me as King of Terre d’Ange. Following the festivities of the Longest Night next year, I will be abdicating my place on the throne and presenting my son with the crown of Terre d’Ange.”
Hadn’t she given enough to it? She had no more left to give.
The whispers rippled around the hall, shock giving them an undercurrent of panic as the gathered nobles processed this startling announcement. In the briefest of heartbeats before the eyes turned to him, Gustav’s gaze flicked to where he had seen Maël standing. If anyone would understand what he wanted now, it would be him. Yet it seemed Maël was already two steps ahead of him, for the space where his friend had stood was empty and he caught a flash of a panel sliding closed in the wall. Gustav released a relieved breath. He could trust Maël, he knew he could.
Maël borrowed a horse from the stables, vaulting onto the back and setting his heels to its flanks. He did not care for the decorum of the moment now, all eyes were still on the royal court and for the rest of the city…well, they would hear soon enough. He knew well who needed to hear it now, as quickly as possible.
The horse’s hooves thundered across the bridge spanning the river and up the streets through Night’s Doorstep and to Mont Nuit itself, Maël’s practiced hands reining the horse up sharply once he reached the courtyard of Dahlia House. Kicking his leg over the horse’s neck, he slid from its back and all but sprinted up the steps to the doors. Were he focused on anything but his next steps, he would have been impressed at how the nature of his arrival had not broken the regal facade of the footmen’s expressions. Instead, he only paused long enough to ask the frowning adept in the foyer, “The Second. Where is she?”
“Second Odilia is indisposed at the moment,” the adept sniffed haughtily. “She is being fitted for her gown—”
Maël took a strong step toward her. “Where?”
The adept faltered for a moment, glancing up to the staircase that led to the private chambers of the house. Maël took off, taking the steps two at a time. He had watched Gustav vanish up these stairs and had caught enough details about the layout of the mansion from his wanderings that he found his way easily enough, striding down the corridor with such an expression on his face that novices, even composed and regal as they were, all but leapt out of his way. One did try to bar his way from the Second’s door, but he brushed past the boy easily enough to push the door open.
Inside, the tailor’s assistants cried out in alarm at the sudden intrusion. The Second herself turned in surprise at the interruption, her hands rising to hold the gown to her chest as though concerned it would come tearing off if she moved too quickly while still pinned. Her hair caught up in a messy knot to keep it out of the way, it bared the length of her back and the marque there. Surely it was a masterpiece of the marquist’s art, but Maël had more pressing concerns. Clearly this showed in his face because Odilia did not waste time feigning outrage or scandal. Her brown eyes focused on his expression and she only asked, “What is it?”
His eyes flicked to the attendants and novices whispering and she turned her head to order immediately, “Out!”
They scrambled to obey, and she stepped down from the collapsible fitting platform the tailor had brought, her own face hardening into grave severity as she asked again, “What has happened?”
Maël looked at her for a long moment. He may not fully know what passed between this courtesan and his friend, but he knew that in what was to come, the two of them were likely to become some kind of surprising allies. He may not know her well or even at all, but he knew that she needed to know what was about to happen.
“Anielle’s stepping aside,” he told her directly. “At the end of next year, Gustav will become King of Terre d’Ange.”
He watched the shock bloom across her face, the surprise of the sudden announcement giving way a heartbeat later to some strategic cunning as she breathed evenly through the revelation and into the focus of the moment.
Her face hardened and she lifted her gaze again to meet his eyes with a slow nod, acknowledging that he had come racing across the city to find her and tell her directly. So she gave the olive branch as she said, “Then he will need our help.”
He nodded, feeling the seed of respect forming in his chest for her as he agreed, “He will.”