“How is my little Dahlia?”
Odilia glanced up as Roland de Chalasse came striding into the private parlor of his ducal townhouse. He didn’t bother removing his leather gloves before taking her hand and bringing it to his lips for a kiss.
“Missing the anxiety of your Mont Nuit and the preparations for the Longest Night?”
“No,” she said, a tiny smile on her face at the thought. “I am not missing that at all. These days spent here have been a balm for my mind.”
“I may not be an adept, but I can manage the basics of resting and soothing.”
She scoffed a little laugh, and he settled beside her on the couch with a theatrical groan. She smiled at him, asking archly, “Shall I have the servants stoke up the fires and prepare a hot bath to soothe your ancient bones?”
“Hardly.” He snorted. “I am hardly in need of coddling. Not even by you, courtesan.”
She feigned a blush, ducking her head in a show of false modesty that he didn’t believe and made it clear with another little snort under his breath. But her fingers absently toyed with the tooled leather of the book she had been reading during her morning of leisure, and she asked it quietly, “What news from court?”
There was a long breath of silence, and she could feel his eyes on her. She didn’t look up, just traced the gilded designs stamped into the leather binding of the book on her lap.
“The vultures continue circling,” he said at last, answering her quietly. “The Caerdicci are particularly intent. They bring their breeding stock out every chance they get to try to catch the king’s eye. Certainly they are lovely, but he doesn’t seem to be particularly interested in any of them. People are beginning to whisper.”
She continued stroking the leather, determined not to react. “What else?”
“They are insisting he make a decision soon. They say it has been long enough. He must choose a bride and a queen by the Longest Night. They have given him enough time to get to know them. A decision must be made.”
“I know,” she whispered. It would break her heart, but she knew it would happen soon, she couldn’t deny that the day was coming. “I won’t stand in the way.”
“I know you won’t,” Roland said, taking her foot and drawing it into his lap so he could rub her feet slowly. “But you have plenty of courtiers afraid that you will.”
“I wouldn’t do that to him,” she said. “No matter what happens. I wouldn’t. I love him too much.”
It felt strange to admit it to the Duc de Chalasse. How far had they come? She had thought he was her enemy, and she still wondered at times what his angle was, what he was getting out of their arrangement, but he had acted with honor, and she couldn’t ask for anything more than that. And strong and fit as he was, he was still past the prime of his life, a man with grown grandchildren. It was strange to find in him a compassionate soul after everything. Jocaste had warned her not to let him into her head, but there were times that she thought he was letting her into his first. And this assignation now, three days as his guest and courtesan in his home…
A year ago, in her rage and fury, she had asked him to help her show the court that she did not have a soft heart, that she was a threat to the court, and he had delivered. Patron gifts, nights on the town, assignations. He favored her for all the City to see. But now with Gustav’s letter, with the very real possibility that she would lose him, her fire had dulled slightly. She had allowed a certain intimate honesty to rise between her and Roland.
And there was warmth in his voice when he said, “I know you do, little Dahlia. That’s why you’re still such a threat.”
“Because I love him?”
“Because he loves you.”
She finally looked up at him as he took her hand in his, rubbing his thumb against the back of her knuckles. His eyes were filled with sympathy. Not pity, he knew better than to hurt her pride like that. But he had seen how the court was pressing in on the young king, had known that if the king had his way, there wouldn’t be any question whom he would choose. And he knew she had been hurting, keeping it to herself, trying to prove herself strong and capable. There was so much in her that he recognised from his younger self. There was so much he could do to help her, if she would let him be so sentimental.
“He does,” Roland continued. “He loves you. This choice is tearing him apart because he knows no matter what he chooses, he will lose. Follow his heart, and he loses power. Follow his head, and he loses you.”
“I never wanted this for him.”
“I know,” he said softly. “None of us want such hardship for the ones we love.”
He reached out with his other hand, fingers brushing her chin to lift her face again, meeting her eyes. “I have grown very fond of you, Odilia. Far more fond than I had ever thought I would. I would help you, if you let me.”
“How?”
Elua, she looked young. Sadness and trust and hope all glittered in her eyes, and he knew she was a balm for his lonely soul.
“We both know he must choose a wife, the kingdom needs a queen. We also both know he will struggle with this duty so long as you are available to him.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“As a courtesan of the Night Court, you have made your marque and all of the country knows what that marque indicates. That you are accepting of contracts. Even if he were to marry, he could still contract you through your House and continue to play at having you for his, even for a night.”
He watched her brows pinch, seeing the way her dark eyes flicked between his, watching the thoughts race through her mind as she followed his logic.
“As a married woman,” he said quietly, “He would not be able to cling to the hope of keeping you. It would break his heart, but he would move on stronger than before and determined to do his duty without…distraction.”
“Married?” The word was almost silent as it passed her lips. He had stunned her, he knew, so he reached into his pocket to pull out the ring box.
“I do not love you,” he said gently, “nor am I asking you to love me. Upon my death, the ducal title will pass to my son, I am not giving you a title of that magnitude. There are some traditions I still uphold, and my son has the right of the ducal lands upon my death. But…as my wife, you would have certain protections. You would be a Duchesse, so long as I am living, you would have a place at court where you could still play your games and influence the politics with your cunning mind. And he couldn’t keep you as his mistress without unbalancing the tenuous peace of the duchies.”
He opened the ring box to show her the ring he had had made. A gold band with a topaz in the center, like the necklace he had given her, but tucked to the side of the topaz, was a small diamond.
“I know he is the one in your heart,” Roland said, looking down at the design. “The diamond is for him. I acknowledge his place in your love. But the topaz is for me, for the opportunity and protections I can offer you.”
“Roland, I…”
“I don’t want an answer now,” he said. “There’s too much already weighing you down. But I ask that you think about it. Consider it in your grand game. Regardless of what you choose, the ring is yours. Wear it as my wife or as my courtesan, it’s a gift.”