Gustav de la Courcel – Longest Night Midwinter Masque

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: 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!”

Storyline: A Hallway Happenstance

Corrian had been standing in the turn of the second floor hallway of the palace for almost half an hour. Her maid had questioned the servants, and they knew that every week on this day at about two hours past noon the king walked past this spot on his way out of his council meeting. Months she had been in the City of Elua, trying to catch his attention, and now she was taking matters into her own hands.

Corrian heard the footsteps before she saw him, but that was her cue to start walking down the hall. As the king came into view, she locked eyes on him, maneuvering herself into his path.

“Lady Corrian,” the king said politely.

“Your Majesty,” replied Corrian, sinking into a curtsy, “how nice to run into you here.”

It took all the will power Gustav had to keep the polite expression on his face. He was sick of this pretense but figured he might as well get this over with. “Would you like to walk with me, my lady? The gardens are lovely this time of year.”

“I would be honored, Your Majesty,” she replied, joining him in step as they walked toward the staircase.

“How are you enjoying your time in the city?” he asked.

“Oh it is lovely, and I am so looking forward to Longest Night. Though I miss my father and our estate back home.”

“Is Borlean so intriguing?” he inquired as they walked through the doorway to the terrace overlooking the garden.

“Well, not the land, per say, though it is quite lovely, but the people. I grew up there, and my father is very much the life and spirit of the place. Also, many of the crofters there grew up in tandem with me and are like near cousins.”

“It is nice to see a noble lady think so highly of her home and her people.”

“Oh yes, though I have also had a great season here in the city. I have gotten to know so many lovely people and had quite simply the best visit to Dahlia House.”

The king stopped in his tracks, the sudden stillness of someone sensing a threat, and he turned very carefully to examine her face before saying quietly, “Dahlia House? What exactly are you trying to say, my lady?”

Corrian smiled, it had worked. She no longer needed to play coy or pretend, she could finally be frank. “I went to Dahlia House to have an assignation with Odilia, Your Majesty. I wanted to see what was so special about her, and I must say, you have impeccable taste.”

The other potential wives may have spent their time showing off their skills and trying to catch his eye, but Corrian knew that to get the king’s attention and to stand a chance in this race for the queen’s crown, she needed to find the king’s heart. And he kept it at Dahlia House.

“My lady, let’s drop pretense, it is clear we didn’t accidentally run into each other today, and I wish to tell you I am finding the entire exercise of finding a wife exhausting. So, what exactly do you propose?”

“Your Majesty, like you, I see marriage as an act of necessary convenience. I would never stop you from taking any lover you chose, let alone a consort. I have to say, your choice in consort is superb, and I can see her and me even becoming friends. I imagine it would do you many favors to have your queen be friends with your consort and prevent anyone from causing trouble or pitting them against each other.”

“And what is it that you want, a crown and power?” he asked, his frustration with the marriage mart apparent. He was surrounded with ambitious, power-hungry, flattering courtiers every day, he was tired of the game.

“Your Majesty, you wound me. No, I want precisely what I offer you, the freedom to take lovers.”

“While I cannot pretend that that is at all unreasonable, considering Blessed Elua’s precept and our traditions, I am a king. Any child my wife would bear must be mine. There can never be any doubt about its parentage or the stability of the realm could be at stake.”

“I fully acknowledge that. Once a candle to Eishieth is lit, I can promise to take only female lovers. Though, in return, I would ask that any children born to your mistress would be handled subtly. I would not wish to hear courtiers gossiping about my marriage bed in the hallways.”

“I did ask for frankness, my lady, and you have given it to me. Though I do not know if Odilia would even wish to light a candle, I could assure my wife that any child born through that union would be provided for, cared for, titled, but not brought into our household nor given a royal name.”

Bastards were treated more kindly in Terre D’Ange, but bastards were still bastards. And dangerous.

“It is a fair agreement, Your Majesty.”

He looked at her evenly with his Courcel blue eyes. “I would also wish that our first son would be named for my late brother, Daniel.”

Corrian gave King Gustav another curtsy. “It would be my honor to continue his legacy and memory.”

Gustav heaved a heavy sigh, “Shall we say we have an agreement then?”

“The start of one, Your Majesty.”

Storyline: Odilia’s Memory

Odilia slowly set Gustav’s letter down on her desk. Her fingers trembled. Her heart was beating a hummingbird’s wing rhythm in her chest. Her fingertip slowly traced the ink of his name, feeling the faint scratch of the quill nib against the parchment, where his hand had shaped his name after he had poured his heart onto the page, pouring it out for her. All of this for her.

It was a thought that plagued her often since the sangoire cloak had been stolen years ago. All of this—the theft, the unrest, the embargo, maybe even the push for him to choose a queen—all because of her. And because she had thought she could have a prince as hers.

Because he had only been a prince when he had come to Dahlia House the first time. Young and fresh-faced like the dawn, the next generation of hope for the kingdom now reached manhood. Responsibility on his shoulders, and still he glowed with Elua’s Grace.

Something was blurring her vision. Something hot welling in her eyes. She tried to cling to her pride, tried to keep the granite walls around her heart from cracking.

She missed him, too. That night, the night that he called the start of his joy, she hadn’t known how deeply she would be changed by it. By him.

~
Several Years Ago

“The young Duc L’Envers is handling the arrangements,” Adept Clarine said. The adepts lounged about the salon of Dahlia House. The morning meal finished, they had some time to themselves before the salon opened for the evening, and all any of the adepts could discuss was the legendary celebration that the Duc L’Envers was putting together for the young Prince Gustav de la Courcel.

“All of the arrangements?” Helyan lounged across his chaise, blond hair strewn in a silken curtain across the cushion, “He’s planning all fourteen nights? I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

The prince was celebrating his coming of age. Starting with the night of his natality, he was spending one night at every House on Mont Nuit to sample all the pleasures of the Night-Blooming Flowers, before the last night where he chose for himself where he would go to spend his final night. Of course, they had begun with Cereus House, but the Dahlia adepts couldn’t fault them for that, since it just gave them the chance to shine, despite what the delicate Cereus adepts would have presented to the young prince.

“Fourteen nights is rather spectacular,” Eliane said as she fussed with the candelabras, making sure they were at just the perfect angle to have the candlelight gleam on the marble and gild of the salon. “Traditionally it’s only one night.”

“The boy’s only the second son and will likely never inherit the throne,” Clarine said, her pure white fur wrapped around her shoulders contrasting with the inky black of her hair. “I’d say he deserves every one of these nights and more.”

“Make a good impression,” Helyan teased, “and he might keep coming back to Dahlia for all of those future nights.”

And wasn’t that, at its core, what all the adepts on the Mont were hoping for? That they could catch the eye of the prince and enjoy him as a patron? A long-standing patron was the goal of all the courtesans of the Night Court. A royal patron was even better.

“What do you think, Odilia?” Helyan craned his neck to look at where the young brunette sat on the window bench. “Do you think Dahlia has a chance of dazzling this debutant?”

Her head turned from where she was looking out at the gardens and she smiled. “I think there’s always a chance.”

The carriage pulled up right as the sun kissed the horizon, and the guards in Dahlia livery stepped forward to help the guests down. The two young men looked up at the Dahlia mansion, taking in the lanterns glimmering gold, the windows thrown open to let the night breeze stir the curtains like slashes of jewels against the pale stone. The taller young man clapped his companion on the shoulder, a sparkle in his eye as he led the way up the steps to the entry where the doors, each bearing a stained glass window in the shape of a perfect dahlia, opened for the two of them.

Cloaks were taken by fresh-faced youths, and they were shown to the entrance of the salon.

A tall, elegant blonde greeted them at the doors, “My lords, welcome to Dahlia House. You are welcome here at our salon for the evening.”

“Yes, we are quite looking forward to the famous pride of your House,” the taller gentleman said, his eyes scanning the salon where the adepts were positioned quite casually, seemingly in no rush to greet them.

“We have been anticipating your visit, Your Grace,” the blonde said, having easily identified him as the Duc Sebastien L’Envers. “I have every confidence that Dahlia will make a lasting impression upon you. And upon you.” She turned her attention to the second young man in the Duc’s shadow. “We welcome you here tonight and any future night you wish to return, Your Highness.”

As one, the adepts rose and turned towards the gentlemen, bowing or curtsying together to greet Prince Gustav de la Courcel. He tried not to blush. The new levels of attention people gave him now that he had reached majority were still slightly uncomfortable, but he managed it well with a return of the courtesy. “Thank you for your welcome. I am sure this evening will be very enjoyable.”

“Certainly,” the blonde said with a smile before clapping her hands. “Music! Let us do our part to celebrate our prince’s natality!”

The musicians struck up a tune from their place at the side of the salon, and a servant offered the gentlemen glasses of Serenissiman sparkling wine.

Sebastien took his glass with a warm smile for the servant, taking a sip and murmuring to his friend, “at least they’re not swarming.”

“No,” Gustav agreed under his breath. “They’re just waiting, and watching.”

That was worse. But they were welcomed warmly enough with conversation and music, and Jocaste watched from her place before gauging the temperature of the room. A few of the adepts danced together, nothing to rival the tumbling and skill of Eglantine, but they certainly would have shone among the royal court for their skill at the court dances.

There was roast peacock and slices of exotic fruits, sallets of edible flowers along with slivers of raw meats marinated in spices and drizzled with sauces. Nothing too heavy, no grand banquet with twenty courses, but light and expensive foods that were brought around on trays, easily portioned to eat with one’s fingers. Something the Dahlia adepts did flawlessly, while Gustav was terrified to dripping something on his clothing.

Jocaste approached the gentlemen again, taking a seat with them on their couch with a smile. “Perhaps not the level of spectacle you have seen thus far on your birthday tour, but nevertheless I hope you are enjoying your time here at Dahlia. My philosophy is that Dahlia is the House of the most independence. Our words are Upright and Unbending, that is the core of who we are, but that also allows us our own agency and our own voices. No one will fawn over you or press themselves upon you, Your Highness. You are free to choose how to spend your time here, in any and all things.”

“Thank you,” he said, holding his wine glass in both hands so he didn’t tremble too badly. “It is a beautiful salon and your adepts are very skilled at conversation. Among plenty of other things, I am sure!”

“Thank you for saying so.” She accepted what he felt was a horribly awkward compliment with effortless grace. And she continued, “truly, the gem of our salon isn’t in conversation or music, though they are important. No, our greatest entertainment is in our chessboard.”

Sebastien let out a little gasp, grinning. “Yes! The legendary chessboard!”

Gustav glanced between them. “Is it…made of gold?”

“No, Prince Gustav,” Jocaste said, rising to her feet with a smile. “Let us show you.”

She signaled for silence, and the salon quieted in an expectant hush. She smiled and said, “the time draws nigh. The Game is afoot.”

A ripple of laughter among the adepts. Jocaste’s eyes scanned the salon, searching for the adept she knew would do this best. “Odilia.”

The prince followed the turning of heads to where a young woman with dark hair and dark eyes had looked up from where she had been adjusting one of the flower arrangements on the low tables.

Jocaste smiled at her. “Will you play?”

A dark brow rose. “Who is my opponent?”

The blonde returned her attention to the two guests with her, and Gustav immediately said, “oh, no, I’m not very good. Um, Sebastien?”

The young Duc L’Envers let out a laugh. “Very well! I will oppose the lady.”

The Adept Odilia stood, a rustle of emerald green silk. “Then I accept.”

Jocaste clapped her hands. “Pieces! To your places!”

She reached down to wind her arm with the prince’s, drawing him up to his feet as she said, “this, Your Highness…This is where Dahlia shines.”

He watched as the adepts and novices moved to prearranged places, and he only just now processed that the grand dance floor in the center of the salon was black and white squares, a chessboard built into the very floor. And clearly this had all been arranged, the living pieces had been assigned and wore the chemises appropriate for their side, white versus black.

Sebastien let one of the novices show him to his place behind the white side lines, and Odilia took her place behind the black side. Together, the pieces bowed or curtsied to each other, Sebastien following a moment later once he relapsed.

“The guest has the first move,” Odilia said. Gustav stared at her. She was so composed, so confident and sure in herself as she stood there, patient and poised.

Sebastien finished his glass of wine and said lazily, “E2 to E4.”

The novice playing the corresponding white pawn moved, and the game began.

Jocaste led the prince slowly around the chessboard, letting him see all angles of the game in play. She saw how bright his eyes were, how focused he was on the game, and she asked him quietly, “a thrilling game, isn’t it, Your Highness?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said truthfully. “The board and pieces we have in the royal palace seem to pale in comparison to a living game.”

“Chess is the King’s Game,” Jocaste said as they strolled, “Many forget that it is also a strategy game, designed to help leaders train their minds for war. It can be played for leisure, as His Grace seems to favor. But his opponent is very much a strategist.”

Gustav watched the brunette pace back and forth behind her side of the board, her dark eyes intent on the white pieces moving. “She seems more a general than anything.”

“At Dahlia House, we say Naamah bestowed herself like a queen to the King of Persis,” Jocaste said, bringing them to a stop at the corner of the black side, her head tilting as she also observed Odilia’s focus. “What is a queen but a general for her people in their time of need?”

The game did not last very long. Sebastien was distracted by the male adept flirting with him and had no interest in taking this seriously. This was merely another celebration for his friend’s majority! He was determined to have a wonderful time tonight for both of them. So when Odilia flashed her smile of triumph and called, “checkmate!” Sebastien accepted his loss with a rakish smile and a wave of his hand, saying, “so it is. Well played, Lady Dahlia! Here, a victor’s token!”

He pulled an emerald and gold ring from his finger and handed it to his defeated king, “There, offer that to the victor as her prize.”

The adept crossed the board and knelt before Odilia, offering the ring to her. She glanced down at it and held it up to examine before sliding it onto her thumb, “I accept your suit for peace, Your Grace, and will withdraw my armies from your lands.”

Another ripple of laughter around the salon, and servants offered both players fresh wine so that they might toast to each other without fear of hard feelings. Sebastien let himself be pulled away to the window alcove by Helyan, and Odilia knew he would be crowing about the Duc’s attention for a week at least. She took a sip of her sparkling wine and turned to return to her chaise only to find her way blocked.

“Your Highness,” she said softly, looking him in the eye. She did not curtsy. “Did you enjoy the game?”

“I thought it a fascinating exploration of your House canon,” he said, the trace of a flush on his cheeks as he stood before her. “I wonder if I might…that is, may I walk with you, Odilia?”

“You may,” she said, glancing down only once to where he offered his hand. “Shall we to the balcony? The evening air is clear, and it will be quieter there.”

He smiled at her, feeling something flutter in his chest. “I would like that.”

Odilia sighed, leaning back in her chair and pressing his letter to her chest. They had spoken that night about everything and nothing. About their childhoods, how similar and how different, about their ambitions and anxieties. He had chosen her for the night, but all they had done was talk, him asking her counsel and confiding in her his worries now that he was a man of the royal family. The demands of court were not the same as the responsibility of running a House, but they both faced choices in their paths. A crown would likely never come to him but that did not change the pressures even on a second son, and Jocaste had already told Odilia of her intention to lift her up as Second when Jocaste rose to Dowayne.

And on the fourteenth night of his celebrations, when he could choose for himself where he wanted to go, what House he wanted to return to, he came right back to Dahlia and to her arms.

She remembered the young man he had been, her heart quickening at the memory of the long nights they had spent talking, entwined in each other’s arms. He had been fresh and honest, so eager to learn, so humble as he asked her for advice. He had been filled with ideas, she had helped him shape them into plans, ways that he could use his position as the second son to better Terre D’Ange. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t the Dauphin, everyone had the power to change the country if they were driven enough. And he had promised her so many wonderful things, showering her in gifts as he let himself fall in love with her. Something she hadn’t stopped.

She had loved him then, with the heart of a younger woman, before she had known how things could change, and how dangerous love was.

“Oh, my Coeur Courcel,” she whispered to no one, “what has happened to us?”

Storyline: Gustav’s Letter

Beloved Odilia,

There is so much I wish I could say to you. This distance between us is like a wound in my heart, the worst and cruelest of Kushiel’s punishments. My heart weeps its lifeblood, my eyes weep neverending tears hidden in the night for the loss of your comfort in my arms. My eyes miss the sight of your beauty, my ears miss the music of your laughter, my hands miss the soft touch of your skin. So much of the King that I am was shaped by your hands, by the counsel you gave to me those years ago when I was a boy just becoming a man, and you showed me the light of the night that you are in your Dahlia House.

You are still the light of my nights, even with the nights I have spent alone separated from you. I look out the windows of my palace to the glow of Mont Nuit and am ever more resolute that you are the star Azza himself hung in the sky by which I set my course. The first night I saw you, I never wanted that night to end, I never wanted to return to a life without you with me, without you near.

But here we are now, more apart than we were even before we met, for now I have known what it is to have your beauty in my eyes, your warmth in my arms, your comfort and counsel at my side. To be without you, my beloved, my everything, is to be empty and hollow. A hollow man wearing a hollow crown, gilded only on the outside so the world can see what they expect to see. A king. But you know the truth of my soul, the truth of my self that was shown to you on the day that I thought was the start of my joy.

I am sorry for what these months have done to you, what this quest of the court to find me a queen has done to us. You know what my desire is, if I were free to do as I wish, but a King is not free. I must follow Elua’s Precepts, but Elua’s Precept only governs how we love, not how we rule. A King needs a Queen, and there is nothing that I wish more than to craft a crown of dahlias to put on your head. But I know you, my heart and my everything, and I know you would refuse. Please do not hate me for seeking to appease the nobles and choosing another for the place at my side that should be yours.

Please, Odilia, do not let this wound become a distance insurmountable between us. I will break this mountain apart with my bare hands if I must to return to your arms again. Since the night that you looked at me and saw my self and not my title, I have known I was yours. I am meant to be in your arms, in this Terre D’Ange and in the True Terre D’Ange Beyond. Please, Odilia, I beg you, not as your king, but as your Gustav, please find a place for me in your heart again. I fear I may die without your love sustaining me, for my heart is in your care and gone from my chest since the time I placed it in your hands those years ago.

Forever yours, my delight. Forever yours, my everything. Forever yours, my love.

Gustav

Storyline: Coronation Day

And so it came to pass, on the first of May in this year, His Highness Crown Prince Gustav de la Courcel stood in the grand throne room of the Royal Palace and took his place upon the throne as King of Terre D’Ange.

It was a grand and glittering assemblage of nobles, ambassadors, and peers from Terre D’Ange and beyond. Queen Anielle de la Courcel stood on dais, next to the throne that had been hers for so long; to her side stood her daughter, the Princess Livette. Before them, arrayed in an arc, were the High Priests and Priestesses of the Companion Orders in their robes and masks and symbols of angelic power. Ambassadors lined one side of the hall, Peers of the Realm the other. Nobles and other guests were arranged by province, with higher status allowing closer places to witness this tremendous occasion.

The Dowaynes and Seconds of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers were also in attendance and those among the guests who knew the gossip glanced overtly to the courtesans. The Prince entered in his robes of state: Courcel blue with a collar of swan feathers, clasped with a gold lily. Gone was the young prince, so unsure of himself and his future. Before them strode a King. He walked with steady, measured steps down the length of the hall, his bare head held high. He did not look left or right. His blue eyes were only for his mother who stood waiting for him before the throne.

The Queen wore also Courcel blue, a simple gold circlet on her head marked with the lily to signal her status, as she watched her youngest son approach the throne. She had never thought to see him here. She had had three other boys before him, but they were all gone. Now she only had her two youngest. This was never meant to be their fate. This throne and this crown was never meant for Gustav to bear. Was she doing the right thing?

It was too late to wonder that now because he was standing before her. She kissed his cheeks and he smiled at her before kneeling, his blue cape flaring out behind him. Silence filled the grand hall and Anielle took a deep breath, focusing on her little boy.

“Gustav de la Courcel, Crown Prince of Terre D’Ange, and my fourth born, my surviving son. Through the Courcel blood that flows in your veins, you have claim to the throne of Terre D’Ange. Will you accept it?”

His head nodded gravely. “I will.”

Her voice swelled, ensuring that every ear in the hall could hear, “I am Anielle de la Courcel, your mother, and Queen of Terre D’Ange. I sat this throne with your father while he lived and I sat it as we mourned his death and that of your brothers. But you, my son, have come of age, have studied and learned what it is to be a Prince. Your blood is royal, but it cannot tell you how to rule. For that you must learn on your own. I have seen you grow from a babe to a boy to a young man and now I see you grow into a King. Before the High Priests and Priestesses of the Companion Orders, before the combined power of the Sovereign Ducs, before the nobles and the people of our country, and before Elua and all his Companions, with willing hands and a heart full of love, I pass my crown to you. Gustav, will you accept it?”

He took in a breath of his own, eyes flicking to the crown his sister held on a velvet cushion, “I will.”

His mother nodded and lifted the crown from the cushion, raising it high. After a reverent pause, in which everyone in the hall could see and witness it, she set the crown of Terre D’Ange on his head, bending to kiss his brow gently before stepping aside for the Priests and Priestesses.

Head Priests and Priestesses of each Temple in the City of Elua arranged themselves before the throne in the robes of their Order and carrying the symbols of their holy office. As had been tradition, each of the Orders and each of the representatives of the Companions asked a question of the young man that was a binding vow for all to hear and witness.

The High Priest of Elua in his blue robes clasped his hands at his stomach and said, “In Elua’s name I ask you, will you serve the people and the land that has passed down to you through your angel’s blood and look with kindness upon all that shelter in Elua’s grace?”

“I will.”

The Prefect of the Casseline Brotherhood stood in the robes of the order and fixed the young prince with a stern look, demanding, “In Cassiel’s name I ask you, will you strive to become the Perfect Companion for your country and protect your people and your land with loyalty and love?”

“I will.”

The bronze mask of Azza’s face made the words echo slightly as the figure in saffron said, “In Azza’s name I ask you, will you always look to the horizon for the next opportunity that your reign brings for Terre D’Ange? Will you trust in your course and navigate your people to success?”

“I will.”

The figure bearing the scroll and stylus of knowledge and the grey robes of the scholar angel asked, “In Shemhazai’s name I ask you, will you always seek to learn and never turn away from those who would advise you?”

“I will.”

The priestess standing for Camael drew her sword and held it upright before her, saying, “In Camael’s name I ask you, will you defend your people, your country, and your throne with strength and courage?”

“I will.”

The sea-blue robes of the representative for Eisheth shifted and swayed like water as the question was posed, “In Eisheth’s name I ask you, will you serve as surgeon and heal any and all wounds that may befall your country and your people?”

“I will.”

The priest of Anael, in brown robes, spread his calloused hands, “In Anael’s name I ask you, will you till the fields and tend the flocks and add with your own hands to the abundance of this land, never taking for granted the power of hard work and the deep roots that bind you to the earth, our mother?”

“I will”

The representative for Naamah smiled down at the prince, scarlet robes shifting with the breath as it was asked, “In Naamah’s name I ask you, will you pay heed to your heart and follow your desires truthfully that the service you do as King will be a wilful assignation of true love?”

There was the barest pause, a hesitation that had some of the nobles glancing to the Dahlia Second, before Gustav vowed, “I will.”

Last to speak was the black-robed and bronze masked figure that stood to represent Kushiel, and she was the most stern of them all. She barely moved and Gustav had to force himself to look into her eyes behind her mask as she spoke, “In Kushiel’s name I warn you, the vows you have sworn are binding in this Terre D’Ange and the True Terre D’Ange Beyond. Should they be broken, then Kushiel’s justice will be swift. But no one should take this burden upon them without being truly willing. Gustav de la Courcel, do you willingly accept the words of these oaths within your heart?”

He clenched his hands to stop them from shaking, “I do.”

The High Priest of Elua spoke again, lifting his hands in blessing, “Then let it be known from the rocky shores of Kusheth to the warm waters of Eisande, from the mountains of Siovale to the forest borders of Camlach and Azzale, from the rivers of Namarre to the orchards and fields of L’Agnace! By the grace of Elua he stands, Crown Prince no longer, but Gustav de la Courcel, King of Terre D’Ange.”

So let it be known! Let it be announced! Let it be witnessed!

And thus it was done.

Long live the King.

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