Almost from the moment the rumor began of an Official Consort to the Dauphin Mont Nuit had been aflame with questions. Supposedly said potential Consort was a close friend of hers, therefore to gossiping minds Rosanna just had to know all the details of how and why and when this affair had begun. Not that Rosanna would ever tell, of course. But with the future King choosing to shy away from the biggest party of the year, well the queries had started to arrive in more and more imaginative forms.
“A donation to the construction of a new shrine?” Rosanna rolled her eyes and continued to look over the collection of masks laid out for her inspection.
“So they say,” her Second replied with a shrug. Tryphosa made a note of who sent that letter and went back to sorting the growing stack of correspondence. “As though we need a new one. Besides, where would we put it? And in return for information on Lady Dahlia’s particular favorite gifts?”
“They are desperate to ingratiate themselves to her inner circle, if the rumors are true. As though I would give them anything.” She examined a mask covered in peacock feathers. “Besides, it’s more fun to watch them wriggle and guess.”
“Are you sure Mandrake didn’t bid for your marque?”
“Not at all. I just like the games of court and Odilia is giving them the spectator sport of their lives. A member of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers maybe becoming Royal Consort? And not a Cereus? It’s a scandal and I love a good scandal.” No, that mask wouldn’t do, she returned it to the pile and continued looking through the choices. One caught her eye, it was made up entirely of the most delicate, silver chains she had ever seen. 
It took both hands to hold it up properly, the metal glittering in the candlelight. Oh yes.
“Do you think he’ll be a good king?” Tryphosa leaned back on the settee, a lock of platinum hair falling becomingly across her face. Rosanna looked at her over her shoulder, studying her friend and Second. “What with his brother passing away so unexpectedly, the whole country turned on its head for months in mourning and gossip.”
“I admit I wasn’t ready when I had to take up being Dowayne,” she replied and held up the mask to her face. Even if her costume had been complete for some time she had yet to find just the right mask to complete her disguise. It all felt rather like a metaphor to life in court – any court. “My predecessor did leave quite suddenly, I thought I had more time to prepare for this. I imagine it was similar for him, on a far greater scale mind you.”
“But your family is, well,” Tryphosa waved her hand looking for just the right word to describe Rosanna’s huge family.
“Overbearing?”
“Rich is more what I was going for. Well connected is polite. They expected you to make Dowayne one day, so did you and never hid it.”
“True,” Rosanna gave a laugh. “But an assertive Valerian? It sounds like an oxymoron doesn’t it? But as the youngest in a brood I never wanted to end up in my siblings’ collective shadows, so I do not think I can be blamed for pushing ahead. No matter how impromptu my promotion came.”
“Maybe the Dauphin is like that too. He’s so sweet, from what I’ve heard, perhaps people underestimate him. Does your friend hint at any of that?”
“If I am not going to hand over pillow talk to a high paying patron why would I give it to you?”
Tryphosa threw a pillow and Rosanna just barely ducked in time.
“Resorting to violence? Now who belongs in Mandrake?”
To be completely honest the girlish play was soothing. Rosanna did know quite a lot, enough to worry her over just what sort of traps the court was placing for her friend and the Dahlia’s golden prince. Being born into the nobility herself, she knew just how vicious the landed class could be. But she had faith in the Precept, which she held steadfast in her heart, and that Blessed Elua would be watching over them all on this holy night. Such devoted thoughts were cut short by the touch of a flesh and blood hand on her shoulder, and Rosanna pulled herself together.
“Oh hush,” Tryphosa grinned despite not getting the gossip she desired. “Are you done picking your mask? We have a ball to get to.”
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Petrea 
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