Tag: dahlia

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.”

Storyline: The Queen Diaries

“It can’t have been all that bad, now can it?” Odillia said as she ran the brush through Corrian’s hair. The new queen purred and leaned back against Odilia. 

“It feels like it sometimes. I wasn’t raised to be a queen, I was barely raised to be a noble lady. The pressure is considerably more than I expected.”

“Then tell me, what happened today that caused you to come running into my chambers in tears?”

*

Corrian had overslept, which wouldn’t be a problem normally, but the delegation from La Serenissima was arriving that day, and she had a full schedule of events to attend to. When her maid attempted to rouse her for the third time that morning, she grumbled many curses about ancestors doing foul things with donkeys before she leverred herself somewhat upright. 

After Corrian washed face a bit too hard, her maid (who by now knew everything was behind schedule and was unfairly being held responsible for the delay) selected a green gown and began to dress the queen. Corrian was trying to sit still while being laced into her stays, but her late morning meant she had missed breakfast and was now hungry, so when the youngest maid entered with a tray of food, she nearly lunged at it. That is when she heard the rip. 

It was entirely her fault, to be sure, but the dressing maid was now in tears, holding the lacing that had ripped through the eyelets. The stays were ruined. Corrian tried to comfort the maid but she was already being shooed out of the room by the senior ladies maid. A new set of stays were quickly found, but this only increased the delay already present.

Once she was fully dressed, her very impatient butler began to hurry her out of her rooms. As she passed the food tray, she snagged one more turnover. 

She was shoving the last bite of turnover into her mouth when she found herself at the door to the audience chamber. Walking in, she saw that Gustav was already inside and talking to whom she could only assume were the dignitaries from La Serenissima. She walked up to her husband with a smile only to be met by odd looks from the three Cardicci men next to him. 

“Hello, dear,” Gustav said, bending to give her a peck on the cheek. As he did so he whispered, “You have crumbs on your skirt.”

Corrian’s eyes grew wide with shock, and she looked down to find that, yes, her husband was correct, she was wearing her breakfast. She quickly tried to brush them off as best as she could, all the while noticing Gustav’s cheek twitching in suppressed laughter.

To their credit, the other men pretended not to notice any of it. 

The talks today were just preliminary, no actual politics or trade would be discussed until later in the week, but this was Corrian’s first time meeting foreign dignitaries as queen, so she was a bit on edge. To his credit, Gustav seemed to sense this and stood by her side the whole day. 

It was also customary for royals and ambassadors of all nations to go on a hunt during political visits. Unfortunately, no one told this to Corrian. 

“I am looking forward to the boar hunt tomorrow,” Giuseppe Petrei said to another Sarrenisiman in Caerdicci. 

“A hunt?!?” Corrian blurted out in D’Angeline, looking with pleading eyes at her husband. That was when Gustav realized no one had told Corrian. He knew his wife hated hunts, she despised the idea of any killing to be honest. She hadn’t even eaten meat since she was a child and saw the crofter’s at her father’s estate butcher a pig. “You cannot be serious!” 

“Of course we are serious,” said Dario d’Angelo. “Everyone knows that Terre d’Ange hosts the best boar hunts.”

Corrian turned to look at her husband, her face white as a sheet. “It is customary,” he said gently. 

“I am sorry, Your Majesty, I feel unwell,” she said, then hurried back to her room. 

Corrian did not join the group for dinner, instead requesting a tray to be sent to her room. After she had finished her meal, her ladies maid (who by now she had thoroughly apologized to for the events of the morning) helped her draft a note to the king. 

G, 

I am in need of Odillia’s service this evening. I apologize that you will not find either of our beds available to you.

-C

*

Odilia hummed quietly, continuing to stroke Corrian’s auburn hair soothingly after the queen had finished divulging the events of the day. 

“I see,” she said finally, rising only to refresh the incense before she returned to the chaise where the queen had draped herself in her agony. Odilia settled herself on the end of the chaise and Corrian squirmed herself around to rest her head in her Royal Companion’s lap. Odilia rested her hand on the other woman’s shoulder as she considered this – what she knew about Corrian, what she knew of Gustav, and what she knew of responsibility. 

“You know,” she said softly, “when Gustav first came to Dahlia’s salon and spent his first night with me, we did not fall to bed as so many would expect. We sat up the whole night, just talking.  He told me so many things about the weight of the responsibility that his brother bore, how he never begrudged his elder brother being the Dauphin because he saw how heavy the title weighed upon him and how much he needed to do to prepare. We just talked about duty and responsibility and court.  And when the sickness took the Dauphin, when Gustav was lifted overnight to become the next king of Terre D’Ange, he came to me again.  And we spoke again.”

“I did not know that,” Corrian said, her eyes half closed as Odilia’s voice washed over her. 

“Few do.  But I have already advised one ruler, and in this the teachings of Dahlia House serve well. Naamah bestowed herself like a queen, and adepts of Dahlia House spend their entire lives searching for that same regal presence and royal air.  It will not come overnight, Corrian, and it lives in each of us differently.”

“Easy for you to say,” Corrian said, a little petulantly. “You are a Dahlia.  You are the Dahlia.  It looks so easy when everything you do is regal.”

“Comparison will do you no good,” Odilia chided gently. “I was raised in Dahlia House as a child. You are learning now what I have spent a lifetime studying.  But at the end of the day, you are the Queen of Terre D’Ange.  Outside of these rooms, no one need know how overwhelmed you are.  No one will know unless you show them. And they will be testing you, everyone will be.”

Corrian pressed her cheek against the soft fabric of Odilia’s skirt, squeezing her eyes shut as though that would make the troubles go away. 

“A queen does not hide,” Odilia’s voice said above her, her fingers finding Corrian’s chin and turning her face back up. “The best way a queen can serve her people is to be honest and true.  About herself, about who she is. You are the queen, not anyone else. Be true to yourself first and foremost and, at the end of the day, they will respect you for it.”

Looking up into the courtesan’s dark eyes, Corrian found herself nodding. 

“Will you…” she sat up so she could look into Odilia’s face, woman to woman, equal to equal, “Will you help me?”

“Your Majesty,” Odilia said, a tiny glint in her eye, “you have named an adept of Dahlia House as your Royal Companion. I would say it is quite clearly my job to do so.”

Corrian couldn’t stop the little giggle from bubbling free, and she thought to herself that if she was able to laugh about it, perhaps the road ahead wouldn’t be so difficult. Especially since she wasn’t walking alone.

Storyline: Negotiations

The footmen were no longer surprised to see the Second of Dahlia House approaching the King’s private study, not now that all the city knew how dear she was to the King’s heart.  Certainly not now that she had the ring on her finger.  They merely bowed her through the door with a brief introduction. “Lady Dahlia.”

Gustav looked up from behind his impressive mahogany desk—a desk that had seen so many generations of kings and queens—and brightened with a delighted smile. “My heart!”

She could not stop the smile from flickering across her face—he was ever so endearing, especially now he was able to be more open about his affection.  But she had come here for business, so she refocused and commanded the footman, “Send a page for the queen.”

“At once.” The footman bowed and withdrew, closing the door quietly behind him.  

And Odilia watched Gustav wilt slightly, his brows pinching together as he said, “Sending for Corrian?  What’s the matter?”

“Nothing is the matter,” she said, circling the desk to let him clasp her hand and kiss it. “But there is business to tend to.”

“This is a business visit?” He continued to wilt, and she loved that he trusted her so deeply that he was willing to show her his more emotional side.  Even if the King of Terre D’Ange was pouting slightly. “Not a visit because you love me so dearly you cannot be without me?”

“Two things can be true,” she said, kissing his temple and letting her perfume surround him for a moment, “but I have come for business, Your Majesty.”

He pulled a face, hearing his royal title from her lips and glared half-heartedly at her as she pulled away to settle herself in one of the chairs set before the great desk. 

“You are sure you are not here to save me from my paperwork?”

“The bane of royals everywhere,” she said drily. 

Corrian was seated with some prospective ladies-in-waiting when the page found her, and she was so grateful for the interruption of what had to be the most pointless gossip and needlepoint session that she could have kissed the page.  She excused herself from the noblewoman, who curtsied extra low to try to win some approval, and let the page escort her to the king’s private study. 

Odilia did not rise as the queen entered, merely smiled as Corrian exclaimed, “Odilia, you don’t know what horrible tedium you have rescued me from.  Gustav, excuse me as I kiss your mistress.”

Odilai accepted the kiss, smiling into it easily as the queen cupped her face with both hands. When they parted, she looked up at the auburn-haired woman and said, “Careful what you thank me for, I came for business, not pleasure.”

Unknowingly following in the footsteps of her husband, the Queen of Terre D’Ange pouted. “Well, that’s hardly fun.”

“Nevertheless, it is necessary.”

Corrian flounced down into the other chair and blinked balefully at Odilia before looking at her husband.  He took a deep breath and said, “Very well, Odilia, we are both here.  What is your business?”

“We must negotiate the terms of your long-term contract for my services,” Odilia said evenly, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap. “You have named me Royal Companion and Official Mistress, you have declared for all the world that there is an understanding in your marriage that allows for me in your lives, but now we must clarify those terms in accordance with the governance of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers.  You will have to file a contract at Dahlia House officially.  Dowayne Jocaste has allowed some grace for the celebration of your wedding and the first weeks of marriage, but we cannot put this off any longer.”

Corrian pressed her lips together and nodded. “Yes, it’s true.  It was only a matter of time.  Very well, let us discuss.”

Gustav was slightly more petulant. “Odilia, I have waited for years to have you officially in my life, I do not care what the contract says, I will give you the world if you like. What does the paper matter?”

“It must be done properly so that no one can use it against us,” she said firmly. 

“I agree with Odilia,” Corrian said, smoothing the skirts of her gown. “We must do it properly, in all accordance with tradition and regulation.  This is the manner of things.  I do not want someone to call into question my place in our marriage or on the throne because you are keeping your mistress in clear favoritism.  What terms have you already prepared, Odilia?”

“I want official chambers in the palace,” Odilia said easily. “It is my right as Mistress and Companion both.”

“Easily done,” Corrian said with a nod.  “I will even ensure you have a say in the decor as the household prepares them.”

“I want a clause protecting my right not to light a candle to Eisheth,” Odilia continued, watching Gustav.  “The choice is mine, as it is my body, however I do not want to have a child and begin a succession crisis, or take any power from whatever children the two of you have.”

“A matter we have already spoken about,” Corrian said, also glancing at her husband. “I think that is agreeable to us.”

“Finally,” Odilia said, “I want to discuss with you both the expectations regarding my service as an adept of the Night Court.  I am Second of Dahlia House, I cannot leave that behind me. I have responsibilities to my House and to Mont Nuit to help lead.  There are also the expected duties of the Servant of Naamah to serve in the art of pleasure.  I want to be clear about expectations now that I have been named to your households as Royal Companion and official Royal Mistress.”

“Exclusivity,” Corrian put it together.  “You want to know if you are expected to serve just us or if you are to continue taking other patrons.”

Odilia nodded. “Just so.”

Corrian knew better than to answer this.  This was an answer only Gustav could give. Her teeth closed thoughtfully on her bottom lip as she turned to give her husband her full attention.

Gustav looked torn, the furrow deepening in his brow as he finally whispered, “I have always known I would share you.  With Dahlia, with the Night Court.  I…I never felt like I had the right to ask you to be anything but who you are.”

“But now you do,” Odilia said quietly. “Our agreement now has changed that.  If you wanted to, you had the right to ask me to share my bed with only you.  Or you and your wife.  This is what I truly came here to discuss. The other clauses are important and there are other arrangements that will need to be made with the treasury and with the documentation of the contract with Dahlia, but this is where the paths ahead split. Am I yours and only yours?  Do I remain an adept of the Night Court, with all that entails?  What is it that you want?”

“I want you,” he said, his fingers tracing the texture of the embroidery on his doublet.  “That’s all I have ever wanted, was you.”

“If I may,” Corrian spoke up, “I have a thought as to how we could use this to our benefit.”

Tucking a lock of auburn hair behind her ear, she leaned forward slightly in her chair and said, “All of the country knows Odilia is a Servant of Naamah and a member of the Night Court. Now they know how close she is with us. I am sure even before the marriage question rose, there were those who came to Dahlia House just to sample what had caught the prince’s eye.”

“I seem to remember you being one such,” Odilia said wryly. 

“So I know what I am talking about,” Corrian said with a smile.  “But think of it, now all of the royal court will see her and know her as ours.  They will scheme, nobles always do, and how better to help us keep an eye on the temperature of the court, than our very own spy?  Our very own Phèdre.”

Odilia’s brows lifted. 

“If she is still free to take patrons, if we do not limit her with exclusivity, think about how they will fall over themselves to try it, to try to prove our bond is tenuous, to try to sow discord.” Corrian’s eyes were bright with the thrill of it. “We challenged them when we named her Companion and Mistress, there will be plenty who will rise to the challenge of it. If she is kept to us and us alone, we lose that chance.”

Odilia glanced at Gustav.  He seemed contemplative, considering this. 

Finally, his eyes lifted to look at her, and she watched the walls crumble slightly as he admitted, “I have wanted you as mine for years, Odilia.  I had selfishly thought that with the new arrangement, you would be. Yet, I am torn.  The king in me sees the merit of what Corrian says.  But…the remnants of my younger self in my heart wants you for mine. What should I choose? The romance that would place Elua’s precept first? To love you and love you as mine? Or the king that must make the decisions that will serve the crown and country? It is hardly fair.”

“It is not,” Odilia agreed quietly. “But it is the choice ahead of us.”

He got up from his desk and paced to his window, hands clasped behind his back as his head bowed to think. Odilia watched him.  He had aged so much even in these last few years.  He was still young yet, not even in the fourth decade of his life, and she could see the start of silver at his temples.

“Very well,” he said at last, sounding weary. “I will not ask for exclusivity. I will, however, ask for transparency.  When you are approached by potential patrons, I want to know who they are before you take them to bed.”

Odilia nodded. That was easy to give. 

There was something slightly bitter in Gustav’s voice when he said, “I am sure the Duc de Chalasse will be pleased that he has not lost you either.”

Corriana glanced at the courtesan.  It was only because she was looking that she saw the flicker of pain in the corners of her eyes before her face returned to the serene mask of all adepts of the Night Court. It was easy for the young king to feel threatened by someone like Roland de Chalasse, established and powerful as he was.  To have the same man also enjoying the favor of the woman Gustav loved? It could very well breed some dangerous resentment. 

“Will you tell him yourself?” Gustav asked quietly, clearly ready to hear the worst. 

“No,” Odilia said calmly, rising to her feet. “He will find out with all of the rest of them.  After the contract is signed.”

She gave a small curtsy to the king that also included the still seated queen and said, “I will return in a few days with a representative of the Night Court to discuss final details and draw up the details of the contract. Excuse me, Your Majesties.”

Only once Odilia was gone did Corrian rise and cross to her husband, laying a hand on his arm and looking up into his sad face.  “Gustav, you could have asked her to be yours. You had that right.”

“No, I didn’t,” he said softly. “I couldn’t limit her.”

“She would have done it.  For you, she would have done it.”

“I know,” he said, blinking away the tears glittering in the corner of his Courcel blue eyes. “I hoped that when we made our arrangement, that it would have changed something.  But I know who she is, I can’t make her change that.  It was the dream of a romantic, lovesick boy. I need to be the king I am now.  That means making the choices that will break my heart, for the good of the crown.  She told me that, years ago, as we talked through the night.  All I can hope for now is balance.”

“You’re not alone,” Corrian reminded her husband softly, resting her head on his shoulder. “I know the love you have for me is different than what you have for her, but I am still here.”

“I know,” he said, sliding his arm around her waist and resting his cheek on the top of her head. “Thank you, Corrian.”

“You’re welcome, Gustav.”

Storyline: The Royal Wedding

Corrian had little opinion on her dress for the wedding, which was good because the royal dresser had not asked for it. A gown of pale blue with accents of silver and midnight blue had been constructed for the occasion. The trim had swans and lilies embroidered on it, making sure all knew that this was a royal wedding gown. Her auburn hair was left long with its curls, giving a joyous bounce as she walked. Her head was crowned for now with a simple garland of flowers. Before the day was done, it would be replaced with the Queen’s Crown of Terre D’Ange.  It was better to remain simple and celebratory now. She wore simple slippers in the carriage to the temple at the heart of the city, knowing she would remove them when she entered and not wishing to waste overmuch time fiddling with laces or buckles. 

For her bouquet, however, she had put her foot down on that. She carried a bouquet with anemones, which was traditional and symbolized Blessed Elua’s precept. She also had lilies to represent Terre d’Ange, the country of which she would soon be queen. She included oleanders, as a nod to her home of Borlean in Azzalle. And finally, she carried three large dahlia flowers in the bouquet. She was no fool, she knew every aspect of this day would be scrutinized, and she wanted the country to know that she supported Gustav and Odilia. 

Gustav stood ready to hand her up to the carriage and he looked every inch the king.  Resplendent in Courcel blue and gold, he had chosen to forego his great crown for this day.  Instead, his golden head was crowned with a wreath of anemones and lilies – Blessed Elua and Terre D’Ange together. He smiled at her. 

She returned his smile. Theirs was not a love match, but this was better.  It was a match of mutual respect and understanding.  A kind of love could grow easily from those seeds, even if she would always know that her husband’s heart belonged to another woman.

And that other woman had chosen to embark on this journey with them.  Odilia’s answer had come, and she knew Gustav had wept in relief. She had herself slept much easier since that letter had arrived.

The team of horses pulling the open-top carriage were pure white, with blue and gold ribbons braided into their manes and tails to toss in the sunshine as they pranced impatiently. The carriage would take them only to the great oak in the center of the city.  From there, it would be on foot to the Temples. And the way was filled with the people, the citizens of the City of Elua gathered to watch the procession of their king and his bride. 

It was the sound of their joy that first greeted the couple, the cheers and singing of joy that guided them on their walk through the winding streets – like so many royal couples before, treading the path from palace to temple to be joined in marriage. 

The flowers were next, the sights and smells of the flowers being waved, the petals being strewn before them as they walked together. 

The colors of the ribbons as they danced through the air, the garlands draping from the eaves of every building – evidence of how the people loved their king and celebrated his marriage. 

Gathered in the square of the temple district were the nobles and courtiers of the royal court, gathered there in all their finery to witness the arrival and entrance to the temple of the royal couple. And arrayed along the side of the square closest to Mont Nuit were the Dowaynes and Seconds of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers. 

Aliksandria stood with her fellow Dowaynes and their Seconds as the Royal procession passed. They bowed to their king and soon to be queen, though Aliks had a bit of difficulty doing so in her present condition. As they rose she turned her head almost imperceptibly to look at the second of Dahlia House. Odilia’s face showed no emotion. Jocoste had offered to her Second the option to attend the ceremony as a private individual and not as a member of the Night Court, but she had declined, insisting that her loyalty was to Naamah’s service above all. 

Rosanna stood with Tryphosa at her side, in line with the other leaders from Mont Nuit. Arranged, as always, with Cereus House at the fore and then descending down according to the alphabet, they stood last but never least in line. All the better to see the scope of the procession and the reactions of those watching. The Dowayne and Second of Valerian House wore gowns of silvery white and accents of shimmering bronze. When the time came, they tossed flowers upon the cobblestones with the other citizens, celebratory as could be. 

“I do not spy anyone seemingly unhappy with how things turned out,” Tryphosa whispered as she tossed another handful of petals.

“They would not do so here. Today we are celebrating, and keeping our eyes and ears open.”

Her own eyes followed the couple once she rose from her deep curtsy, until they vanished from sight into the most sacred of temples. No one outside of the closest family members and highest ranked nobles of the king’s inner court were permitted to actually watch the ceremony. Surely, they could not comfortably fit any more guests in the temple courtyard anyway. But the sanctity of the marriage ritual was something to be respected, and so that Rosanna understood. 

As the crowd quieted and awaited the royal couple’s return, she took the time to pray. Always a devout woman, the Dowayne of Valerian House asked Blessed Elua to watch over the king, the new queen, and her friend who was soon to be linked to them both in an unprecedented motion. 

They needed all the divine guidance one could hope for to navigate the path they would forge together. 

Mena stood with Vouloir, wearing simple flowing dresses in the palest purple, their hair held in fine bronze mesh cauls, waiting for the procession. 

“Odilia looks well today,” Vouloir said quietly by Mena’s ear. “I’m interested to see the bride. My friend in the palace says the mood in the royal wing has much improved.”

Mena made a noise of agreement. “She does look quite well. Her expression matches her bearing again. I’ve missed that.”

Vouloir nodded, but before she could respond, the roar of the crowd let them know the couple was approaching. A huge smile bloomed across Mena’s face at the sight of them. Love, in all its forms, made her heart happy. She threw petals when the couple was near and delighted in the smile on her King’s face. His bride looked at peace, her face relaxed.

As the couple passed, Vouloir leaned in again. “Her Majesty’s bouquet told the tale quite well, don’t you think?”

Mena looked at her. “I managed to miss it somehow.”

Vouloir smiled like a cat in the cream. “Oh, then wait until they return, she’ll be on our side then.”

Mena looked up the hill where the couple had disappeared into the temple proper. Everyone settled around her, a peace falling over the crowd that was tinged with excitement. Weddings were loved in the capital, the rare royal weddings were exciting. Everyone, herself included, was looking forward to the holiday and festivals that would last for a week. The plans they’d made for the House had been implemented quickly, the food was prepared, the wine and juices were ready, the salons were lively already when she’d left, the adepts excited for the occasion. Now all that needed to happen was for the couple to emerge.

When they did appear once again, the city was positively deafened by the cheers of the happy citizens. Cries of blessings, congratulations, and prayers were sent to the young king and his new queen. A great wedding feast would be served at the palace upon their arrival, and the celebrations would go for days. Every house on Mont Nuit would open their doors at a pittance for payment as their way of celebrating so that all who wished to make the event memorable in their own way might afford to do so. 

“Is all in readiness for tonight?” Rosanna asked her Second once the loud frenzy had died down somewhat. 

“To the best of our ability,” Tryphosa replied.

To the great joy of the gathered people of the city, the newlywed couple stood together under the great arch of the Temple of Elua and shared a long kiss together. When they parted, there was a bright sparkle in both of their eyes as they looked at each other.  It was hard not to get caught up in the excitement of the moment. But some people, those who thrived on gossip and whispers, snuck glances at the Second of Dahlia House. She stood tall in the midmorning sun, and there was a small smile on her face – her Dahlia composure wasn’t compromised, but it was clear that she was happy. 

Mena cheered as loudly as all the other D’Angellines. Seeing the peace on her king’s face and on his bride’s made her relax even further. Things were going to finally get back to normal. Remembering Vouloir’s comment about the bouquet, she looked at it and felt her eyebrows shoot up towards her hairline.

“Oh. Oh, really,” she said as she leaned towards her Second. “Well, my, my, my, Her Majesty certainly made her stance known. No one could confuse that.”

Vouloir smiled. “I know! I wonder what it will mean in the long term?”

And the affection in Odilia’s eyes only grew, sparkling and crinkling with her smile as the Priest of Elua laid their hand on the clasped hands of the couple, intoning for all the gathered peoples to hear. “Bound now in the sight of Blessed Elua, blessed by His Companion Naamah, Gustav de la Courcel and Corrian de Borlean are now husband and wife.  The wife of a king is his partner in all things and must be crowned as the new queen of our Terre D’Ange. She will be crowned in the shade of the great Elua’s Oak, witnessed by the Clergy of the Companions, the Royal Court, and the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers.  Let the songs be sung as the king and his new queen process to the great oak tree!”

Gustav and Corrian exchanged a look and stepped together down the stairs of the temple, but they did not begin the procession as the High Priest said.  Rather, they walked together to where the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers stood arrayed. The adepts all bowed and the king and his bride smiled graciously at them before Corrian stepped forward to stand before Odilia.  The women looked at each other, and it seemed like a great many of the adepts and courtiers all held their breath. 

“Odilia,” Corrian said, gracious and smiling, “would you accompany us to the oak?”

“My lady, it would be my honor.”

The implication of those words hit Mena like a bucket of iced water. She managed to keep her cool, but Vouloir gasped quietly, her hand suddenly gripping Mena’s tightly. What could this mean?

“Did you know about this?” Tryphosa whispered to her Dowayne.

“Mayhaps, mayhaps not,” Rosanna replied with a conspiratorial little smile.

Corrian beamed and lifted the garland from her own head to place it on Odilia’s head, leaving the new queen bare-headed as she turned to begin the procession.  Gustav took his place at her left hand, Odilia stepped up to her right, and the members of the royal court slowly filed in behind them, the Servants of Naamah following. 

Gustav turned to glance at Odilia – there had been a childish dream that he had once held of seeing her in garlands and ribbons as they were wed together.  That dream could not come to be, the world got in the way.  But this was still almost like it, she was still beautiful and with him as they made this walk. 

Odilia turned her head to look at Gustav.  She had always known she would never be able to have him the way other lovers could be with each other forever.  Anything now was a gift she had never dared to hope she could have. This was a more mature, adult agreement, and it suited the people they had become over the years that they had loved each other. 

The great oak tree stood in the center of the city, the true and beating heart of Elua’s grace and blessing. It was here that the queen had chosen to be crowned.  The royal court arrayed themselves to the left of the tree, where the king stood.  The Night Court arrayed themselves to the right, where Odilia stood in her flowing bronze gown. 

And there, in the shade of the tree, Corrian knelt. 

Mena sharply drew in a breath. There was a crackle of tension in the air, she could feel it. They were on the precipice of something.

The High Priest of Elua stood before her, their hands open to the sky.  They said, “Corrian de Borlean de la Courcel, do you present yourself here in the sight of Blessed Elua and witnessed by the nobles of this great kingdom, ready to swear yourself to the sacred duty of queenship?”

Odilia watched Corrian’s chest rise and fall with her deep breath. “I do.”

“As you are wed to His Majesty, King of Terre D’Ange, Gustav de la Courcel, you understand your duty as his wife is to be his partner, equal, and support in all things.  This duty is ever more important when the nation is looking to him to lead.  Are you prepared to take your place as his queen, to support him and help guide Terre D’Ange for the years to come in which you remain bound together?”

“I do.”

“Do you swear to wear this crown with grace and poise, understanding the weight and responsibility that it bears to serve the people of this land and bear the mantle of leadership?”

“I do.”

The High Priest nodded and turned to the side where another of Elua’s priests held a cushion of Courcel blue where the queen’s crown rested.  The king’s crown was of gold with fleur-de-lis in silver.  The queen’s crown was the opposite – a thin circlet of silver with gold stars.  Together, they were the lily and stars of the D’Angeline flag.  Together, they were Terre D’Ange. 

The crown settled on Corrian’s auburn head, and she closed her eyes, exhaling with the acceptance of her new title and duty. 

“Arise now, Queen Corrian of Terre D’Ange.”

Gathering her skirts in her hands, she carefully stood, turning to face the gathered court and courtesans, who bowed to their new queen.  Gustav reached for her hand, taking it and laying a kiss upon her knuckles as he joined her underneath the foliage of Elua’s Oak. 

Mena sighed happily, a huge smile on her face. It was done, life was balanced again.

“I accept this duty with a humble heart,” Corrian said, pitching her voice so all could hear.  She knew that the pages in attendance on their lords were scribbling down every word she spoke so that copies of her speech could be spread across the city and countryside in the days to come. “It is my honor to stand here, and it is my challenge to become the queen that my king and country need.  However, no one person may handle so great a responsibility alone.  None of us walk the journeys of our lives by ourselves. As your queen, I would embrace all of the royal customs of House Courcel, including that of a Royal Companion. It is the right of a member of House Courcel to choose for themselves a member of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers to instruct them in the arts of love and to serve as companion and counsel.  I would like to choose Odilia, Second of Dahlia House, as my Royal Companion, in the sight of Elua and His angels and witnessed by courtier and courtesan alike.”

Now they knew why she had been gifted with the queen’s garland, now they knew why she was invited to walk with them to the tree. Mena felt almost unable to breathe. Her eyes found Odilia’s profile, and she saw the knowledge of this evident in her small smile. The nobles turned their eyes to the Night Court, where the Dahlia stood shining in her metallic bronze among the Dowaynes and Seconds who wore their own hints of her color like badges of honor. 

“The queen has named her Royal Companion,” the High Priest of Naamah said, stepping forward to stand at the tree with the High Priest of Elua.  “Does the Companion accept the title?”

Odilia’s head was high as ever – upright and unbending – as she took her own step forward. “I do.”

“So it is witnessed.”

The High Priest of Naamah beamed as the queen and her new Royal Companion clasped hands and sealed the agreement with a kiss.  Corrian smelled like the flowers that had been her natural perfume; Odilia smelled like the cedar and amber that she favored.  Together they were florals and spice, herbs and woods, balancing beautifully. They parted after a long moment, Corrian slightly breathless and Odilia slightly smug.

Gustav smiled at Odilia and stepped forward himself to reach for her hand, declaring, “It is the greatest and most sacred of our tenets to love as thou wilt.  It is the message that Blessed Elua sought to bring to this world and one that we as D’Angelines embrace completely. All of the city, all of the country knows how much I love you, Odilia, it has never been secret. This marriage will not change that. I, too, wish to embrace you as we continue our journey together forward.”

She smiled at him, and Petrea thought that maybe the sun sone little more dim in comparison to the shared joy that rose from the king and courtesan together.

Rosanna held her breath as the king made his heart known for the entire country, for the world to see. Her heart was full of happiness for Odilia. However, she could not easily spy the other man who had made her dearest friend an offer. No doubt he was happy for her as well but had stepped back so that the lovers might enjoy their triumph, they so deserved this moment. 

“Odilia nó Dahlia,” Gustav de la Courcel said clearly, making sure no one could confuse his words. “I love you with all that I am. It is my intention to name you my Royal Mistress, officially, so that all of the world may know what place you have in my heart.”

Corrian held Odilia’s other hand, making her own stance absolutely clear as the courtesan looked at the man before her – seeing in his face the young prince she had met all of those years ago – and said, “I will accept it.”

The High Priest of Naamah was ready again, scarlet robes swishing as they laid their hand over Odilia and Gustav’s clasped ones. “Gustav de la Courcel, you have named Odilia nó Dahlia as your Royal Mistress, and she has accepted. Witnessed by Blessed Elua, by the angel Naamah and all of the Companions, and in the presence of the royal court and the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers, let it be done.”

Gustav reached into his pocket and produced a ring.  A swan ring identical to the ones he and his wife wore.  It was clear how seriously all three of them took this moment.  Corrian wrapped her arm around Odilia’s waist, both women leaning their heads together to watch as Gustav slid the swan ring onto Odilia’s heart finger. 

The sight of the ring made Mena gasp, though she took comfort in the fact that she was not alone. A Royal Companion, a Royal Mistress, these were things that she had been prepared for. But to announce the titles and to treat them as if Odilia was an equal marriage partner, witnessed by Elua’s tree and both courts? She was happy for them but shocked just the same.

Another kiss, shared between Gustav and Odilia, then Odilia and Corrian, then Corrian and Gustav, and it was done.  The king was married, Terre D’Ange had a Queen, and all the country saw the Dahlia raised up to stand with the royals. 

Storyline: Silken Pillow Talk

Marion Basilisque could not believe how much her life had changed in the past year. Why, it seemed just days ago she had been following that brat Oudine like a shadow, doing her bidding and putting up with her nasty demeanor. Now here she was, on the morning of her natality, in the fine patron quarters on Balm House, in bed with her lover, the man she had pined over for as long as she could remember. He had taken her to Balm to celebrate her—to celebrate her—with a night of relaxation and love, brought a handsome young man to attend to them, and now here they were, nude in bed, enjoying an overabundance of delicious chocolates from her favorite chocolatier. The bedclothes were piled with wrappings from the candy they had been feeding each other.

“Oh, Évrard, I still cannot believe you have done all of this for me!” Marion said happily. “You are so attentive. No one has ever done anything this kind and generous for me before. Why, I don’t think even my family has taken so much care on my natality.”

Évrard chuckled. “Well I certainly hope you have not spent nights like this with your family, my love.” He gave her a gentle kiss and picked up a chocolate, unwrapping it and feeding it to her. He tossed the pretty paper onto the duvet.

Marion gave a squeal of surprise and playfully smacked his bare shoulder as she chewed the candy. “You know that’s not what I meant!”

“Of course, dearest.” His eyes sparkled. “I just love teasing you.” He lay back in the bed, pulling her into his arms. “Did you have an enjoyable night?”

“You know I did.” Marion sighed and looked into her lover’s eyes. She could not believe that Évrard had chosen her. That he was with her. That he loved her. “This has been…everything.” She ran her hand down his chest, tracing circles with her fingers. “Did you catch what the adepts were saying in the salon last night while we were eating?”

Évrard’ ears perked up. While he considered himself a proper gentleman, city gossip had always been a weakness of his, and Marion knew this. “Why no, I did not. What did you overhear?” He curled his body around his lover’s so that they were face to face. Wrappings from their chocolates fell to the floor as they moved under the bedclothes.  

Marion’s eyes lit up. She, too, adored city gossip, and they spent many an evening speculating on all manner of social politics. “Two young girls were speaking of a meeting of all the Dowaynes—all of them, Évrard, can you imagine!—just a few weeks past at Cereus House. In addition to the Dowaynes, Odilia was there! So, they must have been talking of her ‘situation,’ as it were. You know she left the city several months ago and was gone for weeks? Well, the adepts were starting to say something about the Duc de Chalasse when the Second came over and chastised them for gossiping in front of patrons. Now, we all are well aware that everyone in this city speaks to everyone of goings on, so this must be of great importance and secrecy if this is being kept quiet.”

Évrard nodded and stroked Marion’s hair. “Yes, that is strange. And the entire city is on tenterhooks over Odilia’s situation, so I do not understand why this would be kept from anyone. Perhaps we chose the wrong adept to join us last night.” His gaze was wicked.

Marion giggled. “Well…I don’t know about that…I enjoyed myself…and it appeared you did, too, my darling.” She blushed, thinking back to the prior evening’s activities.

“Oh yes, I certainly did.” He gave her a soft smile. “But it is most important that you were pleased.” He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I only want you to be happy.”

“Oh Évrard.” She cupped his cheek. “Some days I have to pinch myself simply to ensure that I am not dreaming. That this is indeed real. How am I so fortunate as to have you?”

“Blessed Elua and Naamah have smiled upon us, have they not?”

She sighed and smiled at him. Then her eyes widened. “Oh! I forgot something else I heard.”

Évrard blinked, shaken from his reverie by Marion’s sudden change of demeanor. “Oh, yes, love?”

“Well, it was quite fascinating. There appears to be some…something…going on at Cereus House. No one will say what, but shouting has been overheard by the stablehands and grooms. No one inside the house will say anything about it. Quite tight lipped, they are. Adepts of other Houses and Cereus patrons have noticed an Eisandine chirurgeon visiting—and not as a patron, it is said. And, again, everyone is quite tight lipped about it. It is the strangest thing. No one can discern if there are instructions not to speak or if the adepts and servants simply do not wish to speak out of loyalty to whomever is ill, but you must admit it is odd.”

Évrard nodded, his face drawn in thought. He ate a chocolate, his mind spinning. “Hmm…that is odd, although I have heard nothing of this.”

“It seems no one has, and no one can pry any information out of anyone. I do wonder what is happening.”

Évrard hummed in agreement. “My cousin is visiting Cereus House tomorrow night. I shall ask him to look into this.”

“Oh, yes! You must. Évrard, we have these two large secrets here in the Night Court. Why do you think that no one wants them getting out? What could be of such great importance?” Marion felt almost concerned. “Do you think there is something amiss here? We know what happened with the Judiciary last year. Do you think there is somewhat similar going on? Is there some danger or threat to the Night Court that the Dowaynes wish to keep hidden?” Marion took another piece of chocolate and bit into it. The pile of wrappings on the bed continued to grow as they spoke.

“Hmm…that could be. But how might an illness at Cereus House and the Dowaynes meeting about Odilia be connected?”

“Well…” Marion thought for a moment, her brows drawn. “What if they weren’t meeting about Odilia, but she simply attended the meeting in her position of Second of Dahlia House? Surely that could be allowed, yes?”

Évrard nodded. “True enough. So, what then?”

“What if the meeting was to discuss this illness at Cereus House? What if, say, the Dowayne or Second of the House is…dying?” Marion’s voice rose. “What if one of them has some terrible sickness? What if that is why all of the leaders had to meet? What if they must plan for another funeral?” Her hand flew to her mouth.

Évrard gathered her in his arms, chuckling. The chocolate wrappings crinkled as the sheets tangled underneath them. “Oh, my darling, you are working yourself into a tizzy. I am sure it is nothing that dramatic. If the Dowayne or Second of the House was ill or had some…condition…that would not be kept quiet. No one could keep a secret like that!”

Marion sighed, calming. “Yes. Yes, you are right. If anything were happening to the Dowayne or Second, the news would have gotten out.”

“Of course. I suspect one of the adepts has taken ill or has injured themselves in some embarrassing fashion, and the House has been instructed not to speak of it. The yelling is likely some discipline gone awry. Again, embarrassing to the House if word were to spread.” He fed Marion another chocolate, which she chewed daintily.

“Ohhh, yes, that is like to be the situation. And the Dowaynes?”

Évrard thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Unconnected. The royal wedding is coming. It is like the House leaders met to discuss plans for it. As I said, Odilia was attending as Second of Dahlia.”

“But what of her situation with the king? Or the Duc de Chalasse?” Marion questioned.

“I think that, with the king being wedded, her days as his lover are sadly over. The king must produce an heir, and an adept of the Night Court cannot do that. The king must focus on his new bride. No queen would allow for formal or long term liaisons on Mont Nuit. Perhaps Odilia will be attending the wedding with the Duc de Chalasse?”

Marion made a sound of agreement. “That would make sense.” She sat up and made to grab for another chocolate, but found only piles of empty wrappings. She grasped, looking around the bed. “Oh, Évrard! We have eaten the entire bag of chocolates! Look at this terrible mess we have made!”

Évrard surveyed the bed, which was indeed, covered in candy wrappings. He craned his neck and saw more wrappings on the floor. Seeing Marion’s shocked expression, he could not help but burst into laughter.

Marion’s hand flew to her breast. “How can you laugh? Look at this!”

Évrard’s laughter grew harder, and he clutched his belly, tears springing to his eyes. “I am sorry, my dear,” he gasped. “But I do find it comical!”

“How can you laugh? Someone will have to clean up!”

After a moment, Évrard was finally able to calm himself. He took a deep breath. “Marion. How can you not appreciate the humor in the two of us eating an entire pound of chocolates? I meant for that to be a gift to you to enjoy over time. And here we are, having devoured the entire bag in a single morning, before breakfast. And you must admit, this is quite the sight.” His eyes grew soft as he saw her concern. “My darling. I can think of nothing better than lying in bed, eating sweets with you.”

Marion nodded slowly. “Well, yes. Yes, I suppose this has been a lovely morning.” She gave her lover a small smile. “And I, too, can think of no better way to spend my time than here with you.”

The two embraced and fell back under the covers.

Distracted as they were, they had not heard the adept in the hallway, knocking to announce their breakfast. The young man had been standing in the slightly opened door for several minutes, listening intently to their conversation.

Storyline: Petrea reaches out

From the private desk of Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House to Odilia nó Dahlia, Second of Dahlia House

My dearest Odilia,

I have watched over these last many months as your personal struggles have been a public spectacle and your name dragged through the mud of the street of the City of Elua. Gossip on Mont Nuit and Night’s Doorstep is to be expected; your situation is not. It is not acceptable for one to be treated as you have been. And yet, you have handled all with grace and dignity. You are a paragon of the Dahlia tenets, and all should look to you with awe.

I have had my own troubles with love and heartache, though nothing close to what you have experienced. Please know that my heart is with you. Know that my feet stand beside you. Know that my shoulders carry your burden as though it were my own.

In the coming days, weeks, and months, I pray to Blessed Elua for strength for you. Should you ever need a confidant or a friend, you have me. You need only send me.

Yours,

Petrea

Storyline: The Meeting of the Dowaynes

Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House, ran a frustrated hand through her hair and glared at her Dowayne. She tried to keep her voice calm, but her patience had worn thin. 

“When I said light fabrics, I mean as in weight, not as in color, Aliks!”

Aliksandria rolled her eyes. “I don’t see why this is such a great matter, Petrea. You are working yourself into a fit for nothing.”

Petrea crossed her arms and pinned her friend with a glare. “It will not do for the Dowayne of Cereus House to faint from heat in the middle of the royal wedding! You are with child, Aliks!” She gestured at Aliks’s body. “You are sitting here, in this lovely, cool room, and I can see the sweat on your brow. Do you really expect that you can sit outside and not feel the heat? If nothing else, do you want to look like you have just stepped out of the bath?”

Petrea threw herself onto the couch next to Aliks and looked at her pleadingly. The two were sitting in a salon at Cereus House with a now terrified seamstress, discussing gowns for the upcoming royal nuptials. The Dowayne’s belly had grown round in recent months. Somehow the “morning” sickness that the Eisandine chirurgeon swore would only last a few months refused to abate and was thus far being uncooperative with regards to its specified time of day, forcing Aliks to turn green at all hours. She found herself eating large amounts of the strangest foods but refusing meat at all cost. This had made her moody and resulted in snapping at the adepts and servants, which was unlike her. As the babe grew inside her, she missed Waldemar more than she could describe. How she wished he were here to experience this with her, to feel the excitement and—yes—fear of the child she was carrying., and perhaps to hold her hand as she complained yet again about the frequency at which she had to use the privy.  

Petrea had taken it upon herself to play devoted and nervous nursemaid, which Aliks both loved and hated. She felt as though Petrea followed her like a shadow, watching her every move, as though waiting for something terrible to happen. Petrea had given so many strict instructions to the servants at the house that Aliks often felt deprived of her ability to do anything; it was awful. At the same time, Petrea doted on her, indulging her odd cravings and desires, doing everything in her power to make the pregnant woman comfortable. But their fights had become the stuff of legend among the Cereus adepts, shouting matches that echoed through the halls when Petrea refused to allow Aliks some strange thing in the name of safety. These arguments almost always ended with one or both women sobbing or slamming a door. The adepts knew better than to gossip about the goings on between their Dowayne and Second, and so these behaviors stayed within the walls of the Cereus House. 

Aliks laid her head on Petrea’s shoulder and handed her a cherry tart. “Eat this, love. You need to calm down before this poor young girl—” she motioned to the seamstress, who stood silently in the corner of the room, clutching her fabrics and sketchbook, “—passes out from fear.” Their eyes met. Petrea gave Aliks a flat look and opened her mouth so that Aliks could feed her. Aliks gave her an indulgent smile and patted her cheek as Petrea chewed. “Now, l will concede your fabrics, since you seem to be so intent on it, but you worry about far too much. 

Petrea put her head in her hands. “I cannot have you fainting at the royal wedding—”

“Why would she faint at the wedding?” Mena nó Heliotrope, Dowayne of Heliotrope strode into the room and sat down on one of the couches. Narrowing her eyes, she looked between her two friends. Something was definitely going on.

“My Second is going to worry herself to death over the fabric of my gown. She thinks that I shall overheat and fall like a sack of potatoes and cause such a stir that the Night Court shall never recover.”

Petrea scoffed at her friend. “Do not mock my concern. I simply want you to be as comfortable and beautiful as possible at the wedding. In your condition, you must be cautious. As I keep telling you.”

“Yes, yes. You keep telling me. And keep telling me. And keep telling me,” Aliks said with teasing annoyance.

“I just couldn’t bear if anything happened to you,” Petrea said softly, taking her friend’s hand and squeezing it.

Aliks smiled at her. “I know, dearest.”

Mena cleared her throat, reminding them that there was someone else in the room. She looked up at the ceiling for a brief moment, putting the little pieces of information she had into a possible picture. ‘No…there is no way,’ she thought. ‘It is the only answer that fits, though.’

Aliks arched her back, stretching out some sore muscles and dabbed at her brow with a handkerchief. She inwardly cursed Petrea for her keen observation. She had wanted to wear the lovely raw silk, but her friend was right. Despite her personal vanity, she did need to remember to be kind to her body. 

Petrea sat up from her slumped position on the sofa. She brushed some crumbs off her and Aliks’s laps. She turned to the seamstress and gave her an apologetic smile. “Thank you for coming today. I do apologize for all the shouting. We will send for you again in a few days?”

The young woman gave a curtsy and raced out of the room.

Now alone with the other two Night Court leaders, Aliks pulled her shoulders back and straightened up. As her posture changed, she was no longer petulant-child Aliks, but now Aliksandria nó Cereus, Dowayne of Cereus House.  There was business to attend to, and it was not dresses.

“Thank you for coming, Mena,” Aliks said, brushing her hair back and tossing it over her shoulder. 

“Of course I came,” she said with a smile, “I’m always glad to see you, officially or socially.” 

Petrea’s mouth pursed slightly.  She and Aliks had spoken long into the night about this and it was right to gather the Dowaynes for this.  The Night Court needed to present a unified front, so they must all be in agreement.  Therefore the invitations had been sent to the Dowaynes of all Thirteen Houses.  And thus did they come. 

Samantha nó Jasmine entered, laughing at a jest made by Xixiliya nó Orchis. Alyssum, Balm, and Gentian entered together, closely followed by Camellia. The newest of the Dowaynes, Amara nó Mandrake entered quietly, but Petrea could not deny the change in presence when she did. Eglantine came with her harp and plucked a few idle chords once she seated herself. 

Arietta de Millazza nó Bryony entered arm in arm with Odilia’s best friend, an unusually serious Rosanna Baphinol nó Valerian. Aliks did a quick headcount. Twelve of the Thirteen. And the last was, in many ways, the subject of this meeting.  They might as well begin. 

“My friends,” Alikandria said from her place on the couch in the center of the Cereus salon, “thank you all for coming to this meeting of Dowaynes.  I appreciate the time you take from the running of your Houses to attend.”

“We are one short, Aliks,” Amara said from where she leaned against the marble mantle above the fireplace.  Her eyes, rather like a bird of prey, were intent on the Cereuses. “What is this about?”

“Yes, Dahlia has not yet arrived,” Aliks said, keeping her hands folded in her lap, thumbs lightly brushing the swell of her stomach. “But we all know what is to happen soon. The invitations will be sent for the king’s wedding and we must decide, as the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers, what we are going to do.”

“Do? As in blow it off entirely and not attend?” Xixiliya smiled saucily, “That would cause no shortage of amusement.”

Petrea bit her lip to hide a smirk. Much though she hated the idea of causing yet another scandal, she held a fondness for the irreverence of the Orchises.

“As much of a lark as that may be, Xixiliya, we must remember this is a serious matter,” Aliks said softly to her friend.

Xixilia waved her off. “Yes, yes, I know. And, with weddings come parties, so I am sure there will be much other amusement to be had.”

Mena chuckled, “The entire Night Court not attending the royal wedding would be quite the scandal, to be sure. But we must attend, no matter how we feel.” She looked into the middle distance for a moment before continuing. “There’s no real way this could have gone any other way, no matter what anyone’s heart may have wished. So now, we have to decide how we’ll attend, what message we will convey with our presence. Even with almost no information from Odilia.” She looked around the room at each of them, pausing for a moment on Odilia’s best friend, “There have been so many questions from my adepts, so much confusion about the situation, the handling of it. Surely, someone has some information I can use to satisfy their concerns.”

“She plays her hand close to her chest,” Arietta said, smiling slightly at the game of cards metaphor. “It does make it difficult for the rest of us.”

“It is still her private life,” Rosanna argued from her perch on a silvery-blue damask ottoman.  “We are not entitled to it. And cannot speak in detail until she comes forward to inform us of whatever news she may or may not have.”

“Rosanna, I respect your friendship with her,” Aliks said firmly. “But in this, we are the leaders of the Night Court, and we must be objective. We must remember, the eyes of the City, nay the kingdom whole, will be upon us. How we approach this situation will cause ripples that may well become waves, and I fear there is no ‘safe’ choice for us. Should we choose to attend when Odilia does not, we will show support for this match and appear to have abandoned one of our own for political gain. Should we choose not to attend, we will in effect be jilting the Crown itself. We must make a choice as a united Mont Nuit, but we must also have all the information to do so. We need to know Odilia’s choice.”

Rosanna nodded, her face twisting slightly with her wilted displeasure. “There is also the consideration of whom Odilia might attend this ceremony with. Something that has been weighing on my mind and how best to act once an answer is known. Without that answer, much is simply up in the air. What I can say to this council is that we will not be alone in our support of her. She has allies outside of Mont Nuit, whatever her decision. Yet, that choice must be freely given, carefully considered. And should still be her own, since that option remains private at the moment.” 

“It ceased to be her private life when it began to impact the rest of us without our consent,” Mena said quietly. “Speaking for my House, I know that we would have welcomed, encouraged, and even sheltered the lovers behind our walls and kept their secrets as though they were our own, had we been given the chance. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve done it.” Mena shook her head. “Instead we, the entire Court and the whole city, were plunged headfirst into events we weren’t allowed to impact, only react to. We’re lucky to have Aliks to hold us together. If we didn’t, Odilia’s ‘private life’ could have shattered everything like cheap glass. As it stands, we’re between a rock and a hard place. The royal wedding should be a time of joy and festivities, and now the Night Court is left scrambling to make determinations about our attendance. She has made us have to tread like we’re walking on a rope over fire.”

She took a deep breath, calming herself down, “It has to stop here. We have to know what’s happening.”

“Then let us clear the air.” Jocaste nó Dahlia said coolly as Dahlia House entered.  And she was not alone. Odilia was at her shoulder, her face carefully blank and her eyes emotionless and neutral in a way that told Petrea immediately that she had overheard at least some of Mena’s words. 

“Jocaste, welcome,” Aliks said, holding her place of power determinedly in the center of the salon. “We are so pleased you could join us.” Her eyes slid to the silent woman at the Dahlia Dowayne’s shoulder, “And with an unexpected guest.”

No few of the other Dowaynes whispered among themselves at the sight of the Dahlia Second, but Odilia weathered it with the regal disregard one would expect from a Dahlia.  Her head lifted a fraction, the tiniest flex in her cheek as her teeth clenched.  She would not back down from this.

“It seems we have arrived late,” Jocaste said, taking her seat with an elegant swish of her skirts. “Certainly we did not intend to miss the first part of this conversation.”

Petrea glanced at Aliks, hearing the subtle scolding in the Dahlia Dowayne’s words. Unexpected guest? Had Aliks truly expected to hold this meeting without Odilia—the subject of the entire meeting, in attendance? Had she truly only invited Jocaste instead of both the Dahlia leadership? Perhaps there was more she would need to watch for as Aliks’s condition progressed. Was her mind affected? Her memory?  

“Nevertheless, as we have arrived now,” Jocaste said firmly. “It seems we are just in time to put to rest more of these whispers.  I have brought my Second with me, that she may speak for herself.”

“But will she speak?” Amara nó Mandrake said, her brow arching, “She has been keeping so quiet of late. Quiet and absent.”

Odilia met the Mandrake Dowayne’s gaze without blinking, and Rosanna remembered that Mandrake had also bid for her marque before Dahlia won out in the end. Those two could cut one another to ribbons with their stares alone. 

“The Dowayne of Heliotrope is right that my private affairs have become matters of public importance,” Odilia said quietly. “And as there are new developments that would further affect the affairs of the Night Court, I have come myself to bear the news.”

Amara matched Odilia’s firm expression with a tiny smirk of her own, enjoying the challenge of the moment as only a Mandrake could. 

“Please, Odilia, tell us,” Petrea said, not unkindly, wishing to diffuse the moment and give the other woman back her voice.  “I am sure we are ready to hear.”

Odilia took a moment to breathe, refusing to let the pressure of the eyes on her rush her in speaking.  Her fingers twisted the diamond and topaz ring on her left hand, and she finally spoke.

“The Duc de Chalasse has offered me his ring and a proposal of marriage,” she said, taking time with her words so that her tone remained even. “After the announcement of the king’s betrothal officially came, I left the city to clear my head, and he hosted me at his estate.  We reached an understanding about what a future could look like for me there. But I have not yet given him an answer.  I blame my romantic heart.  It refuses to die no matter how deeply it is cut. Perhaps it is for the best that my heart remained hopeful.  While I was at the Duc’s estate in L’Agnace, an invitation arrived for me from the palace.  The king and his queen-to-be requested my presence in the hopes that we might clear the air.”

She squared her shoulders, her chin lifting, “The king has made me an offer, too.  He wishes to name me his Royal Consort and give me a position in his court as his official mistress.”

Arietta opened her mouth, taking an inhale as though to speak, but Odilia was not finished. 

“More than that,” she continued firmly, “Lady Corrian de Borlean has also requested that I serve as her Royal Companion when she is crowned queen.”

She spread her hands before her. “As this would affect the standing and power of the entire Court of Night Blooming Flowers, it is, therefore, my duty to bring these events to your attention.”

Perfectly courteous, perfectly polite, but carefully distant.  Petrea looked at her fellow Second and wondered if Odilia would ever lower her guard enough to tell them what she really wanted for herself. 

One half of that news Rosanna was already privy to, the other she was not. So the surprise she wore on her face was not in the least bit false. “And, have you come to a decision? On either of these offers?”

“No,” Odilia said. “I have asked for time, on all fronts, that I may properly consider.  And so that the Night Court can decide what it is we wish to do.”

“It is only your choice,” Jocaste said, looking up at her friend and Second. 

“It is not and you know that,” Odilia said firmly. “My private life has already done enough damage to the Night Court.  I would hate for any more of the Dowaynes to feel like they must walk a tightrope for it.”

Mena felt the corner of her right eye tighten. Her words had been pointed, yes, and full of the frustrations of her entire House, yes, but they also had been carefully chosen and she stood by them. Heliotrope and Dahlia were two sides of the same coin in many ways but one place they firmly intersected was loyalty and stubbornness. A casual dig wasn’t going to shake her.

“As we are all gathered to discuss, then we best lay out our perspectives,” Rosanna spoke up. “If the council is ready to take note of who leans in which directions, regarding the proposal from the Sovereign Duc of L’Agnace, my grandfather, it is the will of our family to welcome Odilia with open arms if she should accept him. I, too, went to visit the Chalasse Lodge, where we spoke heart to heart on the matter. The latter proposal, from the palace, is new to me. But it is a great honor, and one seemingly much debated with care. Although, it seems like a fork in the road.”  

Petrea was thoughtful. “Odilia, you have not one, but two, highly positioned options at your disposal. Both would serve you well. One takes you out of the public eye, which I suspect would be a relief after the last months. The other keeps you very much in the public eye, but leaves no question as to your place in the heart of the new king and esteem of the new queen. But, there could be questions as to whether or not she was pressured to put you in the palace, and if so, by what means. It is not unknown that you have much influence over many in high places. Some might question the genuineness of his offer. We all know how nobles like to spin tales.” 

This drew a chuckle from the gathered crowd, all of whom had spent their lives listening to outlandish tales from noble patrons. 

Mena sighed and leaned back for a moment. “Of course Heliotrope backs you in this, Odilia. What your heart wants, we want for you. All we wanted was to know so we could support you and the King in it.”

Odilia surveyed the room before she took a firm breath and leveled her dark gaze at the Dowayne of Cereus House. Seated in the chair beside her Second, Jocaste released a small sigh, closing her eyes.  For she knew her Second, they had been friends for years.  And she knew Odilia’s devotion to the Night Court only deepened her feelings of responsibility for this. 

The Dahlia Second said crisply, “Aliksandria, I am prepared to do what I must but I need a clear answer. As Cereus House is said to be the leaders of the Night Court, it must then fall to you. There are two choices before me and I know my duty to my House and to Mont Nuit. Which choice serves the best interests of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers? Chalasse or Courcel?”

Petrea’s heart squeezed in her chest, and her throat tightened with welling emotion. She knew all too well how a Servant of Naamah must put the needs of her own heart below those of her House and sometimes those of all of the Night Court. Though D’Angelines spoke reverently of love as thou wilt, it was those who served that love whose hearts were put on the line.

It was a strange kind of masochism, Amara thought as she considered the Dahlia, to permit her duty to control her happiness.  But it was a noble sacrifice of its own, she mused, to offer her own heart to the whims and service of the Night Court politics. 

Aliks felt a new fissure cross her already broken heart at what Odilia was saying, what she was offering before the Dowaynes of the Night Court.  Her very love, her very life, for their maneuverings. The woman in her wanted to assure Odilia that whatever she chose would be right for it would be following Blessed Elua’s most sacred precept.  She wanted to take the other woman’s hands in hers and promise that she could be happy and that she did not need to sacrifice herself on this great chess board of politics. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Aliks said quietly.

Odilia smiled tightly, “Yes, I do.”  After what her indecision had cost the Night Court over the last few years, after everything that had befallen all of them because of this ongoing saga, it was her duty to make the decision that would serve Mont Nuit best.

So it was as Dowayne of Cereus House that Aliksandria responded, not as Odilia’s friend. Taking a deep breath she said, “Courcel.”

“Aliks!” 

She ignored Petrea’s shocked gasp, focusing instead on Odilia and letting the weight of the choice settle fairly upon their shoulders together. “The Night Court once only served the royal house.  We have steadily declined in our power, we are well past our heyday. To place an adept within the royal palace as the King’s official mistress and the Queen’s Royal Companion would open opportunities for all of us that we have not seen in generations.  Perhaps, with this first step here, we could even see an adept on the throne one day.  I know your famous chess game, Odilia, you play it well. This is my move.”

Odilia nodded, “Very well.”

Aliks turned her gaze to survey the rest of the gathered Dowaynes, “Are we in agreement, then?”

Slowly, the Dowaynes nodded, voicing their acceptance of this decision. Some hesitated, some were reluctant, but they all knew what was at stake.

“Valerian House is ever at your side, Odilia,” Rosanna was the last to cast her vote, praying she was doing the right thing for her friend. Taking a sip from her delicate porcelain cup, she looked from her friend around the room at the other Dowaynes and Seconds gathered here. “As we are in accord with our support of Odilia, the question remains, how best to do so in the eyes of the city? A symbol of some kind perhaps?” 

Smiling, Mena picked up her tea. “Odilia, do you have a favorite color?

Storyline: Clearing the Air: Part 3

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.

Storyline: Clearing the Air: Part 2 – Solitude

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.

Storyline: Clearing the Air: Part 1 – A United Front

“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!”