Tickets to the 2023 Masque are now on sale!
Our event will take place Saturday night, January 7, 2023 7:30pm-12:30am at the Crown Plaza Crystal City-Washington DC in Crystal City, VA.
Click here to buy your tickets.
Additional information about the event will be posted to our website as it becomes available. Questions? Please contact the event organizers at info@thelongestnightmasque.com
“Ladies and gentlemen! Please! Come to order!” The Magistrate banged his gavel on the podium in an almost futile attempt to gain the attention of the members of the Judiciary. The nobles and guild leaders continued to talk amongst themselves, ignoring the Magistrate’s pleas to come to order and begin the Judiciary meeting.
It had been over a year since Monsieur Jacques Halceux, head of the silversmiths guild, had brought a motion to the floor to remove the Night Court from the Judiciary. The Judiciary would hear arguments for both sides and determine if it was finally time for a vote, or if even more time was necessary to make the critical decision.
The argument was as old as Terre d’Ange itself. The Court of the Night Blooming Flowers held a seat on both the Council of Religious Orders and City Judiciary, and guild leaders argued again and again that this gave the Night Court undue influence in government. And circumstances in the City of Elua were perhaps turning the tide in favor of the guild leaders’ case.
The longstanding relationship between the newly crowned King Gustav de Courcel and Odilia, Second of Dahlia House, and the notion that she advised the king on more than just the baubles she preferred, lent credence to the idea of courtesans holding more sway than was appropriate. Today, a special visitor joined Aliksandria nó Cereus, Dowayne of Cereus House, on the side of the Night Court. Sitting tall and regal was Odilia nó Dahlia herself, looking ready to do battle.
Across the room, one man did not engage in idle chatter. He sat, the instigator of this fight, his gaze fixed pointedly on the two members of the Night Court: Jacques Halceaux, head of the Silversmiths Guild. A man of middling years, he had clearly once been handsome, but his work had worn his body down and grayed his hair; bitterness turned his face an unattractive mask. He hunched forward in his chair, scowling, elbows on his knees, hands clenching a silver tipped cane.
Once again the Magistrate cried desperately for order. This time, he succeeded. “My dear ladies and gentlemen!” he thundered, “I beg you to come to order so that we may begin our business and not languish here all day!”
Slowly the chatter died down and the guild leaders and nobles took their seats with sidelong glances towards the two courtesans. Night Court trained both, one would have thought they sat in a Palace salon awaiting an assignation for the grace and composure they both displayed. One would never know that their futures hung in the balance.
“We are gathered,” the Magistrate said, sounding ever so slightly impatient, “in the hopes that this issue raised as to the Night Court Guild’s presence on this Judiciary may finally be decided. Too long have we delayed this vote for reasons of varying validity, but so help me Blessed Elua, today will bring it to an end one way or another!”
Aliksandria turned her head to Odilia, looking to gauge her resolve. This was the largest attendance she had ever seen in this hall; clearly many in the city wanted to see what the outcome would be.
Aliksandria took a deep breath and rose. “My lord Magistrate, you asked me these many months gone by how the Night Court responded to Monsieur Halceaux’s proposal. I spoke the truth when I told you that, while I may be the Night Court’s representative on this body, I am not its leader. I am, however, the leader of Cereus House, and as such, I can speak for her. As the governing body of the trade guilds, this body has the power to make changes to Guild Laws and regulations. Without a voice in such matters, I simply do not see how we could continue to operate as the trade guild we are, governed by Guild Law. And as anyone who has visited Mandrake or Valerian House knows -” She paused and looked pointedly at several of the guild masters, “- Guild Law protects the very lives of some of our adepts. So, without laws to protect our adepts, I fail to see any way that we could continue to conduct trade. Cereus House would, regrettably, be forced to close its doors.”
Her hands would have been shaking if she had not grasped them so tightly as she waited.
This was an unexpected play, a bold play by the Cereus Dowayne and no few of the other Guild leaders murmured to each other, casting furtive looks between the courtesans and the leader of the Silversmith Guild. That was certainly enough to give them pause as to this venture; was it enough to cow him?
The door to the chamber, which had been closed when the Magistrate called the meeting to order, flew open. A woman of middle years, upright in posture and strong in determination, with hair the color of a Cassiline’s sword, walked in. Jocaste nó Dahlia took her place next to her Second and spoke in a clear and resonant voice, “Dahlia House echoes the sentiments of Cereus House.”
Behind her, Xixilya nó Orchis flounced in, a grin on her face, “Orchis House agrees with Cereus and Dahlia.”
Kali nó Mandrake marched up, stood next to Aliksandria, and proclaimed, “Mandrake House stands with her sisters.” One by one, all 13 Dowaynes of the Night Court entered the chamber and swore the same, that they would close their doors before they would violate the sacred call of their order.
The Magistrate let out a breath as the last Dowayne, Philomena nó Heliotrope, finished. He waved to a servant to close the door, but as he did so, he found resistance. An older woman, well into her twilight years and leaning heavily on a cane walked in, leading a line of men and women so long they did not all fit in the room. She was D’Angeline and, as such beautiful, but one could tell by her carriage and bearing that she was not now, nor had she ever been, of the Night Court. She walked up the aisle, passing the Dowaynes and stopped in the center of the chamber. She cleared her throat and spoke. “Naamah’s Servants of the City of Elua who do not reside on Mont Nuit wish to have their voices heard as well. In this hall, you have made many decisions over the years that have affected us without deigning to acknowledge that we also ply Naamah’s trade. But know this, should a king or prince find himself on my doorstep, I would not turn him away either. We stand with Mont Nuit. No Servant of Naamah in this city will ply the trade without proper representation.”
to be continued…
In case you’ve missed anything, here’s all the gossip that has been circulating in the City of Elua.
You can also read back through our blog for the full story, starting at the end of this page and reading backwards from oldest to newest.
Petrea nó Cereus read the letter again. The words never changed but, every time she read them, the knot in her stomach grew.
Petrea,
The situation in the Judiciary grows dire. Your absence as Second of Cereus House is no longer feasible. I need you here. You must return home immediately.
-Aliks
So, the decision had been made for her. Her Dowayne was demanding her come home. In some ways, it was a relief. She no longer had to decide whether or not to confess her unhappiness to Marco and return to the City of Elua of her own accord or continue to struggle for happiness here in Tiberium. It was done. But still, she had to tell him she would be leaving. Thus, the growing knot in her belly. The fear of his reaction. The worry of her future with him – or without him.
Marco walked into the bedroom where she sat on the bed, still clutching the letter. She turned towards him and, hands shaking, held out the parchment. He looked at her questioningly, but took the page and read it.
“So, you’re to leave then?” he said simply.
Petrea nodded, staring at her hands, unable to look at him.
He sighed and sat down next to her on the bed. “I’m honestly surprised it took this long. The letter must have been delayed,” he mused absently.
He continued gently. “Darling, we both heard the rumors in Aragonia and the same rumors still come from Terre D’Ange. Aliks’s letters continue to mention the trade guild fights and her fears for Cereus House.”
He tipped her chin up, looking into her eyes. “And don’t think I don’t know you’re unhappy.”
She started to respond, but her words died on her tongue.
“You may think you’re hiding it well, but I know you very well, my love. You’re not the vibrant woman I knew in Terre d’Ange. Your eyes don’t sparkle as they once did. You don’t belong here.”
He traced a line at the base of her neck where he knew the finial of her marque lay. He knew the lines by heart. “You cannot live a life where you have to hide this. I am not ashamed of you and I cannot keep you to a life of shame. And besides that, you, my dearest, would never be content being a Tiberian trader’s wife. You would never be content being a Tiberian anything. I should have known in Amílcar that this was a fool’s errand.”
“Amílcar?” Petrea was confused. “What does Amílcar have to do with anything?”
Marco burst out laughing. “You took a patron for the price of room and board! But I suspect you would have gone to him for free.” He quirked an eyebrow at her. “You are a Servant of Naamah and was a fool to think that would change if I took you away with me. It’s time to go, love.”
Petrea blinked back the tears that had been threatening to fall. When she spoke, her words came out barely above a whisper. “You’re right, but what of us? I truly do love you.”
“And I you. But that won’t stop simply because you no longer travel with me. Or live in Tiberium with me. You don’t have to be my wife for us to love each other. After all, I’ve been your patron for years.” Marco shrugged. “So I’ll continue to be your patron and your lover.”
“As simply as that?” She was stunned; her tears suddenly forgotten.
“Yes. As simply as that.”
“You would simply have me go back to the City of Elua and return to Naamah’s service, knowing that I will be taking other patrons? You nearly tore your hair out over the Marqués in Amílcar!”
“I know,” he chuckled. “And that’s when I began to doubt this arrangement, as I said. I spent many hours that night thinking about how our life would be if we wed, if you could be happy with this. I thought that, if you were happy in Tiberium, then it would mean a marriage could work. But you aren’t and it won’t. You need to go back to the City of Elua and be a proper Servant of Naamah.”
She gave a long sigh. “This is not how I expected this conversation to go.”
He frowned. “You expected I would be what? Angry? Devastated? Dejected?”
She shook her head. “Yes. I mean, no. I mean, I don’t know. I certainly didn’t expect you to just kiss me on the cheek and send me away!”
He drew her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “I’m not sending you away. I’m agreeing that you should go home. You simply forgot to ask me whether or not I thought you should.”
Petrea nó Cereus stared out the window of the beautiful house and felt…disappointed. She had been in Tiberium for weeks now and had expected to feel…happy? Relieved? Satisfied? She didn’t know how she had expected to feel exactly, but disappointment wasn’t it. It had everything she dreamed of: beautiful buildings, delicious food, fascinating history, exotic peoples from all over the world and, most importantly, Marco. At first, Tiberium felt magical, just as every other city and country they had visited. And being in Marco’s home was even more special as he excitedly showed her his city, taking her to all of his favorite places, and proudly introducing her to his friends. But she quickly grew weary of Tiberium, and of its people. The Tiberians knew what she was and shunned her. Just as Aliks had predicted. It was worse than Aragonia, and far worse than Alba. There was no reverence or protection for courtesans here. Petrea was tired of hiding herself and pretending to be someone she was not. She was no Tiberian matron, no lady of the house.
She turned her gaze to where her lover sat at his desk, bent over business sheets, and smiled to herself. Being with Marco was everything she had expected and everything she had hoped for. He was loving and attentive, kind and caring, and so excited to show her the life that they could live together. But his nearness couldn’t seem to fill the emptiness she felt. She had put on a brave face for him, trying to find solace in his happiness at her presence in his home. But even his joy and his passion could not make up for the hole in her heart.
Simply put, his love could not make up for home. It was home that Petrea missed. Not just Cereus House and the City of Elua, but her chosen family there: her best friend and Dowayne, Aliks, the adepts she was helping train, the members of the other Houses, and the nobles who she took as patrons. Blessed Elua, she even missed the foolish gossip that had driven her away in the first place.
Petrea knew that trouble was brewing in the City of Elua. Letter from Aliks had been waiting in Tiberium: the Judiciary was closing in on the Night Court and the guilds were at each other’s throats. As Second of her House, Petrea knew she had responsibilities to her House and she worried that she was ignoring them – and for what? She feared that her absence might have consequences that could not be undone. Her forehead creased in a frown as she thought over what she should do.
As she stared out the window at the setting, Marco came up behind her and put his arms around her waist. He nuzzled her neck and kissed her throat.
“What troubles you, love?” he whispered in her ear.
She sighed, leaning back into him. “Thoughts of home, I suppose.”
She turned to face him, wrapping her arms around him.
“I worry,” is all she could say, resting her head on his chest.
He turned her face to his and placed a gentle kiss on her lips.
“Come with me,” he said softly. “Let me distract you.”
Petrea closed her eyes. Disappointed in her situation? Yes. Missing home? Yes. But what would happen to their relationship if she left Marco and went home? Would she lose him?
She couldn’t stand to think about that and so she let him guide her to his bedroom.
They were all watching. She could feel the eyes, in the House and whenever she left on errands or business. The events of the previous year’s Longest Night Masquerade were still in everyone’s memory. The image of the sangoire cloak hanging at the gates would not be forgotten anytime soon. And the Longest Night was coming again. What would happen this year? Would someone try to outdo the warning of last year? Would the sacred night be interrupted with violence?
Sing, O Goddess, the anger of Peleus’ son Achilles…
She had been thinking more and more about the epic poem. She had sat in the theatre next to the Duc de Chalasse and listened as the poet sang about the violence and war and blood and death that had come to Troy, armies fighting and men dying for possession of a woman. THe Gods themselves cast their lots and chose sides. She had sat there, knowing what it was Jocaste had wanted her to hear in the song, the warning that it was.
Sing, O Goddess, the anger of Peleus’ son Achilles…
She sat in the carriage now, across from her Dowayne, as the two of them travelled across the river to the Noble’s District, to the Rue Courcel that had the best shops of the City. She sat there, knowing the people outside were watching the carriage go by, seeing the dahlia design embossed on the outer door, whispering about who was inside. The Longest Night was fast approaching, Odilia could feel the City holding its breath to see what would happen. The matter of the Judiciary still needed to be resolved, it had been postponed until after the Longest Night out of respect for the holy day and the preparations that the Night Court needed to make, but it would still need to be addressed. Which meant she would have to see him. Would have to speak to him.
Sing, O Goddess, the anger of the common folk of the City. Sing, O Goddess, the rage of the silversmith. Sing, O Goddess, sing!
Sing, O Goddess, the chaos of Odilia the Dahlia.
“Odilia?”
She brought a smile to her face, “Yes, Jocaste, I’m listening.”
Her Dowayne didn’t look like she believed it, but she didn’t pry, only saying, “Are you sure about the statement you want to be making with your costume?”
“I am.”
“As I am unable to attend the Masquerade this year, you will be representing Dahlia House with it as well, you understand that?”
“Are you requesting I change my costume?”
“No,” Jocaste said. “Your choice is your own, I just want to make sure you know the possible messages you will be sending as you represent us all.”
“I know the risks,” Odilia responded.
“After last year, I should hope you do,” Jocaste said gently. “As you are determined, I will not order otherwise. I trust you, Odilia. Remember that.”
“I know.”
They came to a stop and Odilia stepped down from the carriage first to offer her hand to her Dowayne. The couturier was already bowing at the door to the tailor’s shop, welcoming them in for Odilia’s final fitting to ensure the costume was what she wanted. Payment was given and the package was handed reverently over with a whisper from the tailor that she hoped it pleased the Dahlia Second. Returning to the carriage, they were stopped by a voice calling, “Ah, two of my favorite flowers! What a lucky chance.”
“There is no such thing when you are involved, Roland,” Jocaste said with a smile, giving him a kiss of greeting.
“Odilia,” he greeted her with a tiny bow, “You have been in my thoughts much as of late.”
“Have I, Your Grace?” She gave him a curtsy just as small as his bow to her, “What a coincidence, I was just thinking about our evenings at the theatre this past summer.”
“Were you?” His brows lifted as he claimed her hand for a courtly kiss, “What song are the Muses singing for you?”
“The song of the Longest Night, of course.”
“Let us hope it has more peaceful verses than the song of the previous year.”
“Keeping the young nobles of your province in line, Your Grace?”
“I would not dream of having them disrespect you again.” His eyes dropped to the package tucked under her arm, “Something for the Masque?”
“The tailors have finished my costume,” she said lightly, “Will you be in attendance at Cereus to see it, Your Grace?”
“Unfortunately not,” he said, “My Longest Night invitation came from the palace, not the Night Court. I am surprised that you were not requested at the palace to dance with the young King.”
“There are some traditions that no Servant of Naamah will refuse,” she said, “The Longest Night at Cereus is one of them. His Majesty understood my polite refusal.”
“Then I will have to endure the palace fête without your clever company to keep me entertained.”
“I’m sure you will find a way to manage.”
“What brings you out today, Roland?” Jocaste asked it of the Duc, lest her Second entirely monopolize his time with her witty conversation, though she was proud that it seemed her advice had been followed. Odilia was polite and courteous, clever and warm, but not overly familiar and there was nothing of substance said under the words. She was doing well to keep Roland de Chalasse out of her head. Jocaste was pleased.
“I was on my way to the jeweler in the Palace District,” he said lightly, “I had commissioned a gift for my granddaughter that I was going to retrieve. I would be honored to have your company on my errand. I know little about baubles and you are familiar with dear Rosanna’s preferences through your work together at the Night Court. Additional advice on her gift would be deeply appreciated.”
“You old fox,” Jocaste laughed, “You just want to be seen with us.”
“Two of the loveliest flowers of the Night Court? Absolutely.”
“You are fortunate we are not so prone to flattery, sir,” she smiled at him even as she looped her arm through his. “Odilia, we must go with him now to save his pride.”
“I don’t think that is ever at risk,” Odilia said lightly. “Give me a moment to put my package in the carriage and I will be with you.”
She turned and opened the door to the carriage so she could settle the parcel in the corner of the seat. She heard Roland and Jocaste strike up their conversation again, light and pleasant. This was what the Longest Night was supposed to be, excitement and joy and joie, no dark thoughts, no worries or cares, just the celebration of the night and the return of the Sun Prince to his Winter Queen. She dared to smile.
That was when the hand closed on her wrist. It was a tight grip, wiry and strong and it jerked her around to face the man that the hand belonged to. Greying hair, a lined face, once-handsome eyes now tight and hard with fierce hatred.
“You,” she breathed, looking Jacques Halceaux full in the face. The open carriage door was between her and her other companions on the side of the Rue, and Halceaux had waited to approach until they were both distracted so he could be uninterrupted.
“You have the rest of the City fooled,” he hissed, his grip on her wrist keeping her from pulling away as he stepped closer to snarl at her, “But not me. I know who you are, Odilia, who you really are. Wear your pretty flowers and let them worship their precious Dahlia, enjoy it while you can. You have them all fooled but not me, I know your truth and I will use it.”
His grip tightened and her eyes widened as she saw in his face just how deep his hatred and contempt for her went. What had gone wrong? When had he chosen this path?
“It’s a pretty little fantasy world you’ve built for yourself,” he said, standing so close to her they were almost touching, his other hand brushing the front of her thigh as he leaned even further, lips brushing her ear as he breathed, “But I will tear it down, piece by piece, until you have nowhere to go but the real world with the rest of us. I will drag you back to where you belong, you and the rest of those fancy whores.”
She looked up at him, lips parting, “Please…”
He was gone, vanished back into the traffic of the street with only the dull, tingling pain in her wrist to know that he was ever there.
“Odilia?” Jocaste called, “Is everything alright?”
Odilia slowly closed the carriage door. They were both watching her; Jocaste curiously, Roland intently. She looked her Dowayne and friend in her eyes, pulled up a bright smile, and for the first time, lied to her face.
“Of course,” she said, “Everything’s fine.”
We have been made aware of concern over events being canceled due to the new omicron variant of COVID-19. We want to assure you that we are still planning on having the event this weekend. The hotel is still prepared to host the event and we are excited to see you all. Our vaccine requirement for attendance is in place for the safety of all attendees. As additional safety measures, we encourage all guests to wear a face mask in addition to your costume mask and practice social distancing during the Masque as much as is reasonable. We will have surgical masks at the check-in table for anyone who needs one. We strongly urge everyone to wear a face mask any time you are in public.
We understand that the situation remains uncertain and we will keep you updated on any emergency changes that may arise.
Should you have any questions, please do not hesitate to contact us at info@thelongestnightmasque.com
We look forward to seeing you in just a few days!
My dearest Aliks,
We have been several weeks in Aragonia and, thank Elua, I have been able to arrange our accommodations this time. Upon arrival in Amílcar, our presence was requested by Ramiro Pascual de Soria y Borja, Marqués of Almazán, the son of the Duque de Soria who has traveled to Terre d’Ange through his family business dealings. Aragonia is not like Terre d’Ange in its ways of love and the Marqués was thrilled to find a servant of Naamah in the city. He requested the pleasure of an assignation at any price. I negotiated food and lodging for the duration of our stay in Amílcar, which he felt was quite the bargain. Perhaps it was, but the idea of not sleeping in yet another crowded, smelly inn is worth more to me than any amount of money I could fathom at the moment. I was surprised when Marco balked at the idea of my serving another patron! While we may be traveling together, I am still who and what I am and we are not wed. He has always known that I have other patrons and this is the first time he has expressed any jealousy. Aliks, I was truly shocked. He did eventually calm down and I spent a luxurious night with Ramiro.
Marco has not been as fortunate as I in his business ventures. We learned from the Marqués, whose family owns silver mines here, that the silver trade has slowed considerably due to a new and quite unexpected D’Angeline embargo on the metal. This has thrown the international silver market into disarray and caused a ripple effect into other markets. Traders and merchants are confused by the embargo, as there are no conflicts between Terre D’Ange and any other nations. Ramiro has, however, heard rumors of internal conflict between the guilds. Whatever the cause, there is fear this embargo could affect Terre D’Ange’s relations with its partner nations and have serious implications for future alliances.
While days are difficult for Marco, I find enjoyment in exploring the city, delighting in the vast differences between here and home, seeing the beautiful architecture, and visiting local shops. I do, however, feel I am quite the stranger, as I did in Alba, not speaking the language or knowing the local customs. Would that I were Phedrè nó Delaunay – able to blend in to any country and learn the language! I have been fortunate in that the Marques has provided me a servant girl from his household to serve as my guide, so that I am not completely lost. She has advised me to hide my marque, as the Aragonians would not look so kindly upon it. I was expecting different customs and attitudes, but I am not ashamed of who I am and hiding my marque felt uncomfortable. I suppose that if I am to conduct myself as Marco’s betrothed, I should expect to adapt. Ah the things we do for love, yes?
Always yours,
Petrea
To the Ducal Seat of Siovale, Her Grace the Sovereign Duchesse de Perigeux, Niniane, greetings.
I am not the kind of man to dance around the topic of something that I want. We have been friends for long enough for you to know this about me. I will not waste my ink or your time with idle conversation or clever turns of phrase when there is something important to be done that you may assist me with. Even out in Siovale, I am sure you have heard the gossip of the City of Elua in regards to the effect the young Dahlia is having on the City. She is a capable woman but because she is by very nature as a Dahlia, not someone who is easily led, the City is twisting and turning in on itself trying to figure out if she’s a saint or a sinner as she holds the King’s heart in her hands. The other nobles are testing her to see how easily she can be manipulated for their own ends, the common peoples are torn between adoring her for rising above the circumstances of her birth or demonizing her for turning her back on the struggles of the lower classes. No matter what she does, she will be attacked over it.
That is not my concern. I trust my old friend Jocaste has trained her well and she will handle the challenges in her way the best way she can. No, what concerns me was the mutterings coming from the common folk, the guilds and the artisans. They are being whipped into – I cannot say it is a frenzy for they are not rioting in the streets – but they are being organized by a firebrand. He has convinced too many of the artisans and merchants that to protest the young Dahlia and the increasing power of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers over the Royal Court, that it is the duty of the common folk to remove some of that influence that things may be more balanced. As if anything is truly balanced or fair in politics.
This man, Halceaux, is of the Silversmith Guild, one of the guild leaders. And he has felt too comfortable criticizing the hierarchy of the City, the very D’Angeline way of life that is so dear to us. He demands too much from his betters while threatening too much in retaliation. I do not believe he speaks for all of the common people of the city, but he is certainly the loudest of their voices. I do not know what grievance he has against the young Dahlia, but my concern is the disrespect he shows to so sacred a D’Angeline institution.
Perhaps, as he is a silversmith, he should learn just how much of his business relies on the powerful permitting him access to his supplies. It would be a shame if one of the supply trains of Aragonian silver wasn’t permitted past your mountains, wouldn’t it? The sooner he understands his place in the weave and weft of the very fabric of our society, the sooner he will keep his private opinions to himself instead of criticizing the Night Court, the Service of Namaah, and the decisions of his King.
The decision is, of course, yours, Niniane. They are your mountains, after all.
By my hand and with my seal,
Roland de Chalasse, Sovereign Duc of L’Agnace
From the private journal of Aliksandria nó Cereus, Dowanye of Cereus House
I feel as though the world presses on my shoulders more and more every day. Perhaps I was foolish to let Petrea go off on her grand tour, as everything appears to be falling apart at the seams. Thank Elua I have Waldemar to distract me.
The notion of having our seat on the Judiciary is an old one, but a contentious one amongst the guilds and the Dowaynes are, frankly, tired of having to fight for our place as a legitimate guild. We maintain our business operations just as any other guild and have the right to present our views on important issues that affect us. Simply because we use words like adept and Dowayne does not make us any less legitimate than if we called ourselves apprentices and master craftsmen. One pays for the service of a Night Blooming Flower just as one pays for cut gems and dyed silk! I grow more frustrated and angry each time I think of these foolish arguments from these foolish guildsmen.
The Dowaynes met in anticipation of the upcoming Judiciary meeting and it was not a quiet affair. The reactions from the other Houses ranged from dismissive to outraged to fearful. While the general consensus is, of course, that the Night Court must maintain a seat on the Judiciary, the way in which to best present our case is not so simple.
The crux of Monsieur Halceaux’s angry argument lies, of course, in Odilia’s romance with the King. But we are servants of Naamah and Blessed Elua and we follow the tenet of love as thou wilt. To deny Odilia and Gustav their affair would be tantamount to heresy and treason. To hold the threat of removal from the Judiciary if we do not turn away House Courcel is asking us to either step aside as a guild or commit treason! How could any D’Angeline ask this of another?
Their real fear is that a courtesan is influencing the King in matters of state. The idiots. How do I convince these halfwits that the King, while young, is capable of his own thoughts and decisions, that Terre d’Ange is not being ruled from Dahlia House?
Would that I had my Second here to discuss this. Instability at Cereus House reflects poorly upon us all and I fear that they will use this against us. If one cannot keep one’s own House in order, how can one possibly hope to maintain order throughout the other Houses?