Longest Night Midwinter Masque – Longest Night Midwinter Masque

Storyline: Complications of Devotion

The plague that had ravaged the land had somehow spared Heliotrope House. Despite his illness, their beloved Dowayne Olivier Mathan nó Heliotrope had not fallen ill, their ranks were not much diminished, and the handful of babes born had all lived. Every day, Second Philomena Desiderio nó Heliotrope led a handful of Adepts and Novices to the shrines of Elua and Eisheth, aiding the priests in keeping them clean, and leaving their own offerings.

Heliotrope was blessed beyond measure.

Mena stretched carefully, her back aching from having been hunched over her desk since breakfast. There was so much paperwork, more than normal. With her grandfather, the Dowayne, needing to rest, more of his duties were falling to her. At least this batch of orders – requests for visits from Patrons, requests for Adepts, official correspondence from the doctor’s guild, and messages from other Houses – had been handled. She understood why the Dowayne had designated a network of Adepts to help run the House. It was too much for one person. However, that network was attached to his time as Dowayne and, as his successor, she would have to decide how she wanted to run the House and who she wanted to aid her. To that end, all the paperwork was on her desk in the Official Second’s office, and she felt like she was going to be buried under it.

The breeze carried a slight warmth that said spring was right around the corner. While not her favorite season, it was still a welcome change after the brutality of both the past winter and the plague. Mena wished she was able to get out in the fresh air, she wished she had a Patron lined up, she wished for many things, few of them within her reach today. She sighed deeply and stood, stretching her arms over her head for a more vigorous stretch. There was a polite knock at her half open door, followed by the smiling face of her friend Vouloir.

“Oh good, you’re already taking a break,” Vouloir said with a smile.

Mena laughed and said, “Better than that, Loir, I’m caught up for the day.”

Loir grinned back and came all the way into the room, “Really? That stack from this morning was massive. I can’t wait until I’m able to actually help you.”

“You’re almost there, once your Marque is half-finished, I can start training you.”

Loir smiled, “And if Lord and Lady de’Marr keep being generous, that will be before the Masque.”

Mena snorted, “Knowing you and them, you’ll be there before summer solstice on the outside.”

Throwing her head back in a loud, honest laugh, Loir said, “That may be true, we’ll see what Naamah has to say about it, I suppose.” She shook her head, her smile taking on a gentle air, “I came in here for two reasons; first, Olivier has asked for you to come up and Lord Montaban sent word, he’ll be around for your dinner.”

Mena smiled, “Good for him, I suppose, that I don’t already have a patron for the evening. Please have my room aired out and the table reset. I’ll see him in there, of course. And see if we’ve any more of that apple wine I like, I cannot stand to drink the red he brings. It’s bitter.”

Loir nodded, “Of course. If you’ve time, you should come by the main salon in between. Dara has the first version of her ball toss game set up.”

“Ooh, I hope I have time, I’m excited to see what she’s come up with. Elua knows we need all the fun and cheer we can get.”

Olivier’s rooms were on the first floor, though it hadn’t always been. Three years prior, he’d fallen off his horse and broken his hip, so the chirurgeon had insisted that his rooms be moved to the ground floor. While he’d made a full recovery and even gone back to riding, his rooms remained where they’d been moved. Mena made her way to the familiar door and knocked three times, just as she always had.

“Come in,” she heard her grandfather say and she pushed the door open with a smile.

Olivier was seated on his sofa near the fire, his feet tucked up under one of the many blankets her late grandmother had made. As his health declined, he left these rooms less and less, though he always made it a point to get out of the bed.

Also seated on the sofa, with Olivier’s feet in his lap was Laurent, the Marquis de Clair of Namarre, her grandfather’s long time lover. He’d been spending more and more time in the House, particularly after he’d been forced to stay when the plague was considered so dangerous that they’d been told to remain indoors.

“Granpère, Laurent, you sent for me?” She took her usual seat on the ottoman in front of the sofa and smiled at the two of them. Mena loved Laurent, he’d always been kind and gentle with her.

“I sent for you, child, Laurent is just here to be attractive, as usual,” Olivier said with nothing but fondness in his tone.

“My deepest apologies, esteemed and dearest grandfather,” she replied with a barely restrained laugh and a half bow.

“Tch,” her grandfather said, reaching out with firm but gentle hands to hold her face, “Why are you so much like me?”

“Lucky is what I’ve always been told,” she quickly replied, “Grandmother always said it was for the best, since your son-“

“Is a disgrace, yes, yes, I know what she said,” he cut in, a little irritation evident in his tone, “If I hadn’t been there when the candle was lit, I would say he was no son of mine, but alas, we have to play with the hand we were dealt.”

Mena smiled, taking Olivier’s hand in her own and saying, “Granpère, I doubt you sent for me to complain about my parentage-“

“Half of it, don’t malign Chrysanthe like that. She’s not cruel, just delicate,” he cut in with a smile.

“Half of my parentage. You can do that with just Laurent, you don’t need me for that.” She finished with a smile.

“I never need you, Mena, I just want you around. However, you are correct. My doctor came around earlier, as I know you are aware.”

Mena felt her heart fly into her throat. Her grandfather’s doctor was a specialist in the wasting sickness that was ravaging his formerly strong body and would steal him from her. She at times hated the man for existing, though she also lit private candles in thanks that he did. Shoving all that back down and schooling her face into one of calm, she said, “I did, sir. What did he say?”

Olivier smiled at her, his eyes brimming with love and sympathy, and she knew that he saw through her. As always. He didn’t comment on what he saw, instead he just answered her question. “When the last risk of blizzard passes, he says it’s time for me to go to Laurent’s home.”

The heart in her throat stopped and dropped like a stone to her feet. She knew what that meant, it meant that the doctor and her grandfather agreed that he had deteriorated to the point where he needed a quieter environment, away from prying eyes, to prepare to meet Elua.

She felt tears flood her eyes, cascading down her cheeks before she had time to think. “If-if you’re sure, Granpère. What-” her voice broke, and she looked into her lap seeing her tears falling onto her dress. “What do you need me to do?”

“Oh my sweet Mena, nothing,” Laurent finally spoke, his gentle voice seeping between Mena and Olivier, soothing over their hurt like warm velvet. “I will handle all the arrangements and I’ll send my carriage for you once the move is complete. You have my word.”

She nodded and reached blindly for his hand, “Thank you, Laurent. It means the world to me to know you’ll be there.”

Olivier gave her hand a squeeze before lifting her chin up again so she had no choice but to look into his warm brown eyes. “Sweet girl, remember to stay this soft, no matter what happens. Elua and Naamah saw fit to bless you with this, never forget that.”

She nodded and said shakily, “I will. For you, I will.”

His face got stern for a moment, “No, for you you will. You deserve it. Save those tears though, I am not gone to Elua yet, Philomena, I am right here with you and what do we say of tears?”

They swam in her eyes, obscuring his face, but she nodded firmly. “That they are only for those that deserve them, for those that value us like Naamah and Elua demand for us.”

“Good girl,” the shape that she knew to be Olivier said, his voice starting to get raspy, “Now, I hear that Lord Montaban is coming to see you?”

She nodded, “He is but he should know his place, he’s not the most important man in my life.”

That pulled a loud, full body laugh from Olivier, that unfortunately started a coughing fit. “Oh, child!” He said when he had coughed into his handkerchief and she’d studiously acted like she didn’t see the blood left behind. “Get out of this old man’s room! Go attend to your patron before he rises even further above his station.”

Mena stood and gave a small, wry curtsy, feeling a smile start, “As you command, my lord Dowayne.”

Luckily she was used to Olivier and fast, she had the door closed before the small pillow he threw at her hit it with a thump. She stood in self-indulgence at the door for another minute, listening to her grandfather’s laugh, trying to burn it into her memory. Lord Montaban could wait.

The fact that Mena beat Kyrie to dinner was not astonishing. He was notoriously late and even more arrogant about it. Sometimes she wondered why she continued to take him as a Patron. To be honest, these days it was most of the time that she wondered why she still saw him. The honest answer was that she’d been seeing him for most of her time as an Adept.

As she lit the candles around the small dining room, she remembered the first day he’d come to Heliotrope. He was older than her, twenty-seven to her sixteen, and was attending one of her grandfather’s parties. Despite the years that had passed, she could still remember the weight of his gaze on her as she’d moved through the party attendees. Once she’d made her way to him, he kept her captive all night, telling her at great length how he was a Lord from Azzalle, a distant relative of the Trevalion family; how he was supposed to be making his way through the Houses as was befitting his station, but she’d entranced him so he’d abandoned his companions to stay; how his elder brothers had all died in accidents or fallen to illness, so he was now the next in line to inherit his family’s lands and title. At the time, she’d known he was boasting to impress her, that relation to the Trevalion family wasn’t something to just tell people. But part of her training had been to learn to hang on a Patron’s every word, to make them feel like they were the most important person to you at that moment. Kyrie had lapped it up like a dog with broth.

“Hello, pet. You’re looking particularly lovely tonight,” his voice broke through her thoughts and she looked up to see Kyrie leaning on the doorframe, looking her up and down.

Her face broke into a habitual smile and she went to greet him, “Kyrie, you came.”

She knew the dance he wanted as well as she knew her own hands. Crafting the illusion that he was the only thing on her mind now, and ever, was as easy as breathing. Her subservience to him was a lie she slipped into as easily as she slipped into his embrace for a kiss.

Kyrie was an artless kisser, though it had taken her several years of other Patrons to realize how the way he covered her lips with his mouth, the way his tongue moved, and the spit he left behind was so below standard. It made part of her angry, he’d been seeing at least her, a fully trained Adept, for well over a decade, and yet he still kissed with less skill than the young man she’d seen three days ago who was brought to Heliotrope for his first proper taste of Naamah’s Arts.

“Ah, pet,” he said when he pulled away, “I see you missed your Lord.”

“Of course. You’ve not been to see me in several days, Lord Kyrie. I was beginning to think that someone else had stolen your affections from me,” she said, taking his hands to lead him to the table, a pout in her voice. The same way she’d talked to him when she was a new Adept and she’d not had her choice of Patrons.

He smiled wolfishly, his handsome mask slipping slightly as he let himself be tugged to the table, taking his seat before she took hers. “Now, pet, what have I told you?”

“That no one is above me in your eyes,” she repeated back easily as she poured the wine, his always first, her second.

The door to the room opened and Loir came in, pushing a cart laden with their dinner. Another thing Kyrie was particular about: once his coat had been taken, he refused to see any more servants, Adepts and Novices brought what he needed. His airs grated, but he’d been a regular even during the Plague when the House had needed it. Things were returning to normal now, but Lord Pierre Kyrian de Montaban, a minor Earl of Azzalle, was a situation they all just flawlessly navigated out of pure habit.

Mena would be lying if she didn’t say she stopped paying full attention to Kyrie in the middle of the first course. His stories were always the same, full of his prowess and downplaying the contributions of others. He didn’t really care for her input, that wasn’t her place with him. All he wanted was a pretty face to hang on his every word and she was quite good at that. Little did he know that she’d already heard of this particular story, only the factual version. Yes, there was a negotiation that involved all the lords of Azzalle so yes, he had been in attendance. Yes, he had offered an idea that had been ultimately taken into the terms, but after so much adjustment that it was a far-reach to say it was the same idea. ‘I really need to start refusing his visits,’ she thought while she nodded and smiled at something he said, ‘He’s served his purpose and it is time, particularly at his age, that he find a wife and make a new heir. I wonder—‘

“—when we wed,” she heard him say, his words suddenly drawing all of her attention.

”When we what, Kyrie?” She said, hoping that she had misheard him.

“Silly pet with her pretty head in the clouds,” he said, leaning forward and taking her hand. “I said that I would be sure to send my parents to a comfortable residence in Caerdicca Unitas when we wed.”

“But why on earth—“ she started to say, only to be cut off.

“Because, silly girl, there’s only room for one woman in the Montaban Household and it is my wife.”

She felt like her brain was underwater, struggling for the surface. Luckily, her mouth seemed to work just fine, “Certainly it would be the Earl’s wife?” She managed to say without stammering.

Kyrie snorted, a loud and rude sound, “I suppose so, but as I am to be Earl, it will be you.”

“But Kyrie, surely your parents—“

“Philomena,” he said, sternly giving her hands a squeeze just past comfortable, “As the man of the house, what I say will go and my parents will go quietly as they are instructed if they know what’s good for them.”

Mena’s poor brain caught up with her mouth in time to stop further commentary. She just nodded, smiled at him in the way she knew he liked and had a sip of her wine. Kyrie started talking again and she fell back into the pattern quickly. Her mind however would now not stop. ‘If they know what’s good for them?’ She felt the cold hand of horror on the back of her neck and promised herself she would start refusing his visits sooner rather than later.

Storyline: Watering the Garden

Aimee walked elegantly to the back garden of Cereus House. As she made her way past one of the novice lectures being led by a fellow adept, she heard the instructions on the subject of poise and composure and to use the senior adepts as examples in order to learn the art. Little did the instructor know that Aimee, one of the most senior adepts, was a roiling, festering pool of rage beneath her statuesque expression and gliding stride. Having reached her sanctuary, a small alcove hidden from the rest of the garden by lush greenery, she finally allowed her training to fall away. Hot, silent tears streamed down Aimee’s cheeks as she sat and tried to soothe the hurt in her chest. Pondering the events of the past few months, she tried to lay everything out dispassionately.

Aliksandra had asked for space and time away from their affair to adjust when she had ascended to Dowayne, and Aimee gave it gladly. With the lack of a Second, Aimee and Petrea had stepped up to fill the gap until an appointment could be made, as was to be expected. Except, Aimee had not taken an assignation in over a month and hadn’t even left the grounds of Cereus for anything outside of official House business in over two. All the while Petrea had spent more time at Orchis than at Cereus!

Aimee took a deep shuddering breath and breathed it out slowly. “You’re winding yourself up again,” she said to herself.

While the Orchis situation did bother her, it would be unfair to Petrea to make anything of it. Petrea completed all of her duties before going and upon returning to Cereus, she always attacked any new dilemma with fervor. It was the small, unforeseen, unscheduled problems of the day-to-day at Cereus House that were causing such havoc. Because once there was a problem, everyone went running to the most senior adept present, and with Petrea at Orchis and Aliks cloistered with paperwork and imminently important House affairs that required the Dowayne, Aimee was the one desperately trying to keep the place together.

And to ice the cake, Aliksandra had just told her that Petrea was to be the new Second.

Fresh tears welled up in Aimee’s eyes, as the past months’ toll manifested upon her face. Before Aliks’ ascension, Aimee knew that it would be Petrea selected, it had to be. Aimee was young for a senior adept much less a Second, and Petrea had far better connections outside of Cereus with the upper echelon throughout the city. But Aimee had done well keeping everything running. Hadn’t she?

Even with Petrea sharing some of the duties, Aimee was the one making sure that effortless perfection of Cereus House graced the Night Court night after night. Wasn’t she?

Feelings of abandonment surged once again inside her, having become a familiar companion in recent months. Taking a final fortifying breath, Aimee stood, and willed the silver of Cereus House into her spine and rebuilt the loveliness that she had embodied since childhood. Reminding herself as she made her way out of the garden that while “All loveliness fades,” so does everything else as well. Time brings changes and how one reacts to them defines whether that change will be good or ill. And Aimee would forswear Naamah herself before leaving Aliks or Petrea to face those changes alone.

Storyline: Choosing a Cereus Second

Aliks was sitting at her desk when Petrea walked in. The mountain of paperwork had not diminished, but she had just barely managed to keep it from growing. When Petrea walked in, Aliks motioned for her to take a seat on the chaise.

“I appreciate you coming so quickly,” Aliks began.

“Of course.” Petrea nodded.

“As I am sure you know, Cereus House needs a Second. We simply cannot go on as we have the last few weeks without one, and it is my duty to name my Second and successor.”

Petrea nodded carefully. She knew this was coming, and yet, she was not sure which way the wind would blow, nor which way she hoped it would.

“Petrea, we have known each other for a very long time, and I feel I can be quite frank with you. You have recently been engaging in behavior somewhat, how can I say this, wild for a Cereus adept. Your time spent at Orchis House seems to bring you joy, but it concerns me as well. The Second of Cereus House must represent the House by my side. So, I would ask you to please alleviate my reservations as I am naming you Second of Cereus House.”

Petrea gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. She found tears filling her eyes.

Aliks looked at her, stunned. “This is not the reaction I had expected of you.”

Petrea could do nothing but throw herself into her friend’s arms. The chair squeaked under the weight of both women. Aliks patted her friend’s back and then pushed her away gently. She looked at Petrea’s watery eyes, and found herself utterly confused.

“Petrea, what in Blessed Elua’s name has gotten into you?” Her shock was evident, though her voice was quiet.

Petrea sat back on the chaise and wiped at the tears that spilled onto her cheeks. “Yes, well…” she began. She cleared her throat and started anew. “I…” She paused again, looking around the room, gathering her thoughts. “These past weeks have been difficult for me. I have felt, well, lost since the death of Geraunt. I feel my years are catching up with me, and I have been wondering what I am supposed to be doing with myself. I have been melancholy, full of sorrow, perhaps not just for Geraunt, but mayhaps for myself, as well. For my youth. I have been, well, I think I have been drowning my sorrows, as it were.”

They shared a rueful chuckle at this. “I think one could argue that point, my love,” Aliks scolded gently. “But, as I have said, if I am to name you as my Second, I must be able to trust that you can fulfill the duties of the office. And they are not small, nor few. Are you up to this challenge?”

Petrea’s eyes glimmered with hope. “I am! More than certainly I am! This gives me…a purpose I fear I have been lacking. I know that much work goes into being a Second, and I know that you will need to depend on me. And I swear to you, on the names of Blessed Elua and Naamah themselves, I will not let you down.” Her voice had grown with determination as she spoke.

Aliks reached over and took her friend’s hand. “I trust that you will not. Now that that matter is settled, I have your first task.”

Storyline: Petrea’s Concern

The passing of the Dowayne of Cereus House had affected Petrea nó Cereus, an adept of Cereus House, in ways that she had not expected. Something about the death of someone who had been a constant presence in her life for most of her life was causing her to question her own mortality. She was passing four decades, and every time she passed a mirror, the face reflected in it reminded her of the canon of her house: All Loveliness Fades.

She felt in her bones her loveliness fading. The lines at the corners of her eyes and lips. The sag of her skin. The rounding of her belly. And was it her imagination, or were patrons’ eyes skipping over her more often? Was she losing the favor of those seeking beauty? Her skills as a Servant of Naamah had certainly not dulled in her years. If nothing, her experience only improved her ability to entertain and pleasure those who sought her company! Perhaps it was only her mind playing tricks.

So it was that Petrea found herself more often at her place of refuge: Orchis House. An odd choice some might think for a Cereus, but over the years, Petrea had developed a close friendship with the Orchis Second, Santiago. Where Cereus House was a place of decorum, there was nothing of decorum to be found at Orchis House—a breath of fresh air. And since the death of her Dowayne, Petrea had found herself more and more in need of air. And drink. She would slump into a carriage and trudge to the doors of Orchis. She would then be whisked into the house by either Santiago or Xixiliya, the Dowayne, with kisses and strong drink. Once inside, her dark mood would fade, and all thoughts of decay would float from her head.

It was on just such an evening that Petrea was deep in her cups, her feet propped on Xixiliya’s lap, her head lolling on Santiago’s shoulder, her gown half off (how that happened, she could not say), and her shoes…somewhere, that a perturbed messenger arrived from Cereus House.

The irritated man in Cereus livery, his hat askew, was brought into the salon by a grinning adept. “My lady Petrea,” the Orchis adept sing-songed. “You have a message. This adorable thing says it is terribly important.”

Petrea tried to sit up but succeeded only in falling to the floor in an undignified heap. Her face flamed as she looked up at the messenger. He wrinkled his nose at her and cleared his throat. She stood as gracefully as one can when having been plied with drink for many hours and smoothed her dress. She looked around for her shoes. She could not find them. They were in the room somewhere.

She brushed back her hair and gave the messenger a bland look. “Yes? What is this message that is so urgent it could not wait until morning? As I am sure you are aware, there are strict instructions that I am not to be disturbed here.”

The man had the decency to look slightly chastised, as he did know of Petrea’s habits. The former Second, now Dowayne, Aliksandria nó Cereus, was Petrea’s best friend and allowed Petrea her visits to Orchis House. Aliks was the one who gave the instructions to leave Petrea alone.

“Yes, well, my lady, you see,” he stammered.

Petrea sighed, her shoulders slumping. Clearly, her evening was over. She could feel her head clearing of the alcohol as the mantle of belonging to Cereus House dropped to her shoulders. “Please,” she said quietly. “What is the message?”

“Dowayne Aliksandria has requested that you return to the house. She must speak with you. Privately.”

“Oh.” It was all Petrea could think to say. She knew what this conversation was about.

Behind her, Santiago wrapped his arms around her. He rested his forehead at the nape of her neck. “It will be alright. Either way, it will be alright. And you can always come here. You know that,” he whispered softly.

While Santiago was one who never seemed to take anything seriously, he also knew when the time called for tenderness. And that was one of the things Petrea loved most about him. She turned and kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Xixiliya appeared in front of Petrea with her shoes. The Dowayne slid them onto Petrea’s feet, giving her ankle a quick pat as she stood. “Go home and get this done. Then come back and tell us all about it.” She gave Petrea a wide grin and pinched her cheek. They smiled at each other.

Petrea turned to the messenger and gave a sharp nod of her chin. “Well, let us go then.”

She followed the gentleman to the Cereus carriage and stepped in. Settling back in the seat, she wiped a hand across her face. She knew this conversation with Aliks had been coming since the day of the old Dowayne’s death, and she wasn’t sure which way she wanted it to go.

Storyline: A New Dowayne’s Dilemma

Aliksandria nó Cereus sat behind a desk covered in papers and folios. She looked at the left most pile with some degree of satisfaction then looked at the right pile and groaned realizing it was still the taller of the two. She reached for the folio on top of the right pile and opened it. It contained invoices for the last month’s wine deliveries. She flipped through the third stack of papers and found the inventory for the wine, made sure the two documents corresponded, then signed the invoice and set it on the left stack.

It had been a month since Dowayne Geraunt nó Cereus had passed, taken away by the fever that ravaged the city, and even claimed the Crown Prince’s life. The funeral had been held with all due honors, and now Aliks was Dowayne of Cereus house. And as Dowayne, Aliks was swamped in paperwork.

This would only get easier, she mused to herself, once she named a Second. As it was, Aliks was trying to do both her old job as Second and her new job as Dowayne while relying on two of the senior adepts to catch the pieces that fell through. But this was no way to go on, the roles of Dowayne and Second were clearly defined and so done for a reason. It was a system that had worked very well for centuries, and this last month certainly showed her why it was needed.

The truth is that she had put it off for far too long. She only had two choices, the very senior adepts who were helping her now. But how does one choose between their two best friends? They had been through so much together. When she had been raised to Second, they were the only adepts to not change how they interacted with her. Many others had become distant due to her new authority, but not Petrea and Aimee.

Petrea was the older of the two, and she and Aliks had grown up together. She had come to Cereus House not long after Aliks had and they had gone through their training, schooling, and juvenile antics together. She was an exemplary adept and never failed to do what she was called on to do, but she had a penchant for wildness. She was one to push the very bounds of what was acceptable for a Cereus adept, and Aliks wondered if she would thrive or balk under the responsibility.

Aimee was younger, both Aliks and Petrea were sworn adepts when Aimee began her training, but she rose through the ranks well and quickly. Even though she had started years after them, Aimee had made her marque made less than a year after the older girls. She was graceful and exuded the air of Cereus House but was the shyer of the two, and Aliks wondered if she had the grit to handle the pressure.

The decision was made all the harder with the reality that Aliks had been having an affair with Aimee for the last six months. They had tried to keep it quiet, but nothing travels faster than gossip in the Night Court.

Aliks reached for another sheaf of paper, knowing a decision had to be made soon and with it she would likely hurt someone she cared about.

Storyline Reset: A Heavy Crown and a Heavier Heart

The events of the storyline have reset! Our characters are returned to the beginning of our story to live it again. Read on to set the scene for this year’s adventures!

It had been a terrible plague. It had come from seemingly nowhere, they had had such little warning from the countryside before it had come to the city and Queen Anielle de la Courcel had done the best she could to work with the chirurgeons, the parliament, and the guild assembly to do what they could to stop the spread of the plague.

But she could not stop it all, and so very many had died.

No parent should have to bury their child.

She mourned. No matter how heavy the crown was on her head, her heart was heavier. Her firstborn, her dear son Daniel…

A tear dripped from her lashes to drop onto the sash of the window where she stood in her mourning gown, looking out at the City of Elua sprawled out beneath the royal palace without really seeing the view. Daniel had been so loved, and she had taken great pains to make sure he was ready for the responsibility that would one day pass to him.

But now, he was interred in the family crypt, sleeping beside his ancestors, and his mother was left to pick up the pieces of her broken heart and look forward into an uncertain future.

She had another son, her darling Gustav. He was a sweet soul, kind and gentle. He had been born the “spare,” certainly, but she still loved him dearly, even if she hadn’t invested as much time in his schooling. Daniel had been the crown prince, Gustav would have had more freedom to do as he pleased in his life. But now…

She glanced down at the letter held in her hand. It was clinical and distant, it had to be. The Queen of Terre d’Ange was calling one of her subjects back to the city. Her second son had been sent to the university in Siovale years ago to study as he pleased, and he wrote dutiful letters every two weeks about his studies, his professors, and how he was applying himself to his courses, but she knew precious little of the young man he had become. Once, he had been a boy with bright blue eyes who sat on her lap and listened to the music the court musicians played for them. She remembered how he had run after the balls as the little family had enjoyed lawn bowling in the gardens. Gustav had idolised his older brother, and Daniel had endured his younger brother’s exuberance with loving patience that had shown Anielle he would have been a good king.

And now, she was sending a letter ordering her second son home. There needed to be a crown prince declared. The line of succession needed to be clear.

But she knew that when Gustav de la Courcel returned to the city, he would be a stranger to her.

Storyline: A Year in Review

Here is a review of everything that has happened this year in and around the City of Elua

Aliksandria nó Cereus, Dowayne of Cereus House, lights a candle to Eisheth and has a romantic evening with Waldemar nò Mandrake, her longtime lover.
Waldemar is involved in a carriage accident and passes away.
As all of the Night Court mourns the passing of the fallen Mandrake, Aliks visits the Yeshuite quarters to give the news to Waldemar’s mother, who is ashamed of her son.
News comes to Mont Nuit that King Gustav is to marry Lady Corrian de Borlean of Azzale.
Odilia nó Dahlia, Second of Dahlia House, and longtime lover of the king, leaves the City of Elua, retreating to the estate of Roland de Chalasse, Duc of L’Agnace. Roland proposes an advantageous, political marriage to her.
Philomena nó Heliotrope, Dowayne of Heliotrope House, wonders how the Night Court will handle the news of the king’s betrothal in light of his relationship with Odilia.
Rosanna Baphinol nó Valerian, Dowayne of Valerian House and granddaughter of Roland, visits her family’s country estate to discuss the state of the Duc’s proposal to her best friend. The family is stunned and unsupportive, viewing it as disrespectful to their grandmother, Roland’s late wife.
Gustav and Corrian are shocked that news of their nuptials was leaked to the Night Court. They write to Odilia, asking that she come to the palace to clear the air.
Odilia leaves Roland’s estate, much to his chagrin.
Gustav and Corrian ask Odilia to be their official Royal Consort and Royal Companion. Odilia does not give an answer, as she must consider Roland’s proposal. She says she will give an answer before the wedding.
Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House, suspects that Aliks may be with child. This is confirmed by an Eisandine chirurgeon.
Rosanna visits Roland, who asks her to convince the family to support his proposal to Odilia—who is her best friend—and help settle the gossip in the Night Court.
Mena ponders her duties as Dowayne, overcome with all of the responsibilities given the current situation.
The Dowaynes meet to discuss what is to be done about Odilia. Odilia informs them that she must leave her decision of which proposal to accept to the council. It is decided that she must choose the king. A subtle show of support is proposed.
Petrea writes a letter of support to Odilia
Two nobles enjoy a romantic night at Balm House.
Aliks tells her parents she is pregnant. They suggest that she could retire, and she balks at the suggestion.
The King of Terre de Ange marries Lady Corrian de Borean of Azzale and they publicly name Odilia as Royal Consort and Royal Companion.
The Court of Night Blooming Flowers celebrates the royal wedding long into the night.
Rosanna meets with Roland, and they discuss his plans for how to proceed now that Odilia has rejected his offer. In a strategic move, Roland invites Odilia to join him and Rosanna at the theater.
Gustav, Corrian, and Odilia negotiate Odilia’s contract as an adept of the Night Court. They make the decision that she is not to serve them exclusively in an attempt to be a conduit of information.
Corrian struggles with her duties as queen and looks to Odilia for help.
The City of Elua celebrates the harvest festival of Steward’s Eve in celebration of the Good Steward, the angel Anael.
Aliks’s baby is born, and she names him Patroclus.
Mena relates the story of a troubling patron to her Second, Loir.
Petrea tells Mena that she intends to retire from her position as Second of Cereus House after the Longest Night.
Aimée nó Cereus, unofficial Third of Cereus House, goes to the tailor to put together a stunning costume for the Longest Night.
Valerian House makes preparations for the Longest Night and discusses their preparations for Mara’s Eve, the special vigil that they celebrate in February.
Roland and Odilia make peace with their relationship and the path that it has taken.
Aliks and Petrea reminisce about their childhood at Cereus House and come to terms with their future together, and apart.

Storyline: The Shortest Days

Odilia

It was not the sunlight kissing her face that woke her gently, it was the soft kisses of her lover. In the start of this shortest day, he was not the King of Terre d’Ange, he was only Gustav, and she was not the Second of Dahlia House, she was only Odilia. Wrapped together in each other’s arms, this was precious time. All the most precious for how brief it was.

He looked at her, his Courcel blue eyes looking deep into her brown ones, and he stroked her cheek. She leaned her forehead against his and let her arm drape around his waist. Nothing needed to be said. They had fought too hard to get to where they were now not to appreciate the peaceful morning for what it was.

When finally they rose, he helped her into her dressing gown. She did the same for him, a quiet kind of reserved intimacy, and accepted his hand to join him for the breakfast laid in his solar. Fresh oranges and pomegranates were presented in a bowl along with the warm, crusty bread with goat cheese and honey. A pot of warm lemon water sweetened with honey was set on a warmer.

“So much citrus and honey,” Odilia said warmly, letting him serve her with his own hands. “Is this a hint from your staff? Will you be the Sun Prince at the palace masque tonight?”

“Not as far as I know,” Gustav laughed lightly. “The Master of Revels has seen to all the details, I know very little about what is planned for tonight.”

The footman entered and announced the arrival. “Her Majesty, Queen Corrian,” followed shortly by Corrian herself, dressed in a simple day dress of pale green.

She beamed at her two favourite people and swept to the table before sitting and reaching for an iced bun. “Good morning, husband, Odillia. I trust you had a pleasant night?” But that really wasn’t what she was most excited to talk about as she continued, “Are you excited for this evening? I am! My gown has been set out already, it will truly be a delight.”

“We were just discussing the Masque ourselves,” Gustav said.

“Oh, Odilia.” Corrian leaned forward to catch her eyes. “I cannot wait to dance with you this evening. Please promise me you will not let my husband monopolize you.”

Odilia paused as she reached for a quarter of a pomegranate, the tiniest furrow appearing between her brows. “This evening?”

“Well yes, of course. The Longest Night Masque, whatever else would I be talking about?”

Gustav coughed in an attempt to hide his laughter, and Odilia ripped the pomegranate quarter in two. She reached to lay the fruit onto the Queen’s plate as she said lightly, “Surely you are aware I will not be in attendance with you at the palace.”

Corrian looked aghast. “Why ever not? Haven’t we made your position in the palace and our lives quite clear? Who could object to your presence?”

Odilia watched the exuberance of the outrage completely transform Corrian’s face and she pursed her lips slightly to restrain her smile. Corrian was so full of life. She would be good for Gustav and balance him in ways that Odilia couldn’t. So, the Dahlia said, not unkindly, “My position is not in doubt in any way, but I will celebrate the Longest Night on Mont Nuit with the rest of the Night-Blooming Flowers. As I must. I am still the Second of Dahlia House.”

A flush of red spread across Corrian’s cheeks. “Oh my, I had completely forgotten.”

“Nevertheless,” Gustav interjected with a warm smile, “I am certain that we will find another occasion for the two of you to dance soon.”

“I would like that,” Odilia said, allowing herself a small smile. She could allow herself this hard-earned joy.

Her chess game was far from over, but at last she had achieved her own victory for herself. Jocaste had once asked her who she was playing against when she studied the chessboard in her private chambers. She hadn’t known how to answer. Now she did, because she was finally at peace.

Her heart and her head were finally balanced.

~*~

Aliks

“You look lovely, my lady Dowayne,” the cook said when she entered the kitchens for a final pre-Masque check.

“Thank you, I am just checking to make sure all is well in here.”

“Of course, my lady, the meats are being cooked as we speak, the savories are being plated, and the fruit ices are in the cold box. All is well and on schedule.”

“Very good, I’m off to get ready, then I shall ensure the initiates are ready to serve, have a good Longest Night.” And with that Aliks left the kitchen.

Aliks went to the nursery to see Patroclus before going to her own chambers. He was spending more and more time there these days. He still slept in his mother’s chambers, but time had come for him to go to the nursery during the days.

“Good Afternoon, my lady,” said Cecile. The adept had recently finished her marque and was beginning to train in the running of the House. As such, she was put in charge of initiates for the Longest Night. Aliks went with Cecile to gather the initiates and watched approvingly as she gave them their instructions. Before she left, she wished them all a happy Longest Night.

Folk of the Night Court would begin arriving in a few hours time. Tonight would be Petrea’s last official night as Second, and tomorrow Aliks would be returned to full Dowayne duties. She would miss her friend, but Aimee was more than up for the job of Second of Cereus House. And Aliks, in truth, had missed working, she loved her job and was excited to get back to it.

~*~

Rosanna

Nothing was so hectic as the hours leading up to the opening bells which heralded the beginning of the Longest Night festivities. From one point of the country to the other, celebrations of all kinds were had by royal and commoner both. On Mont Nuit, this was no different.

Valerian House was all perfectly executed chaos. Through it all, those who were directing said madness remained as calm as possible. Dressed in a combination of costume and dressing gowns, the Dowayne and Second answered questions as they sat at their boudoir tables, applying makeup and checking hair. During this time, a young novice navigated through the crowd with a missive clutched in hand.

“For the Dowayne,” he said to the apprentice watching the door. Taking a look at the familiar seal of black wax, embellished by a golden honey bee, she took it and gave the young messenger a cinnamon sweet for his efforts.

Rosana accepted the letter, opening it to read even as another member of the House was attending to her long, red hair. Grandfather had written to her.

Abandoning all preparations, she opened the letter with her bare hands rather than reach for an opening tool, her eyes voraciously scanning the words within. Of all the grandchildren, she was closest to the Duc. When he deigned to show an emotion, it was to her he expressed it. What she read was bittersweet. He would not challenge the suit Odilia accepted, of course not. That she was happy and had made the selection of her heart was what mattered to him, especially since he had once made a scandal by choosing Grandmother all those years ago. While there was a possibility that he and Odilia may one day have another tender moment, their affair was settled and settled well. All this he told her because she was the one he trusted in the city, in the Court of Night Blooming Flowers, to guard their secret. To be present for her friend as he knew she always would be.

She did not have time to write a reply, but to be sure, Grandfather would be at the palace ball. Seeing as she would be there for part of the night, perhaps she could seek him out. They could dance and mingle and watch the crowd, speaking to one another about who they estimated would be the next to spin the gossip mill.

Life had returned to something that could be called normal.

Blessed Elua was kind to give them such peace.

“Back to the work,” she called and placed the letter in a locked box where all her most intimate correspondence was kept.

Eventually came the time to don cloaks and make their way to Cereus House. The procession was to begin soon, and all those attending the event needed to be ready to make the trek up the hill. During this time, Rosanna spoke to her Second.

“I will most likely not return until late tomorrow or the morning of the following day. But not later than that,” she reiterated. “Should the latter happen, I will send a page. If you should need me, should some accident occur, inquire at the Baphinol home first. No matter if I am not there at the time, my family will handle anything you might need.”

Since the processional was in alphabetical order following Cereus House, they need not rush. Valerian always rounded out the show, and they could afford a leisurely stroll.

“All will be fine, my friend. Do not worry, the House will be fine. I am more interested in hearing how you wind up spending your night. Such as the gossip you will get up to with your bosom companion from Dahlia.” Tryphosa grinned under her mask.

“Whatever we shall gossip about will be confidential, thank you very much. However, you are correct, I look forward to a celebration with her. Like old times. Just, happier and more settled.”

As she had received news of how things had concluded, sweet and hopeful, but in peace, with the Duc de Chalasse, she was eager to see her friend. Watch her be happy again and enjoy such a holy night with her. At least until Rosanna was pulled away by the call of family and the chaos of the royal party.

“I am excited to watch the changes in our quarter, the whole city, and even beyond now that the King has both a Queen and Courtesan,” Tryphosa said, twirling her fur lined cloak about as they prepared to leave the House. Outside was a dusting of snow. Not so much to make the walk to Cereus difficult, but enough to make the Mont sparkle.

“I am excited for the new year, and all the joys it is sure to bring. We all deserve it, having come through the bitter cold as we have,” Rosanna replied.

~*~

Petrea

Petrea sat at her dressing table and frowned at her reflection. She fiddled with the long strands of beads at her neck for the thousandth time in the last hour. Nothing felt right. Her hair felt too puffy, her makeup too bold, her jewelry unmatching, and her costume just…wrong. She looked over at the shimmering gown that hung over the door of her armoire. It was beautiful, and she had loved it from the moment she saw the design through every pinning and fitting until it was brought to the House the prior morning. But tonight, every bead looked askew, every seam crooked.

Petrea looked down at the myriad cosmetics and baubles strewn about the table. She knew in her heart that everything was perfect. The only thing off was inside her. Her heart ached knowing that this was her last Longest Night as Second of Cereus House. Her last Midwinter Masque processing next to Aliks—next to her best friend—as they led the Houses through the grand ballroom. Next year, it would be Aimee at the front of the procession. Next year, she would be relegated to the ranks of the other adepts. Next year, she would wear the matching costumes of the rest of the House. No more special designs for her. Just something delivered in bulk and fitted tacitly in a room of twenty others at the last minute.

No more would she be charged with planning the Masquerade Ball at Cereus House. No more would it be her responsibility to oversee the most important ball in the City of Elua. And while, yes, that would take a massive weight from her shoulders, it had been the one weight she had carried with joy. The one responsibility she had truly loved as Second. But, if she was giving up her position, she had to give up everything that came with it. There was no such thing as an a la carte Second. Perhaps, she considered, as her fingers toyed with a string of beads, Aimee would allow her to assist with the planning. Perhaps Aimee would allow her this one small concession? She could ask.

But this is what she had wanted, wasn’t it? She had never wanted to be Second, and she certainly had no designs on becoming Dowayne. So where had this melancholy come from? Perhaps it was simply that her life was being upended, that all that she and Aliks had planned since the night Aliks had found her crying in their bedroom was ending. A piece of her identity was dying. And did one not mourn any death?

But tonight was not a time for sadness, for melancholy, for mourning. This was a night for celebration, for love, for joie. It was the Longest Night, and she was Second of Cereus House. This was her Masquerade Ball. And by Blessed Elua and Naamah, she was going to enjoy it.

Petrea turned to look at the shining gown behind her. Now she could see the way the fabric hung flawlessly, the way the beading seemed to glow in the light of her dressing room, the perfection of each stitch and seam. It was an ideal dress, and indeed an ideal theme, for her last Masque as Second. She cast her gaze into the looking glass and smiled a true smile for the first time that evening as she began again applying her cosmetics. Tonight she would sparkle and shine like a jewel.

~*~

Philomena

The Shortest Day in Heliotrope House was always a chaotic struggle, behind the scenes at least. The patrons never knew how hard the adepts and novices struggled with the loss of the sun, how the busyness of their patrons made the loss feel sharper. What the patrons saw was a House single-mindedly focused on the upcoming Midwinter Masque at Cereus House. Favored patrons were granted a favor that would allow them entry, they were told how they could subtly coordinate with their adept, and they were swept up in the food and drinks and laughter of the season. Dara’s new games continued to be in rotation, keeping everyone laughing and happy.

Behind the scenes, Mena and Loir were both fighting hard to keep things running and make sure the House was ready. Loir had to go herself to the fabric merchant to get the bolts and bolts of fabric needed to get everyone Masque ready. The theme was Innocent Love, and each adept was wearing garments that mimicked undergarments and sleepwear, with delicate masks of stiffened lace, calling to mind the hopeful feeling of fresh pledges to Namaah, the first fluttering of love, and honesty of the first assignation with a Patron that will make their way into your heart. It was Loir’s job to make sure that everyone’s costume was on schedule as many adepts chose to make their own while the rest were being made by the adepts and novices with deft hands. Mena knew that Loir fell exhausted into her bed each night and rose as soon as she could to make sure things were done, and for that Mena was eternally grateful. Despite her youth, Loir was an incredible Second. Mena also knew that most nights, Loir’s bed was far from empty. Her new favorite patron, Leandré, came every evening when Loir took her evening meal and left when she did, so she knew Loir was being well taken care of.

For her part, Mena had to take care of the adepts themselves. It was the nature of Heliotrope adepts to become attached and invested in each of their patrons, so when they had obligations that kept them away, the adepts tended to feel melancholy. That was where Mena came in: she went room to room, visiting the adepts, keeping their spirits up with news of the costume progress, fresh gossip, and food. When that wasn’t enough, she sat and listened, talked them through their thoughts, and encouraged them. She had one, a lovely man named Antoine who struggled more than most when the nights lengthened. No one understood why, but the less sun there was, the harder it was for him. She’d moved him to a room on the highest floor of the house, with windows that faced the sunrise and the path it took across the sky, and she made a point of climbing the stairs every day to see him.

“Antoine,” she said as she pushed his door open. “It’s Mena.”

He was awake but still abed and she smiled gently at him. “How are you today?”

Antoine sighed and gestured for her to sit, which she did not. Instead she opened his curtains, and started finding clothes for him to wear.

“Today is not a good day, Mena. I have no interest in the dark sky or putting on clothing.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “Yes, you do, you just don’t know yet.”

He shook his head. “I doubt it, but tell me why?”

Turning around and holding his clothes out to him, she said, “I think the Comté and Countess sent word.”

The smile he gave at that news lit up her heart. They’d made it through the Night.

Storyline: Fittings and Finishes

Petrea stood very still, not wanting to be jabbed with a pin as the clothier fitted her gown for the Longest Night. It was a beautiful frock, as befitted the Second of Cereus House. It would be the last night Masque she would attend in that position..

The conversation between the two friends had been tense when Petrea finally went to Aliksandria to break the news. In truth, Aliks could scarcely remember a time without her.They had grown up as near sisters in Cereus House, from wild children to romantic youths to powerful women, in tandem. So it was heartbreaking for Aliks to learn that Petrea did not want to continue on the same path they had begun together so long ago.

The clothier was instructing Petrea to turn around when Patroclus began to coo from his crib. It was yet another thing that had changed, another way their journey’s had diverged.

Aliks went to the child and picked him up, cradling him in her arms. His small fists were clenched and she recognised on his face that if she did not feed him his cute coos would soon become unbearable screams. Petrea looked over and smiled.

As she began to nurse, Aliks looked at her friend and said, “You are going to miss this, you know. You may not wish to be Second any more or even Dowayne, but you will miss this life.”

“I am not leaving the House, Aliks. I’m not retiring from Naamah’s service, I am just retiring from my position. I will continue to take patrons, as would any adept who has made their marque and chosen to stay. I will attend the same fêtes and balls as always, I’ll just do it in my own way.”

“And me? Will you not miss me? And what of Patroclus, you are an Aunt to him.”

“We have discussed this, I will never be far from either of your lives.” Petrea gave her a gentle smile. “It’s not as though I’m going to La Serenissima. I’m moving down the hall.”

The reassurance helped Aliks, though she was loath to admit she needed it. She knew she had been selfish, wanting Petrea to stay with her, for her. It had been a departure she had managed to forestall for years, but she could halt the inevitable no longer.

“And what, pray tell, shall we do when you start stealing tarts from the kitchen?” Petrea asked, jutting her chin at Patroclus.

Aliks looked at the boy, whose appetite was great indeed and smiled, “Why, the same thing that our Dowayne did, pretend I don’t know about it.”

The two women laughed.

“He won’t be for Cereus house, you can tell already. He is too swarthy for that, so I imagine his antics will not be my worry for over long. Though I will be embroidering him a pillow to take with him when he leaves,” she said with a wink.

“If he goes to Orchis House it would go over well, but should he find himself at Alyssum it may prove awkward.”

“Oh, no more than it was here at Cereus House.” Aliks chuckled at the memory of their childhood lark.

“Whatever happened to those cushions?” Petrea asked.

“Check the crib.”

Petrea looked at the clothier, who nodded, then carefully walked over to the boy’s bed and peered in. There it was, a 20 year old cushion with a flower in shades of medium and pale blue, with a phallus for a stamen. “I had thought the Dowayne had thrown them away.”

“When I became Second, they were returned to me. Apparently, our old Dowayne had a great ability to hide her thoughts, for though she scolded us, she secretly found them hilarious. She was originally from Orchis herself, you know. The other one is in your room. I hid it there while you were off with Marco. I have been waiting for you to notice, but it appears we did hide our design too well.”

“Truly?” Petrea said, shrugging out of the gown and taking Patroclus from Aliks. He had finished feeding and was falling into the sort of slumber that only comes from a full belly, “I will look for it this evening.” She stroked his soft cheek. While the announcement of Aliks’s pregnancy and Patroclus’s arrival had thrown her own life into upheaval, she did love the babe. How could one not?

Aliks stood and walked to the clothier and began donning her costume for its final fitting. Once her costume was on, Petrea made a slight choking noise, and Aliks turned her head slightly to look at her friend, “Yes?”

“You are wearing that?”

“Why? Is something wrong with it?”

“Well, no, not specifically. It’s lovely, but I, hmm, well, I just expected you to wear something more, well more.” Petrea gestured at the lack of fabric covering Aliks’s body.

Aliks laughed. “Oh? And why would I do that?”

“Well, you’re a mother now,” Petrea said, gesturing to Patroclus.

“So I am, and happy to be one. But I was a Servant of Naamah first, And I will be one always. And as this Longest Night marks my return to full duties, I intend to lead with the message that I am returned to work.”

Storyline: Dahlia Daydreams

The chill was ever-present in the air now, the winter falling firmly across the countryside as the last vestiges of autumn had faded into the frost and freeze of winter. The courtiers in the royal palace draped themselves in their furs and thickest gowns and garb, staying in the public salons of the palace where most of the court gathered together for cards, conversation, and warm comfort.

However, the Duc de Chalasse was not to be refused his daily horseback ride. There was nothing that heated the blood like an invigorating gallop through the countryside with the cold air stinging one’s face. Though the younger men in his retinue joked about warm wine and warm women, Roland ignored them steadily. He was no green boy to run from the winter chill and take his warmth with a woman. He was in the winter years of his life, he had spent his spring and summer years with his love – while he remembered the blinding warmth of her, he had passed easily into his autumn and winter. Let the younger lords dance around the ladies for attention, he was well established without needing to debase himself with such sport.

The only sentiment he permitted himself—having well known when he was defeated – was a slow stroll through the royal glasshouses after his morning ride. He claimed it was to keep his aging joints loose with the warmth and steam of the conservatory. Plenty of the courtiers believed him too. He was Roland de Chalasse, his heart was stone as well they all knew. But he turned his steps to the brightest, warmest room of the glasshouse, where the king had had the dahlias planted.

Riots of color burst from the heavy stems, filling the room with bright jewel tones and the fragrance of the flowers.

In comparison, her dark hair and soft silver-blue gown seemed almost nondescript.

He paused, knowing she had heard his boots, watching her continue to lightly spritz one of the dahlia pots with water.

“I wondered if I would ever come upon you here,” he said, stepping deliberately into the room and tugging the riding gloves from his hand.

The angle of her cheek lifted in her smile as she set the glass atomizer down, wrapping her deep evergreen shawl firmly around herself as she turned to look at him. “It is my own little conservatory, the odds were good.” Sweeping him a little curtsy, she greeted him properly, “Your Grace.”

He offered a small bow in return. “My lady.”

“How was your ride this morning?”

“Invigorating.” He had kept his distance from her. There was business to do, she had her new apartments and life to settle into as well as the juggling of her responsibilities. But he had been watching, all of the courtiers had been, to see how she would manage this. It was the highest any courtesan had risen, there were plenty of wagers being made in the gaming salons of the palace and across the city as to what the future would hold. Some of the most cynic suggested she would bear a son first and the country would devolve into war.

Roland knew her better. And looking on her now, he could have felt melancholy that she had not accepted his suit, that he did not have a Duchesse to keep him company through the twilight years. But all he could feel was pride. He had ever prized cleverness, cunning, and power. She had proven herself quite adept at all three. His affection was unchanged, though he did not expect any more of her attentions now. He had told his granddaughter that he would follow the lead set by the king and queen and their courtesan and he would. He was a man of his word. But looking at her now…

“I have missed you,” she said, looking up at him. Were his thoughts so transparent? Or was she too kindred to him that their minds were walking the same path?

His hand reached to brush his knuckles across her cheek, a tiny, affectionate caress.

“Are you happy?”

He saw the surprise in her eyes that he would ask it so bluntly, but she nodded. “Yes.”

A small smile twitched at the corner of her lips. “And yet, still in need of allies in court.” There is still a place for you if you wish it.

He returned her tiny smile. “Of course.” I am a man of my word.

She nodded, her shawl sliding from her shoulders. Ever a gentleman, he reached to help her remove it if she was warm. And he paused when his fingers brushed her bare skin. Her gown was a shimmering fabric woven with thread of silver, long sleeves covering her arms for warmth, the neckline high to preserve her chest heat. But her back was bare, the gown tailored to reveal her completed marque, displayed.

He looked at her, she met his gaze. A silent conversation, completely understood.

He stepped closer to her, his fingertips tracing the line of the stem down her spine and she met his gaze fearlessly, her brows contracting as she asked quietly, “How many ways could this have ended?”

“So many.”

He saw them all for a moment, the possibilities that had branched out around them, changing with each choice: a Dahlia queen crowned in gold and by her king’s side, a duchesse on Roland’s arm, a spurned lover turned twisted and angry to become an enemy like unto the Shahrizai woman, a Night Court Second raised to Dowayne in her time to lead her House, a private courtesan with her own salon as the jewel of the city. So many possibilities and potentials.

“And yet here we are,” she said softly.

“So we are.” His eyes flicked across her face as his hand withdrew from her bared marque. “You have done well for yourself, little Dahlia.”

She didn’t let him pull back, shifting her body a half step closer to his as she asked, “Did you ever think this was where we would be? When you met me for the first time in Jocaste’s office, even when Rosanna wrote to you about me for the first time, did you ever think…?”

A wry smile twisted his lips. “No. I underestimated you. I judged too quickly.” He had always been a proud man, born to power and trained from birth how to wield it. The noble title gave him status and privilege, those that were not a part of the titled elite were to remain beneath them and be governed by those directly descended and chosen by the great Companions of Blessed Elua. There would be no interlopers suffered within the hallowed sanctity of the nobility. Until she had risen from nothing and become someone that could not be ignored, someone from whom they could not look away. And that was what forced him to admit. “However, now that this is where you are, it does suit you. You have proven yourself well and I am sure you will continue to do so.”

“Roland…”

She looked up at him and heard the distance in his voice. Even with her marque bared, even with the possibility of assignations again, he was maintaining distance. She would respect his decision. So, she worked his ring off of her finger. She had been wearing it—he had seen her wearing it—on the middle finger of her left hand, right next to the swan ring that the king had given her.

Now, she held it up to him, offering it to him back.

His hand covered hers, stopping her from giving it away as he breathed in the vulnerability and therefore the power of this moment before murmuring, “Keep it. It was a gift, and will remain a token of my affection so long as you choose to wear it.”

She let him push her hand gently back, watching him before saying gently, “….thank you.”

She slid the ring back onto her finger, and he turned the conversation away from the danger of feelings as he inquired lightly, “What are your plans for the Longest Night? Surely your attendance is highly prized.”

Odilia smiled. “I am still the Second of Dahlia House. I will attend the Cereus Masque, I must. And you?”

“I am expected here in the palace.”

“Naturally.” He was made for courtly settings, it was where he thrived. The intrigue and the thrill and the chance to remind everyone of his power? She understood that well.

She understood him well. So she reached into the cuff of her tailored sleeve. “Roland, I have a gift for you.”

From the place she had tucked it within her sleeve, she withdrew a medallion on a bronze ribbon. Struck into the gold medallion was a dahlia flower. On the back was engraved the words of the House: Upright and Unbending. A token, given to treasured patrons.

She offered it to him, the sunlight glinting on the medallion as it spun lazily from the ribbon. He reached slowly to take it. It was not the first token he had received, Jocaste had given him one once and he had had a Cereus token given to him once upon a time as a young man, but this was different. There was a weight to this moment, this offering, and an intimacy to this that he hadn’t shared with the other Servants of Naamah that had given them before.

His fingers caught the medallion, his thumb brushing the stamped petals, and she said lowly, “I have given very few of these.”

He looked into her eyes and caught her other hand in his, his thumb brushing the ring on her finger. “I have given very few of these.”

She nodded, understanding. He nodded, agreeing. And he tucked her dahlia token into the neck of his doublet, keeping it safe as he looked down at her, finding one last moment of honesty to give her. “I do wish you every happiness, Odilia. You are good for him and, if you let him, he will be good for you. There is a true love between you, I respect that deeply. My Juliette and I had a love like that. It will give you many, many years of joy.”

Lifting up onto her toes, she cupped his face with her free hand and kissed him.

When they parted, he let out a little exhale, grip tightening on her hand for a moment as his other hand lifted to brush his forefinger across the curve of her bottom lip, whispering, “Oh, little Dahlia. It is a kind of love, I am man enough to know it. Just as I know the young king will give you more happiness than I ever could.”

“Perhaps,” she said, head high, “but you give me things that he cannot, too.”

“Perhaps. There is time to see.”

“There is nothing but time.”