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Odilia twisted Roland’s ring on her finger, a nervous gesture. Of all the things expected to bring her back to the City of Elua, this had not been her preferred choice. 

But she was a Dahlia—upright and unbending—she would not falter now. 

Accepting the hand of the footman who opened the carriage door, she stepped down into the shade cast by the royal palace of Terre D’Ange in the City of Elua. She kept her face smooth and impassive as she swept through the front doors of the palace to greet the man standing there to welcome her. 

“Odilia,” Sebastian L’Envers said warmly, reaching for her hands with the clear intent to offer her the kiss of greeting. 

Instead, she swept him a small, perfect curtsy. “Your Grace.”

Stung, he shifted back onto his rear foot, realizing the distance she was putting between them.  On purpose. 

“Odilia,” he said softly, moving beyond the hurt of her snub. “They are waiting in the gardens. May I escort you?”

She nodded but did not take his offered arm. Going into this meeting was a kind of battle and she was sure her armor was firmly in place. 

The Sovereign Duc of Namarre showed her through the light and airy salons, choosing a route with fewer people—but not empty. Soon enough all of the City would know she had been summoned by the King and his Queen-to-be. 

The gardens of the royal palace were expansive and, as to be expected, exquisite.  Lavender and lilies and iris, hedges and bushes and gravel paths, fountains and pools and statues. It was a piece of paradise, like a hint of the True Terre D’Ange Beyond.  And there at a small table with a mosaic top, set before a grand fountain, three chairs set into the seashell gravel path, was the King of Terre D’Ange and Lady Corrian de Borlean. 

Odilia squared her shoulders and descended the steps to the gravel. “Your Majesty, Lady Borlean.  I have come at the request of your invitation.”

Gustav looked up, hope glimmering in his Courcel blue eyes as he stood. “Odilia!”

Corrian smiled warmly at Odilia as she approached the table. Many would say that she had all the power in this new dynamic, but they would be wrong. She was the intruder in Gustav and Odilia’s love affair, and while she hoped to be the queen of this castle, she knew she could hope for no more than to be second in his heart. 

“Odilia,” she said, approaching the other woman to present the kiss of greeting, which Odilia accepted only a little stiffly. “Thank you for coming.”

“I answered your invitation as was expected,” Odilia said, allowing the kiss but no more, stepping out of the other woman’s grasp.  “Thank you for your hospitality.”

The table was set with a tray of canapés as well as one decanter of fruit-infused clear water and a decanter of wine.  It seemed they were making efforts for this to be comfortable. Odilia accepted the seat the king pulled out for her, not wanting to look into his hopeful eyes. She had to protect herself and her heart in this.

“I asked Gustav to let me join you for this overdue conversation,” Corrian started, holding up a hand to prevent any objection. “I am sure you are feeling a great many things, and I would not presume to tell you what they are or how you should feel. And yet, I wish desperately to tell you how I feel.”

Odilia met the other woman’s eyes as she, too, took her seat.  The Dahlia let the future queen pour the water and wine in the waiting glasses, keeping her own hands folded in her lap as she listened.   

“I came to the capital this past season in a predicament,” Corrian continued, “I needed to find a husband for the good of my family and yet, to wed was the last thing I desired. I had hoped, greatly, to find a man with whom I could make a political match if not an amorous one, and I wish you to know that I feel I have succeeded in that endeavor. I wanted a husband who would allow me the freedom to not play pretend at love and who I could, in turn, give the freedom of his own affairs. This is the nature of the agreement Gustav and I have forged. I may soon get the title, but his heart is his own to give to whomever he chooses.”

“And I want nothing more than to give it to you again,” he said earnestly, blue eyes fixed on the unreadable courtesan across from him.  “I meant every word I wrote to you, and those letters are still true now as the day the pen shaped those words.”

“Your Majesty—”

“No, I am only your Gustav here.”

“You are the King of Terre D’Ange,” Odilia said firmly. “Now and always.  You cannot just set that aside because you wish to be frank at last.”

“Odilia, what Corrian says is true,” Gustav said, glancing at the Azzallese woman.  “We came to an understanding, she and I. She knows what you are to me, she understands, and she will not stand in the way. She even gives us her blessing!”

Corrian felt more than saw Odilia glance at her to gauge her response to that, and she made sure to keep her face open and pleasant, giving the courtesan a small nod of confirmation.

“Odilia,” Gustav said quietly, leaning forward in his chair, “I am so sorry for all of this, for how it has happened.  But, I would never tell you about my betrothal with an impersonal announcement.  I would never do that to you.  I do not know yet who sent the message to Cereus House on the Longest Night, but I will find out.  Corrian and I had always intended for you to find out privately, between the three of us.”

“Because I do want a future with the three of us,” Corrian said gently. “I promised Gustav freedom, he promised me the same.  I would not think to separate the two of you, I know the deep love you hold for each other, I would not come in between that.”

Odilia picked up her wineglass slowly, taking a slow sip to keep herself composed. 

“Odilia, I fear the court will spend my entire marriage trying to make enemies out of us,” Corrian said, hoping that the courtesan would be able to sense her honesty. “I am certain that, regardless of their success in that, the historians will do the same. I am telling you now that your enmity is the last thing I would wish for. I desire friendship with you, comradery—” with a slight mischievous grin, “—perhaps more, one day. I wish to spend my time as queen with you as my Royal Companion, a one true friend who I can always turn to and trust above all else.”

Odilia’s eyes met hers for a long moment, taking the measure of her. 

“And,” Gustav said quietly, seeing Odilia’s eyes flick to him again, “if you wanted it, I would also name you my official consort.”

Official consort.  Not his wife, not his queen, but just as influential a position as his royal mistress.  A place at court, an official and visible position where the rest of the nobles and courtiers could not be able to deny that she had not been put aside. 

Odilia’s jaw flexed as she swallowed, considering this. 

Unexpectedly, she felt the sting of tears in her eyes.  She swallowed again, something tight in her throat as she spoke, “I have been…humiliated, Gustav. Time and time again.”

He opened his mouth to speak but she held up a hand to stop him.  He subsided. 

Odilia’s head turned to the second woman at the table, “Corrian, you are considerate and truly D’Angeline to offer so much freedom and consideration for the affairs of the heart. It is appreciated, if unexpected.  I do remember the times you visited me in the Dahlia salon, I enjoyed your company.”

Corrian managed a smile. 

“However,” Odilia said, smoothing her hands along the skirts in her lap, “as significant as this offer is, it is not the only one I have before me.”

The king’s eyes dropped to the topaz and diamond ring on her finger. He knew who had given it to her, he knew what at least one of her other options was. 

“Therefore,” the Dahlia continued, “I cannot give you an answer now. I must consider what is best for me.”

“Understandable,” Corrian said immediately.  “May I request an answer before the wedding? If you choose to accept our offer, I would like to make the announcement of your position properly at the ceremony.”

Odilia accepted that with a regal nod. “That is reasonable. I will give you an answer before then.  At the very least, to assist with the addressing of the invitation.”

Gustav’s lips spread into a smile.  If she could make a joke, perhaps all was not lost between them.

Odilia sat in the shade of the terrace, her book long forgotten in her lap as she let the breeze soothe the warmth of the day and distract her with the view of the leaves and grasses and flowers rippling with the peace of the countryside. 

It was quiet here.  She could get used to that. 

“My lady?”

She tucked some of her dark hair behind her ears as she turned to acknowledge the maidservant standing at the door to the estate.  The girl dipped a curtsy and said quietly, “There was a letter for you.”

Odilia carefully marked her forgotten spot in her book and set it aside. “From?”

“From the palace.”

Carefully, Odilia smoothed her hands across the neat draping of her skirts before she nodded slowly. “I will read it.”

Her fingers broke the seal on the letter, and she sat back to read what they had sent her. 

An hour later, when the Duc de Chalasse returned from his afternoon hunt with a brace of rabbits and some waterfowl for the kitchens, his manservant informed him that his guest had ordered her things packed and a carriage prepared for the next morning.  And Roland went on the hunt again, but this time for his little flower. 

“The servants tell me you are leaving,” he said once he found her sitting at the edge of one of his fountains.  

She didn’t look up from where she was playing with a curious bumblebee that had come to investigate the scent of her perfume. “They tell you correctly.”

“Have I so failed in my host duties that you would return to the City of Elua without telling me?”

“No,” she said, letting the fat, fuzzy insect land on her fingers. “You have been a perfect host.  This time here has been wonderful for my soul.”

“You must see how I will take insult to this.”

“Of course,” she said with a quiet smile, as the bumblebee finished its exploration of her hand and turned its attention instead to the water lilies floating in the fountain.  And she looked up at him. “You are a proud man, Roland. I know your first instinct is to see this a failure.  But it is not.  I have no choice.”

“I am a proud man,” he agreed, pulling his riding gloves from his hands and looking down his nose at her. “I have enjoyed the prize of your attentions for quite some time, am I to let you go willingly?”

“You do not have a choice either,” she said, watching how he bristled at it. But, when she withdrew the invitation from where she had tucked it into her sleeve and held it out to him, he did take it.  Yet, she didn’t need to watch him read it.  She trailed her fingertips through the water of the fountain, tracing the edge of the lily pad. 

She didn’t look up as he sat down next to her, the peace was too important now that it was so soon to be shattered. 

“So I must let you go,” he said quietly. 

“You must,” she said. “I cannot ignore a summons from the palace.”

“I had a letter from Rosanna,” he said, folding the invitation back up neatly and tilting his head back to consider the estate at the top of the hill. “She will be coming here soon.”

“It seems it is the time for the important conversations to occur,” Odilia said absently. “I am sure there are a great many things the family must discuss. I would not wish to be in the way of what you must say to each other and the answers she will demand.”

They sat together—quiet and still and so far away from each other even as they shared the same air. 

Finally, he reached to take her hand, his voice impersonal even as his touch was warm and soft. “I will miss you, little Dahlia.”

“I am grateful for everything you have given to me,” she said, shaking the last droplets of the water from her fingertips as she withdrew her other hand from the fountain.  “I know it was not for me. I know you have your own goals and purposes. But that does not change that you have shown me kindness in your own way.  I respect you a great deal, Roland. That will not change.”

His arm slipped around her shoulders. “Perhaps it began selfishly on my part, seeking to find a weakness in the woman the royal court accused of turning the young king from his new duties.  But I see what in you has so captured him. I am not a good man, little Dahlia, nor have I claimed to be. Yet the time I have spent with you has been my own, and you have…”

She rested her head against his shoulder. “I know.”

But she had run for long enough. Come the morning, she was in the carriage and returning to the City of Elua, the invitation in her reticule and the memory of Roland de Chalasse’s kiss on her lips.

“Things are precarious enough as it is,” Corrian said as she flicked through the papers set on the table between herself and the king as they took their midday meal together. “Everything hangs on a knife’s edge, turning one way or the other with but a whispered word.  We cannot afford to ruffle any further feathers by being thoughtless in this.”

The king, a few strands of slowly graying hair falling forward on his brow—young as he was, the weight of the crown was heavy and the stresses were many—released a heavy sigh, “I still have not found who sent the message to be announced at Cereus. Of all the ways to have the news come to the Night Court…”

“I know,” Corrian said quietly, watching him.  It should never have happened like that.  There was, once again, a silent faction among the nobles and the court making their displeasure clear with the king’s actions and attempting to ruin what little peace they had managed to find for themselves. “But what is done is done, and she must know the truth.”

“At last,” Gustav nodded wearily.  He had danced to the court’s game for far too long and let them run his life.  He was the king of Terre D’Ange, and he would handle this at last like a man. “Let us then write to her, invite her here.  To extend the olive branch may quell any whispers of her being set aside.”

Privately, Corrian thought that there was no way to control the direction the gossip would take— perhaps the people would see the gesture as one of kindness as the king hoped, or perhaps they would see it as the king bringing his former mistress to instruct his betrothed in the matters which pleased him best. But, at least they were agreed that Odilia had been kept out of this for far too long. 

“Let us write it together,” she suggested. “That she knows it comes from the both of us.”

Together, they penned the invitation: 

From the Royal Palace of Terre D’Ange, the private offices of His Majesty, King Gustav de la Courcel and Her Ladyship Corrian de Borlean, the King’s Betrothed. 

To Odilia nó Dahlia, Second of Dahlia House of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers, greetings. 

An invitation is extended to you to join His Majesty the King and the Lady de Borlean for light refreshment in the royal gardens of the palace. Your presence is expected a sennight from the date of this invitation.

Beneath the official seals and signatures were two more private messages:

It is time that the air was cleared between us all.  Please Odilia, do not let them make us enemies where we should be bosom friends. ~Corrian

Please, my heart. If ever you believed I love you, which I do with all that I am, please come to us, that we may make this right. My sky is incomplete without your star. ~G

When the embossed letter arrived at Dahlia House, Dowayne Jocaste nó Dahlia turned it over in her elegant hands and released a long, heavy sigh. 

“Please, Blessed Elua,” she whispered, holding the letter to her heart in her prayer, “Let this bring them peace.”

And she handed it to the waiting page. “Ride fast.  Bring it to Odilia at the Duc de Chalasse’s estate.  Go!”