Tag: Gustav de la Courcel

A Kiss of Power – Part II

A passing adept, a young man with golden hair and a mask to match, presented them with a tray of sparkling wine. Ever the hostess, and holy servant in her own right, Rosanna gestured to her guests first. Only after they made a choice did she take a glass for herself. “Will you be attending the prayer service and Showing to follow? We are presenting two of our finest in this year’s graduating class to begin their service to Naamah.”

Would the Dauphin take the opportunity? Not all who attended the party would watch or place wagers for the honor of fulfilling the first assignation of a newly minted courtesan. With so much to do, it was not required, but those who did were included in a great honor as well as a rare display of Mont Nuit’s finest connoisseurs of the sharp pleasures. There was a reason this holiday was so closely guarded, part of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers they might be, but every Valerian and Mandrake knew they…stood out. Not all D’Angelines understood them, and that was all well and good, they did not need to. However, power was power which took many forms. Perhaps the King-to-be would discover something useful this night. That was the purpose of his visit after all, and Rosanna would ensure he had every chance to experience whatever he wished. 

Lord Garnet attempted to keep his face blank, then remembered he did not need to underneath his mask. When last he had stepped foot in Valerian House, it was for a Showing, too. He hadn’t known what to do, not wanting to disrespect the canon of the House, but he had not enjoyed the Valerian adept’s cries of pain as the Mandrake had flogged him. And the Mandrake…the bright smile on her face as she had given the pain was one he had tried very hard to forget. He wasn’t made for these Houses, no matter how his Lady Sapphire insisted he needed to learn how their kind of power dynamics worked so he could better accept the service of his people.

“I do not think we will participate in the prayers,” Lady Sapphire said evenly, surveying the golden-haired Valerian with a cool eye as she accepted her drink before turning her attention back to the russet-red of the masked Dowayne. “But I am quite looking forward to the Showing afterward. Which of Mandrake’s finest will be assisting in demonstrating their yielding skills?”

“That pleases me greatly,” the Dowayne replied before sipping at her bubbling wine. Her red lips wrapped almost sinfully around the fine crystal as if by second nature. “As to the Showing, a very talented courtesan will have the honor. Ives nó Mandrake will be providing his services.”

Not only was he Rosanna’s own preferred Showing partner, but he was also a dear friend. Tonight was not for them, however. She would facilitate the premier and Showing, he would make a marvelous display of skill, and her new adepts would shine all the brighter. 

“I look forward to seeing how he will encourage his Valerian to offer the very best of themselves for display,” Lady Sapphire said. Because that was really what a Mandrake-Valerian showing did best; a good Mandrake knew all the right ways to play the Valerian until they were glowing with the unique beauty of their pain-pleasure and danced along the edge of great Kushiel’s agony itself. 

Ah, there it was. Understanding. Now the pair before her made sense, at least to her unique position in the world. Odilia, even without her guise tonight, knew just what made the tug and pull of dominance and submission elevate beyond what the untrained eye could see. Oh, she did like this Dahlia, she did very much. 

Lady Sapphire gestured with one elegant hand, saying, “But I understand three new adepts are debuting tonight. While my lord and I will not join in the bidding for their virgin-price, I would like to see them. Will you give us a tour of the public rooms open for the fête tonight?”

“I would be delighted. Please, follow me, they are not far.” 

When she turned, it was clear that her finished marque was not on display. Not tonight, not when the evening was celebrating the new members of her House, she would not be taking any lover of her own this evening. Instead, she devoted herself to the praise of Mara, Naamah, and Kushiel, and excitedly looked forward to the debuts on schedule. 

Through the guests, she led the pair, rubies gleaming on her throat and golden chain hanging in hand. It was not a crushing press of a crowd, not everyone in Terre d’Ange understood the particular gifts of Valerian and Mandrake Houses, and those that did were on a short list—many of them Kusheline. Though not all. As they walked, they saw a lord wearing a bronze mask like a priest of Kushiel and with blue-black Shahrizai hair speaking with a distinctly non-Kusheline lord. The second lord was smaller, lithe, dressed in black, with a grey mask that complimented the silver of his hair. He certainly stood out among the black and red of the salon’s decorations.

Beyond the main salon were the public rooms, upstairs and down the quarters and dungeons, and towards the back and near the garden, still sleeping in winter, was the space set aside for special occasions. A small stage was in the center of the round room so that spectators might watch from every angle. Any manner of furniture could be brought onto the dais or hung from the ceiling. On the far most wall was a tall cabinet and shelves, holding every sort of aide de amor imaginable. The entire space was elegantly decorated in scarlet, black, and gold, and already scented with cinnamon, lit with fanciful lamps, and softened with a great many velvet pillows.

Nearby was a curtain, behind which whispered voices could be heard. Shadows of three individuals could be seen through the somewhat opaque fabric. They went silent when it was clear they were not alone any longer.

“Worry not, my dears, I am only escorting some of our honored guests to meet you. Come out now,” Rosanna called, and the two instantly obeyed. Moving with so much grace, eyes averted, hands gently held before them, the debuting adepts were both dressed in fine white, virginal silk with black collars at their throats. No lead though, for they would attain that when their first patron would win them. “Lady Sapphire and Lord Garnet asked to meet you.”

Together the two made honors toward the couple, moving in perfect tandem. A whispered welcome was spoken all as one, two voices resonating perfectly. Rosanna watched with pride in her eyes.

Lady Sapphire pulled Lord Garnet firmly with her to approach the debuting adepts, her brown eyes studying the details of the two of them, while his blue eyes focused on her alone. She turned her head to murmur to her companion. “This is why I have brought you with me tonight, my lord; so that you may hear for yourself how these young adepts view the concept of service.”

She turned her eyes back to them and, feeling the weight of her gaze, both shivered slightly. She commanded them, “You are prepared to offer yourselves to sacred service tonight. What does your House teach you about what it means to serve? Answer me.”

The more timid of the two spoke, his breath trembling at the command in her voice, “W-we are taught it is a gift, my lady.”

“A gift?” Her dark hair rippled as her head tilted with the leading question. 

“Yes,” the second debuting adept said with a nod. “While we offer our bodies and accept pain with our pleasure, it is a gift to offer ourselves so deeply and fully to our patrons.”

“Not everyone understands the place that pain has in pleasure,” Lady Sapphire said as she paced a slow circle around the new adepts. “How can you discern who understands the value of your gift and who only seeks to slake their cruelty?”

“We…we have to learn to feel when the lash is wielded with love, my lady,” the second answered again. She dared to lift her eyes to glance at the woman in rippling blue silk and, for that, Lady Sapphire paused before her. She never touched the girl, but held her gaze with complete and controlled composure. 

“And how do you know,” Lady Sapphire asked softly, “when the patron you are serving is worthy of your fullest submission?” 

The young adept gripped her hands tighter together and whispered, “Because…because they care. They care about us, in the pain and afterward.”

Lady Sapphire hummed, her lashes lowering as she considered this before turning away without another word to the adepts to rejoin her companion, murmuring to him, “Much to consider, don’t you think?”

He nodded slowly. 

“Very well done, dear ones,” Rosanna praised the two. Coming forward, she pressed a kiss to each of their worried brows, soothing away the shivers, and helping ground them once again. Only when they had returned to a state of calm did she walk them back to their safety behind the curtain. For their passing of the Dahia’s questions they would receive something nice as a reward, extra dessert or some such thing. After ensuring her adepts were properly cared for, she returned to her guests. 

“Have you found the answers you sought?” She inquired as she rejoined them at the far side of the room. 

Lord Garnet, still reluctant to speak and reveal himself, pressed his lips together. Lady Sapphire tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, beginning to draw him away as she said, “Much to consider, like I said. Do enjoy the rest of your celebrations, we will not take any more of your time. There are surely many things that require your attention now.”

Outside, a clock struck the hour, a low note that hung in the air, not ominously but in anticipation. Soon the highlight of the evening would commence. Something Rosanna herself needed to be prepared to introduce and facilitate. By now surely Ives would be looking for her to begin the preparations for the night’s prayers, Showing, the bidding, and all that would go on until the final guest left. 

She stood watching the couple withdraw to make space for the final preparations for the prayer service, and did not hear the cat-silent steps approaching her until the voice spoke, “There is a rumor, you know.”

Rosanna startled, her hand flying to her chest as she bit back the squeaking gasp of surprise, spinning to glare at her usual Showing partner, Ives nó Mandrake. A tall, well-formed man, with sable hair that just brushed his shoulders and fell into his icy-blue eyes, he was dressed in red with accents of black leather, his arms left bare, and his robe loose—ready to be slipped off to bare his marque when the Showing began. She scowled at him, seeing the way he dangled the information before her, teasing her with it as he looked almost innocently after the couple that had just left. 

Finally, Rosanna took the bait, she couldn’t help it. “What rumor?”

He smirked in his victory, before his brows arched, and he said, “The whispers in Mandrake House say that there was a time where our previous Dowayne went to visit Dahlia House. I don’t know why, and it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that it is said his eye was caught by the novice that served the wine for his visit.”

He enjoyed drawing it out, finally purring, “It is said that he offered to buy her marque on the spot. He revealed too much of his hand, of course, and Dahlia naturally refused, but still…it is curious. Had he succeeded…could you imagine?”

Rosanna bit her lip, glancing back the way Gustav de la Courcel had gone with Odilia nó Dahlia on his arm. She had seen the way the Dahlia had moved through the salon here, seen the way she circled the debuting adepts, felt for herself the weight of her gaze when she had met those eyes. 

Yes, surely it was for the best that Odilia had remained at Dahlia House. Whatever storm was on the horizon with those two, it would only be worse if she had the deep purple mandrake flowers inked into her skin instead of the dahlia. 

But Ives was still right—it was curious.

A Kiss of Power – Part I

While most of the grand manors which occupied Mont Nuit relaxed once more after the horologist called the dawn after the Longest Night, two barely slept and were propelled into the second most important holy day of the year. For them, at least. 

A pair of months apart from the Longest Night, the Houses of Valerian and Mandrake were unique in celebrating Mara’s Eve. The former perhaps with more pomp and circumstance than the latter. Not for any lack of care, but Valerian House always hosted and marked the occasion with a graduation of great importance. 

Rosanna remembered her own debut some years ago. Only the most talented Valerian adepts were permitted to make their first assignations on this most revered of days. The night before was spent in prayer, meditation, and worship to the first anguisette, Mara, daughter of Naamah Herself. No matter if one did not hold the mote in one’s eye as She had, all who lived in this House walked in Her footsteps. Incense and offerings of fruit were made to those angelic deities, as well as to Kushiel, who bestowed His mark upon those He deemed worthy and necessary to fulfill His will. Not so long ago, one such chosen had visited this very House, though she was not part of it. She was someone Rosanna had always admired, having read her life story so many times now. 

Making this night a memorable one was no small necessity; Her first Mara’s Eve as Dowayne, 

Tryphosa’s first as Second. 

“We have received an unusual letter,” Tryphosa said as she entered the elegant office. Seated at the desk, Rosanna looked up from the final entertainment schedule with a curious look on her face.

“How so?”

“It is from Dahlia House.”

Quickly breaking the gold wax seal, the new Dowayne read through the elegant script with great speed and interest. Thank goodness she was already seated, handling the request within the missive would have resulted in her falling into a chair without much grace otherwise. Something her friend noted instantly. 

“What does it say? They never write to us,” Tryphosa asked. 

“Odilia nó Dahlia wishes to know if she could attend our Mara’s Eve fête…with the Dauphin.”

Tryphosa did hit the chair cushion rather abruptly now. Staring at one another in both shock and barely restrained excitement, the two read over the letter once again. It had been a generation since a member of the royal family had visited Valerian House. Not since King Imriel. To host a future monarch would be the sweetened topping to an already auspicious occasion. 

“This feels like the hands of the angels presenting us with a blessed opportunity,” Rosanna said to her Second. “Odilia is a rising star amongst Mont Nuit and the Dauphin. He is said to be quite enamored of her.” Scanning the letter, she could not ignore the request for secrecy. No one could know that the future King was in attendance, as his courtesan sponsor explained, she meant to introduce him to the various power dynamics to be found throughout his kingdom. While his being present under her roof would be a great honor, it would have to be a secret one. No preening to the other Dowaynes that he had graced her House. But a blessing was a blessing, no matter how it came packaged. 

“What do you mean to do to hide him?” Tryphosa inquired. 

For a moment, Rosanna thought over the plans already made, the food and drink already ordered, the Showings and music and other sensual entertainments she had worked so hard to arrange. Months of planning were scattered over her rosewood desk. As were some odd remnants from the previous holy celebration. 

A smile appeared on her pink lips. “We will make our Mara’s Eve a masked ball, my friend. We shall all be hiding along with him.”

So when the invitations were sent out, to the favored patrons, the scions of Kushiel and Naamah, descendants of past anguisettes, to Mandrake House, it was with the challenge to arrive in the guise of precious stones. Dazzle one another as the polished gems they were, and do not forget a mask.

~

In one of the unmarked carriages rolling slowly along the winding avenue that snaked around Mont Nuit to each of the Houses of the Night Court, a nervous gentleman in a doublet so dark a red it almost seemed black looked at the serene woman across from him in a deep, rich blue gown. He fiddled with the mask in his hand, which was created with facets to look like a gemstone and said, “I don’t understand what we’re doing here, Odilia?”

“I said I had procured invitations to one of the most exclusive parties in the city, my prince,” she said with a tiny smile. “Do you doubt my abilities?”

“Never,” he said at once. “Only…I have come this way along the rue before. Why are we going to Mandrake?”

“To Valerian,” she corrected. 

“But why?”

“Tonight, they celebrate their most sacred holiday,” she explained. “Mara’s Eve is when they honour Naamah’s daughter, the first anguisette. You’ve been to Valerian House before, yes? For your Grand Tour?”

“Yes,” he said, “but not to participate. They arranged Showings for me, since I… was not practiced in their arts.”

“I am not bringing you here in the hopes to unlock your hidden Shahrizai lineage,” she said quietly, her fingertips smoothing across the smooth satin gloss of her own mask, resting on her knee. “Rather, you will soon be put in a position where the people of this kingdom will serve you. They will be your servants, Gustav.” He shifted uncomfortably, and she smiled at him, not unkindly. “You were never raised for royal command, I know. This evening, behind the safety of the mask, will allow you to experience the different kinds of service and submission that come with the dominance of your power. No one will know who you are, and in the seas of blacks and reds that Valerian is known for using in their decorating, another lord in dark red will be easily forgotten.”

She leaned forward to take his hand, stopping him from worrying the carved faces of the facet mask with his fingers. “Trust me, Gustav. I thought about this and have done everything I can to protect you.”

He sighed. “I know. I do trust you. Of everyone around me, you are one of the few whose ambitions I do not need to question.” He lifted her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles, whispering, “What would I do without you, my dahlia?”

She smiled and took her hand back as the carriage turned into the drive leading up to the Valerian mansion, saying, “I am sure you would manage.”

Together, they donned their masks and their identities for the night. No longer Prince Gustav and Odilia nó Dahlia, but Lord Garnet and Lady Sapphire. Her marque carefully covered by the shimmer blue of her gown and the fall of her sable hair, her identity was safely hidden. And who would look for the future King here in Valerian House, of all places? Everyone knew his tastes by now, the gossip had made sure of that. 

Hooded attendants guarded the grand double doors of Valerian House. Only the presentation of an invitation gained entrance tonight. Tokens were not enough on Mara’s Eve, the guest list was very succinct and highly coveted by certain D’Angelines.

Upon entering, the scent of cinnamon and amber incense filled the senses. White candles in gold sconces lit the way, illuminating the vivid tapestries with their violently beautiful scenes. 

In the banquet room, hot, mulled, red wine flowed from heated fountains. Platters of roasted venison and other red meats were paired with winter vegetables and all manner of other aphrodisiac delicacies. Each little detail was made to evoke the red mark in the fabled anguisettte’s eyes and the flowing blood which bubbled up under a loving lash. 

Practiced courtesans invited guests to open play in the common areas, almost foreplay as the more intense scenes were reserved for the dungeons and private rooms down red carpeted halls. Simple pleasures such as utilizing the cuffs built into chaises, ropes hanging from the ceiling, toying with dripping red candles, could be found in every corner of the public salons.

For those making their formal debut, a special room was reserved for each to be presented by their Dowayne, and the bidding for their first night would commence later in the evening. It was plush with velvet cushions, thick drapes, and a little stage for each new adept to ascend so that all might see them; tonight there were two.

Ebony haired Shahrizai walked with adepts on one arm and a goblet in the other, giving homage to the niche shrine of their ancestor as they strolled to the private space reserved only for them. They were avoided quite clearly by the stoic yet elegant members of House Morhban, their rivalry never-ending even for a holiday such as this.

Music floated through the rooms, setting a sensual rhythm for all the guests to relax and enjoy. Although the players were hidden, their presence could be felt as every honored attendee might think they had their own private performance to set their scenes. 

Through it all walked the new Dowayne, draped in a blood red gown that only made her fiery hair glow all the more. Rubies dripped from her neck in a stunning collar, its leash held by her own hand as this was her domain and party. An equally gleaming mask sat upon the upper half of her face, leaving her red painted lips to smile and speak to her guests. And through it all, she kept a sharp eye out for anyone who might be her very special guests for the evening. 

In doing so, she noted the adepts under her roof and what they were doing, who they flirted with and what caught their, seemingly, averted eyes. A pattern arose, whispers behind shackled hands or fans, curious gazes peeking out from behind elegant masks. They were following a specific couple.

Strolling through the crowd, she soon found the source of their interest. Upon viewing them, Rosanna could very much see why. The presence of the woman she knew to be attending as Lady Sapphire was palpable. Familiar. Commanding. What Valerian would not be drawn to such a refined and sure presence? Even she felt a little shiver up her spine just watching her. Which made her think it so very curious about the gentleman at her side. His costume had not been revealed to her, but only she and Tryphosa truly knew who he was. Curiosity piqued, and hostess duties certainly not forgotten, she crossed the space to greet them.

“Good evening, guests,” she said and dipped a pretty curtsy. “How are you enjoying Mara’s Eve?” 

The kohl that lined the lashes behind the shimmering blue of the mask made her brown eyes all the darker as she watched the Dowayne make her curtsy. She did not offer one in response, that was not the game of the evening. Instead, she maintained her eye contact without blinking, answering, “Valerian House has surpassed itself to celebrate Naamah’s daughter. It is a pleasure to attend, just as surely as it is Valerian’s pleasure to serve tonight.”

Lord Garnet, at her side, studied the red-haired woman who approached them. While one of the hosting House, judging by the deferential way that she offered the curtsy, she nevertheless moved with the self-assurance of someone who could lead. Perhaps the Dowayne? He wondered how one could lead a House when one’s whole life revolved around submission. But he kept his peace. The fewer noble guests who heard his voice and realised his identity, the better. He was only here to watch and learn. Already it was beginning; he saw how comfortable his Lady Sapphire was, how effortlessly the guests here wore their power under the allure of the masks as the adepts and novices of the House offered trays of drinks with yielding hands and lowered eyes. 

Lady Sapphire seemed very comfortable with it all, as did the guests with Shahrizai blue-black hair and Kusheline eyes. He worked to emulate them, remembering the tutors that had taught him a royal posture. Now it meant a different kind of power, another kind of authority. Perfect timing for it, as Lady Sapphire gestured to him. “Lord Garnet and I are quite enjoying our evening thus far. Aren’t we?”

He nodded slowly, remembering his mother’s voice telling him that moving slowly was read as power more than speed was. A prince did not rush through anything, nor would a king. 

“I am so glad to hear that,” Rosanna smiled demurely. Not in the way Alyssum did, in their pious and delicate manner, but in her way which drew comfort in drinking in the power of another. The disguised Dahlia and the royal who accompanied her were a cool drink in the ever warming heat of the salon. “This is our most holy celebration, and the first after Dowayne Etienne took his leave. To serve our guests at such an important time gives us every pleasure, earthly and heavenly alike.”

A Year in Review and Looking Ahead

Cereus House was abuzz with activity as servants and adepts alike prepared for the upcoming Midwinter Masque. It was the highlight of the year for the House, and this year had been one of changes, to put it mildly.

Petrea nó Cereus sat in the Second’s bedchamber, waiting for her friend Aimée nó Cereus to arrive so that they could dress together. Petrea marvelled at how different this was from a year ago. This time last year, Aimée had been ensconced with Aliksandria—then Second herself—drinking wine, giggling, and likely just getting out of bed from an afternoon romp, to begin dressing in finery for the masque. Petrea had been alone in her own room, her plain costume laid out on her bed. Marielle had poked her head in and asked about borrowing thread to fix up some mishap with a mask or dress or trousers. 

But this year, Petrea was the Second. And Aimée was not in bed with Aliks. She was on her way to Petrea’s room. Their friendship had blossomed over the year, and with Aimée’s assistance—and the invaluable advice of the Seconds from Dahlia and Heliotrope Houses—she was beginning to feel less like she was fighting stormy seas in a rowboat. 

Aliks was now the Dowayne. An overburdened, burnt out Dowayne, thanks to the untimely death of her predecessor, Gerault, who had kept so many secrets from her, they might never truly discover them all. Petrea’s heart went out to her best friend, who spent her days locked in the Dowayne’s office, seemingly only emerging in the wee hours of the morning to take in a few hours of sleep. At the same time, Petrea wished that Aliks had taken more time to help train her, so that she need not turn to others for help. But almost more than that, Petrea wished that Aliks’s and Aimée’s relationship had not become so deeply damaged and strained. She knew that Aimée was hurt and angry. Aimée did not want to discuss the intricacies of their relationship, so Petrea did not pry. 

Petrea knew that Aliks could not push the two of them away forever. She knew that Aliks needed both of them. And Aimée and Petrea both needed Aliks. But greater than their personal feelings, Cereus House needed the three of them to come together to bring it back to its glory.

~

The Shahrizai townhouse was quietly gearing up for the Longest Night. Numerous cousins had flooded into the City as the days got shorter, and there was a constant flow of invitations to various fêtes on the actual night. A number of the older members of the family were invited to the event at the Palace, and the younger members had invitations to the houses of their friends in the City. All save Niklos, whose invite lingered on his desk. Not just an invitation, but an invitation with a token. His invitation was signed by Petrea nó Cereus and was for the Masquerade on Mont Nuit itself. That news had been a wildfire amongst House Shahrizai when it arrived. Older family members commented that they couldn’t recall the last time a Shahrizai had been invited to spend the Longest Night on Mont Nuit, and the younger cousins pestered Niklos about how he had received the token and why he had been singled out. All he could tell them was that he had spent a significant amount of time in the City since he had arrived this year, and apparently his attempts to make connections with people were paying off. There were numerous late night conversations in the library, and Niklos had explained his plans to the family. The Longest Night would be a time for them all to enjoy themselves…and to gather what information they could; there was already a strategy going into the new year.

~

The Heliotrope carriage ride to Cereus House was uncharacteristically silent. News of Dowayne Olivier’s death hit the House hard, he was deeply beloved and had been their Dowayne for decades. Even though they had all been preparing for months, it still hit them like a kick to the chest. 

None were hit as hard as Mena, the new Dowayne. Olivier was her grandfather, the man who raised her, taught her about Elua and Namaah, who’d shown her love that truly felt like the gentle, constant rays of the sun. The death of his wife, her grandmother, a decade prior was hard, but this was crushing. She knew that his presence, his reputation, had kept her shielded from a lot of things that could come crashing down on her. In the back of her mind, she hoped that the affection people had for him could be transferred in some way to her. The coming months would likely be hard ones; his funeral would have to be held right at the start of the new year, his estate would need to be handled, the House still needed to be kept together, and she had an uneasy feeling about Kyrie. Someone as full of hatred, entitlement, and heresy was not going to go away as quietly as it seemed he had. Without Olivier, she felt adrift, like she had no idea where to begin. Tonight was easy, the House would attend the Midwinter Masque, they would throw themselves into the revelry in Olivier’s honor. Tomorrow would come, but tonight was for Olivier.

~

As she did every night before laying down her head for sleep, Rosanna prayed. At the niche in her bedchamber, where incense burned and offerings were made, she closed her eyes and bowed her head.

In turn, she repeated the prayers taught to her in childhood, turning to the comfort she always found in the presence of the divine. One by one, she spoke the names of the angels from whom her people descended, who to this day watched over them all in times of peace and turmoil. 

Azza the Navigator, Anael the Good Steward, Camael the Flaming Sword, Cassiel the Perfect Companion, Eisheth Lady of Healing and Music, Kushiel the Punisher, Naamah the Bright Lady, and Shemhazai of Keen Mind

A little rhyme was gifted to each Companion, and from them she named a facet of her life where their guidance would be appreciated.Only in the most dire of times did she outright ask for anything from the angels. 

Now was not such a time…yet she still felt very much in need of some divine intervention, even just a little. 

This year had begun with the change in her path as a servant of Naamah, progressing forward toward that aspiration she had so longed for. Yet, for her to ascend from the office of Second to Dowyane, she lost the mentor who named her to that position to begin with. Eitene was surely a character and for some an acquired taste, but he was her dear friend, someone who believed in her even when the Dowayne before him expressed doubts. 

And now he was off to live his happily ever after with the Lord he adored, out in the idyllic countryside. Truly she was glad for him. It was a fairytale, and he deserved his happiness. 

Leaving her to run Valerian House. Her dream.

Which was more intimidating than she had allowed herself to understand. Even with her own Second, Tryphosa, to help with the many responsibilities, the sheer volume of planning, especially for the Longest Night, was nigh overwhelming. Seeking solace, she had gone to the temple district on her usual weekly schedule, and where now she became acquainted with a fellow leader of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers. Together they began attending services, discussing faith and duty. Slowly but surely, the worry subsided.

Now the Prince was set to ascend, too. They would have a new King. On her very first Longest Night as Dowayne. It felt as though the stars were aligning.

Snuffing the candles, she left an offering of wine and sweets then pulled herself to bed. Everything was falling into place, no matter if she was prepared or not. Best she face the dawn with a good night’s sleep and faith in the powers that be that all would be well.

~

At the end of next year, Gustav will become King of Terre d’Ange.

Odilia had barely slept since Lord Maël had come to bring the news. Too many thoughts roiled through her head. Was he ready? What help did he need? What could she do? What was her place and responsibility to do? His letters, sent regularly over the years he had been gone from the city at his studies in the Rocaille University, had a special place in her private desk, kept under lock in their own drawer, but she had read them enough that she hardly needed to look at them to remember his words. 

Ah, his words! Young and impassioned, excited to share with her all of his triumphs and asking her advice on his challenges. Some of them had been sent with small gifts, books and bookmarks, or a fine new pen with an inlaid handle, some were only his words and his honest voice. It was strange, she thought abstractly, to feel such a rush of true and dear affection in her chest for the young man in her letters. He hadn’t signed them with his title, only his name, which had made it easier to let herself forget who he was. Then the plague changed it all. He was poised to rise like a brilliant star, shining in glory for the entire country. She was a loyal subject, surely that was the only reason why she worried for how to help him. He was to be her king, it was her duty to serve the crown in whatever it needed. It couldn’t be anything more than that. 

“Odilia?”

She came back to herself with a sharp blink, refocusing on the details of her personal dressing room and tearing her eyes away from the chessboard before her. 

Silvére hovered in the door. “Are you ready? We’re gathering for the procession over to Cereus.”

“Yes,” she said, rising. “Yes, I am ready.”

She was an adept of Dahlia House, she had to be ready for whatever would come next. Upright and Unbending. 

~

Manuel Cassid sank to his knees, preparing—as he had every year since the age of ten—to offer prayers to the Perfect Companion on the Longest Night. This night, however, he was praying not just for himself, but perhaps for his entire country. And unlike every other Vigil, he was not alone.

Kneeling beside the Cassiline brother, Gustav closed his eyes and allowed his thoughts to quiet, sinking into a meditative calm as he began the Vigil. While the rest of the city danced and drank and feted the night away, waiting for the midnight hour when the Sun Prince would return to rejuvenate his Winter Queen and begin the cycle of the year again, he would kneel in Cassiel’s Vigil. 

He prayed, like he had truly never prayed before. 

Cassiel, he whispered silently in his heart, Guide me in this year to come, that I may be the Perfect Companion to my country. As Cassiel was the Perfect Companion to Elua, what was a king but a perfect companion to his people? 

He still had so far to go.

The sun slowly set over the City, and the Longest Night began. 

A Cassiline’s Kindness

Manuel had spent the past months in the company of the Dauphin and his retinue and felt himself growing more comfortable with the other men. Less an outsider than he had when he was first tasked with guarding the Prince, yet still not a close companion. Their actions showed a measure of trust, one that he had worked tirelessly to earn. He knew that the next year would be a difficult one for all of them as Gustav came closer to his coronation, and he knew that the small circle would be invaluable to the Dauphin. There were so many aspects of being a ruler for which the Prince was prepared, and yet so many others where he still needed the support of those closest to him. Manuel hoped that he could be marked as part of that group. He prayed to Cassiel that he would have the strength to help guide and assist his charge. That Gustav would see him as a trusted compatriot, a shoulder to lean on in times of need.

Not that it would be easy for either of them. For all of his life, Gustav had been a second son. One year of playing Dauphin did not make him feel in any way ready for the crown. 

“How do you do it?” Gustav sat in his chair at the desk in his personal study, having long foregone focusing on the work before him and rather studying the Cassiline standing at rest by the door. 

“Do what, Your Highness?”

“Maintain such…composure.” Gustav leaned back in his seat. “My life is in your hands, you have taken me as a charge and have sworn to defend me with your life. Do the teachings of Cassiel give you such confidence in who you are? Your strengths and your place?” 

Manuel barely blinked before responding. “They do, my lord. My Cassiline training prepared me to be exactly who I am. I know exactly my place and my position. And this gives me, as you say, confidence. I have spent my years preparing to become the man you see before you.” He paused then, thinking on how to give speech to his thoughts. “I do, as I think all men do, have my times of doubt, of questioning. I felt called to the Brotherhood. To protect and serve, in Cassiel’s name. And yet…there are those quiet moments when I wonder if I am worthy of such a title: Cassiline. It carries great weight. Great responsibility. But it is in those moments when I turn to the Perfect Companion, to remember that it is my duty to strive for the perfection of Cassiel, to remember that I am not him. I remember that I am a Cassiline Brother, and not Cassiel himself. Remembering that I am imperfect allows me to have the confidence to be who I am. To know my place, both here at your side and in the greater world.”

Gustav let out a low groan, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes as he all but slouched in his seat. “I envy you that. It seems I am surrounded by people full of confidence and purpose while I am…”

His hands draped away from his face as he looked at the high ceiling of the room, tracing the line of the vaulted support beams, murmured, “I am not the grand ship, steady and sure, that my brother was. I am only a small fishing vessel, lost in the vast sea.”

“Sounds to me like you need to find your Navigator’s star,” Manuel said, his wrists crossed easily before him as he watched the young man. “Cassiel and his teachings are my way. Where is your guiding star?”

Gustav’s face softened, his head lolling to the side to look out the window to his left, his gaze tracing the skyline of the city beyond. “I don’t know…”

“I don’t think that’s true, Your Highness,” Manuel said, his voice gentle.

The color rose slightly in Gustav’s cheeks, and he let out a small, nervous laugh before sighing. “Alright, I have never been a good liar. Yes, I know the star in my sky. I have not been able to stop thinking about her since I saw her for the first time. I wrote to her while I was at University in Siovale, our correspondence never failed to bring light when I needed it. And when I think on her, there is a warmth in my chest that I know is Naamah’s blessing of…well, I am not so much of a romantic that I will entertain that word. But she…”

He let out another sigh, this one heavier and more weary. “I know it will only cause trouble, for both of us, but I find myself desperately praying that my feelings are not false and, even more impossibly, that she might return them. It could not be so terrible, to love her? She’s a Dahlia, isn’t she? And so very smart and grounded…she could be a valuable advisor, if they let me have her.”

For all that their world lived under the sacred precept of love as thou wilt, he was not so naïve as to think he could enjoy the same freedom of his heart that the rest of the country did. He was to be king. The desires of a king’s heart came second to the needs of the crown and kingdom. 

Manuel studied him for a long moment. The kind of love that Gustav was just starting to feel was one that he would never have for himself. For certain, he was a child of the Night Court, but his path was that of a Cassiline Brother; romantic love had no place in his heart. But there was a kindness that he could offer, that only he could offer, that could help the Dauphin face the year head. 

“Your Highness,” Manuel said.  “You know that I do not attend festivities on the Longest Night, instead maintaining Cassiel’s Vigil. Although there is always that small part of me that would love to engage in the revelry, a night of prayer and reflection has never failed to leave me satisfied and…sated…in a way that the excesses of the Night Court cannot. If you would so choose, it would be my honor to have you join me in my vigil. Perhaps you would find, come morning, that the Perfect Companion grants you guidance, if even in some small measure, to serve your country and people in more perfect measure.”

Gustav looked at him, Courcel blue eyes taking in the sight of the Cassiline and the generosity of what he offered. 

“Thank you, Manuel,” Gustav said quietly. “I think…I think I would like that.”

A Hollow Crown to be Handed Away

When the Queen sent out the summons to call the court, the courtiers came. It was not often that Queen Anielle de la Courcel called the court, preferring private audiences and smaller receptions to handle the affairs of state that she could manage in her grief of losing her firstborn son. So, when the noble lords and ladies of the court came to the grand presence chamber of the royal palace, no few of them were whispering amongst themselves as to what could have inspired the Queen to summon them all. 

When she entered, it was with her attendants, personal guards, and remaining children at her sides. 

From his spot off to the side, Maël de Rocaille studied the face of the Dauphin, trying to see if he could read what his friend was thinking. Frustratingly, Gustav was carefully blank. Likely because he knew the nobles would be watching him to see if they could figure out what was going to happen, trusting in his lack of experience in court. 

However, even if they had been able to read his thoughts, none of them would have expected what happened next. 

“Lords and ladies, d’Angelines all, thank you for answering my summons and joining us this afternoon at this court assembly,” Queen Anielle said, standing before her throne wearing the fleur-de-lis crown of Terre d’Ange. Her son stood at her right hand, her daughter to her left, a triumvirate of the Courcel royal family that surveyed the people gathered in the opulent hall. 

“I will not demand much of your time,” Queen Anielle said, her voice pitched to carry all the way to the back of the chamber. “Certainly not since the Longest Night is coming ever closer, and we all have impatient tailors waiting to complete our costumes.”

A smattering of polite laughter bounced through the gathered nobles and the Queen managed to smile warmly. The lines on her face were deeper than before, weariness and grief leaving their marks on her face with deep gouges of pain and age. 

“The coming night, even with all of its revelry and celebration,” she continued when the laughter had quieted, “is still the turning point in our year, when the longest night of the year gives way to the sunrise and the Sun Prince returns to reinvigorate his Winter Queen into the glory of the coming spring.”

She clasped her hands before her, taking a moment to bow her head and study her interlaced fingers. Maël’s eyes darted around the chamber, taking a read of the faces and factions present. He had a terrible sense he knew what might be coming. For a moment, just a flicker of his eyes, Gustav glanced at him and Maël straightened from his careless lean at the hint of the emotion in the Dauphin’s eyes. 

“And yet,” the queen said heavily, “the cold of winter has set into my bones, heavier with the weight of my grief. For me, the dawn of the lengthening days will not restore me to youth and glory. Long has this weighed on my mind in the wake of the plague that brought so many of our fellow d’Angelines to the True Terre d’Ange That Lies Beyond. The loss of my first son, Daniel, was a blow for all of us, not only my House. In the months following, we have all fought to return to what we can consider our new normal lives, knowing nothing will be the same again. We are all changed. I am changed. Terre d’Ange needs a new way forward into the golden sunlight of Blessed Elua’s vision for us.”

The chamber stood so quiet that one could hear the way the courtiers held their breath to listen to the Queen’s words. 

“Which is why,” she said, lifting her chin again, her blue eyes bright with her tears and her strength, “I will be endeavoring to prepare Gustav de la Courcel to succeed me as King of Terre d’Ange. Following the festivities of the Longest Night next year, I will be abdicating my place on the throne and presenting my son with the crown of Terre d’Ange.”

Hadn’t she given enough to it? She had no more left to give. 

The whispers rippled around the hall, shock giving them an undercurrent of panic as the gathered nobles processed this startling announcement. In the briefest of heartbeats before the eyes turned to him, Gustav’s gaze flicked to where he had seen Maël standing. If anyone would understand what he wanted now, it would be him. Yet it seemed Maël was already two steps ahead of him, for the space where his friend had stood was empty and he caught a flash of a panel sliding closed in the wall. Gustav released a relieved breath. He could trust Maël, he knew he could. 

Maël borrowed a horse from the stables, vaulting onto the back and setting his heels to its flanks. He did not care for the decorum of the moment now, all eyes were still on the royal court and for the rest of the city…well, they would hear soon enough. He knew well who needed to hear it now, as quickly as possible.

The horse’s hooves thundered across the bridge spanning the river and up the streets through Night’s Doorstep and to Mont Nuit itself, Maël’s practiced hands reining the horse up sharply once he reached the courtyard of Dahlia House. Kicking his leg over the horse’s neck, he slid from its back and all but sprinted up the steps to the doors. Were he focused on anything but his next steps, he would have been impressed at how the nature of his arrival had not broken the regal facade of the footmen’s expressions. Instead, he only paused long enough to ask the frowning adept in the foyer, “The Second. Where is she?”

“Second Odilia is indisposed at the moment,” the adept sniffed haughtily. “She is being fitted for her gown—”

Maël took a strong step toward her. “Where?”

The adept faltered for a moment, glancing up to the staircase that led to the private chambers of the house. Maël took off, taking the steps two at a time. He had watched Gustav vanish up these stairs and had caught enough details about the layout of the mansion from his wanderings that he found his way easily enough, striding down the corridor with such an expression on his face that novices, even composed and regal as they were, all but leapt out of his way. One did try to bar his way from the Second’s door, but he brushed past the boy easily enough to push the door open. 

Inside, the tailor’s assistants cried out in alarm at the sudden intrusion. The Second herself turned in surprise at the interruption, her hands rising to hold the gown to her chest as though concerned it would come tearing off if she moved too quickly while still pinned. Her hair caught up in a messy knot to keep it out of the way, it bared the length of her back and the marque there. Surely it was a masterpiece of the marquist’s art, but Maël had more pressing concerns. Clearly this showed in his face because Odilia did not waste time feigning outrage or scandal. Her brown eyes focused on his expression and she only asked, “What is it?”

His eyes flicked to the attendants and novices whispering and she turned her head to order immediately, “Out!”

They scrambled to obey, and she stepped down from the collapsible fitting platform the tailor had brought, her own face hardening into grave severity as she asked again, “What has happened?”

Maël looked at her for a long moment. He may not fully know what passed between this courtesan and his friend, but he knew that in what was to come, the two of them were likely to become some kind of surprising allies. He may not know her well or even at all, but he knew that she needed to know what was about to happen. 

“Anielle’s stepping aside,” he told her directly. “At the end of next year, Gustav will become King of Terre d’Ange.”

He watched the shock bloom across her face, the surprise of the sudden announcement giving way a heartbeat later to some strategic cunning as she breathed evenly through the revelation and into the focus of the moment. 

Her face hardened and she lifted her gaze again to meet his eyes with a slow nod, acknowledging that he had come racing across the city to find her and tell her directly. So she gave the olive branch as she said, “Then he will need our help.”

He nodded, feeling the seed of respect forming in his chest for her as he agreed, “He will.”

Autumn’s First Kiss

The first chill breeze of Autumn came whispering through the City of Elua, hinting at the cooler days and darker shadows and misty mornings of the autumn season, and, like perfect clockwork, the invitations arrived for Dahlia’s Revelry. 

The patrons that received the gilded invitations sealed with the Dahlia imprint in the burgundy wax dressed to impress – of course, anyone who came to the Night Court dressed to impress, but the Dahlia Revelry was a little different than just attending the public salons. Invitations were also courteously extended to the other Dowaynes and Seconds of the other twelves Houses, if they chose to accept them. 

An invitation also found its way to the Rocaille townhouse at the edge of the Noble’s District. Addressed to Lord Maël de Rocaille and his Bosom Contraband, Maël nevertheless knew exactly what this was: a way to circumvent the scanning of the secretaries and staff of the Royal Palace Courcel. It had taken him two tries to read it correctly; the first time he had scanned it he had seen and his Bosom C and filled in the rest with Companion. It was only when he had picked up the letter opener to slice the embossed envelope open that he realised what it really said. And, young and mischievous as he was, he enjoyed a good chuckle at it. Very well, Dahlia, he thought to himself, I see you appreciate a good game after all!

It seemed that he would need to spirit the Dauphin out of the palace once again, for there was no way Gustav would be missing this Revelry. 

The whispers of the Autumn ripened into full fruits and the lanterns were lit in Dahlia House, so it gleamed gold as the royal jewels they wore as monarchs in their pride. 

Valerian House had their Mara’s Eve celebration at the end of winter, Cereus House hosted the Longest Night, but Dahlia House began the harvest season with their Grand Revels. In the style of Old Hellas, it was a grand symposium with music and food and drink where patrons courted the favour of the Dahlia adepts, all competing for their regal attention and approval. The fruits of the season were piled high in bowls and on platters; lush apples, rich plums, glossy blackberries, bunches of grapes draped over the gilded rims like wine caught in the illicit arc of spilling. Pomegranate quarters nestled among sweet figs, pears, and cherries. Dahlia adepts wore the jewel tones of the harvest season; some choosing the shimmering gold of the sheaves of grain rippling in the fields, some wrapping themselves in the deep green of the vines bearing the bountiful fruit, some choosing their favourite of the fruits on offer to inspire their clothing. 

As this would be the first formal event outside of her own House as Dowayne, Rosanna took the matter of what to wear quite seriously. With Etienne well and truly gone, not too far as he was simply ensconced in his beloved’s townhouse until the new year, the title had officially been passed to her. Now she needed to make a statement with her inaugural appearance. Which was made all the more complicated as her good friend did reside in Dahlia too. Honestly, she relished the challenge.

A deep burgundy gown was finally selected, with a wide neckline and wide trailing sleeves with dagged edges. Her long, autumnal, hair fell to her hips, accented by a copper diadem of fallen leaves. To her right hand was Tryphosa, in burnt orange and deep olive green. As the newly appointed Second, it was her joy and duty to attend. 

“Dahlia has not spared any expense,” Tryphosa observed and plucked a drink from the tray of a passing server.

“They never do. As is their right and doctrine. Truly regal,” Rosanna replied. In her mind she was already considering the expense of such an event, the elegant decorations and attention to theme. What surrounded them was the work of an experienced Dowayne. Come February, she would be expected to host the events of Mara’s Eve, the first test of her abilities as a House leader. 

“You’re thinking too much, my Lady Dowayne,” Tryphosa whispered. 

“I believe I am thinking just the right amount,” Rosanna gently corrected. “We will enjoy ourselves tonight, of course. But this is a unique opportunity. We must learn from Dahlia’s success. Come, let us mingle.” And so she led the way deeper into the revelries, her friend and Second at her side. 

Mena was nervous, a first for her. She had of course attended Dahlia’s Revelry before but this time there were stark differences. Olivier was not standing in the upstairs Adept only Salon, fussing with the cut of his tunic, nor was Laurent there to offer his thoughts on clothing or to tease them about going to visit the House he said was “you, but rigid”. In their place was a small army of Adepts, since this was Mena’s first year, the whole process was different. Loir, who would be attending with Mena, sat on a backless stool, her laughter ringing through the Salon as Emilié finished her hair and a servant pulled the back of her dress tight. Her marque was newly finished, by the d’Marrs as Mena had predicted, so her dress was mostly open, held to her body with three ties. In honor of autumn, her dress was the color of the tall grasses that grew outside her family land and hid game and predator alike. 

Mena had seen this as an opportunity to use the bolt of deep blue fabric the dye merchant had gifted her. It was a sample of a dye he was sourcing from parts unknown, part of the deal that would make him wealthy. There was no other fabric like it in the city, he’d gifted it to her as thanks for her House’s hospitality. The gown it made was simple; it went to the floor, clung where it needed to, with a high neckline that went from shoulder to shoulder, but a deep back. She loved it and made a mental note to wear it when the caravan returned.

Dahlia House was impeccably decorated, as expected, and Mena felt her nerves being replaced with happiness.  She loved parties. Loir slipped her hand into the crook of Mena’s arm and whispered, “This is gorgeous, Mena. I cannot believe they do this every year.”

”They do, and it is always incredible,” Mena whispered back. “You know, every House has a function like this that we traditionally hold. Next year, we’ll hold Helio’s again.”

Loir laughed quietly, “I’ll hold you to that. Now though, we need to go mingle and observe.”

Mena nodded, “Agreed. And remember, Olivier sends his regrets, but he’s got a personal commitment that prevents him from attending.” 

Loir nodded and slipped off into the crowd, towards the garden, while Mena moved to circulate through the rooms.

Petrea loved a party. Any party, if she was being honest with herself. But this party was different. She was not here for revelry, dancing, or cavorting, as was her usual modus operandi. She was here in her official capacity as Second of Cereus House. She was here to represent her House, to mingle with the Dowaynes and Seconds of the other Houses, to make the acquaintance of those deemed important or influential enough to be invited to the grand affair, and most importantly, she was here to prove that she was a capable Second. Oh, she had heard the rumors that swirled through the salons and bedchambers of Mont Nuit: that she was nothing more than an aging adept looking for a good time and that she was no more fit to be a Second than a stableboy. 

All of these thoughts had swirled through her head the entire morning as she prepared. Aimee had stood by her side, listing off the day’s duties and assisting with the tiny buttons that ran up the back of Petrea’s deep blue gown. It had become their routine. They took breakfast together and then helped each other dress as they each gave the other an update on their respective tasks. Standing there, on the magnificent veranda in Dahlia House now, listing off the many tasks that Aimee would be taking care of while she, the official Second, would be here—indulging in wine and conversation—took away some of her nerves.

She tucked a lock of her golden hair back behind her ear and straightened her shoulders. She had been standing along the wall for too long, and that would not do. She was the Second of Cereus House. It was time to act like it.

Maël’s brows had lifted when he had seen what Gustav had chosen to wear, but Gustav had only smiled his secret smile and assured his friend that it was perfect. And it certainly was when he entered the grand gardens of Dahlia House and saw the adepts and patrons glance at him. He wore only simple boots, soft hose that clung to his legs, and a flowing poet’s shirt of soft white. His hair combed only by his fingers, his collarbone and throat exposed by the loose neck of his shirt, he seemed like he had stepped from the music of the Hellene stories of heroes returned home and he certainly felt like he had come home again as he saw her see him. 

Across the garden, Odilia sat draped in a rich plum gown that gathered at her throat and fell in pleats down her body, belted with a chain of golden vines to make her seem a harvest goddess herself. Her dark eyes lifted at the whispers that rippled through the gardens, falling on him bathed as he was in the soft light of the lanterns and gleaming white and gold like Elua Himself. He saw her hand lift to touch her chest, as though soothing her heart that skipped for him and he smiled. When he smiled, it reflected in her own face like a sunbeam, glowing and rosy and focused on her and her on him. 

He made his way through the patrons, adepts, and servers, intent on his goal, her face the only thing he could see as he came to her, boldly reaching for her hands as she sat on her couch. 

“Odilia,” he breathed to her, savouring the feel of her soft skin under his touch again, as he always did – it was always a gift when he could touch her, when he could see her face and smell her perfume. 

“Your Highness,” she said, recovering some of her composure even as her eyes glittered. He tugged gently on her hands to pull her to her feet, standing with her as though they were the only two people in the garden, in the city, in the world. 

“I would be a shameful guest if I did not come to Dahlia’s Revelry without a tribute gift for my Dahlia queen,” he said to her with his mischievous, slightly boyish smile. “May I give you my gift?”

She eyed him, her brow lifting, but she permitted him his game, “You may.”

The world spun for a moment as he pulled her into his arms, cradling her close as he kissed her sweetly. She gasped – she wasn’t the only one – her hands gripping his shoulders to help herself balance as he swayed with her, but she kissed him back. She knew she shouldn’t, this was so public and so many people were watching, and he was the Dauphin, she was only a Servant of Naamah. But was this not what the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers was for? Indulgence and delight?

She let herself delight in his kiss, her hands relaxing on him – trusting him – and sliding to comb up through his loose hair to savour him. 

Rosanna was conversing with one of the patrons of Dahlia House, a curious one who saw her own marque and came with earnest questions about such a distinctly different practice than the one hosting. They were smiling and making light discussion when from the corner of her eye movement pulled at her attention. The patron’s too, if the shocked and grinning gasp was anything to go by.

“Now I have never seen the elegant autumn revelry celebrated quite so…enthusiastically before,” said the patron.

“Nor have I,” she replied with a perfectly polite smile. On the inside she was positively ecstatic, but those emotions were tempered down. Later, she would seek out her friend and ask all about the Prince who kissed her later.

Loir was standing with a small group of Dahlia Adepts, whispering Night Court gossip when the Prince’s approach caught their attention. Their conversation stopped mid-word as they watched him approach the Second of Dahlia House. They were too far away for even Loir’s well-trained ears to catch their words, but the kiss rendered words useless. One of the Adepts grabbed Loir’s arm tightly as they stood, stunned by what they saw. A Dahlia, kiss in public?! With a Prince! Loir felt her heart racing at the implications. The kiss ended in an intimacy that made Loir look away instinctively, lovers like that deserved their privacy.

“W-w-where were we?” An Adept said with a light laugh, and Loir released a breath she hadn’t known she was holding.

“Well, I think we were talking about Bryony House,” she said with a light laugh, “Though I am sure their numbers did not include that development.” As the conversation started back up, Loir tried to organize her thoughts and the events so she could let Mena know when they returned home. This needed to go into the books for sure.

Petrea heard a gasp and turned from her conversation with the young Lancelin of Siovale just in time to catch the kiss to end all kisses. All her years of training at Cereus House could not stop the look of shock from her face. It took her mind a second to catch up with what her eyes were seeing. The heir to the Perigeux duchy cleared his throat quietly, freeing her from her momentary reverie. She blinked and turned back to the gentleman, once again the picture of a trained adept. 

She put her hand on his arm, apologizing for her impertinence. He smiled in his dark-eyed way and waved off her concern. He continued speaking about…something…and Petrea continued to nod and make appropriate murmurs of agreement when appropriate. But her mind was not on her companion’s words. There were larger pieces in play now, and Petrea knew that she had just witnessed a major shift in the game she had unwittingly joined. She would need to navigate this carefully as Second, and Aimee was not the one who could help steer her.

When the kiss ended, Odilia looked up at him, bright and beautiful as they smiled into each other’s eyes in a way that could never be feigned. In a way that was noticed by many of the eyes still watching their Dauphin kiss the Second of Dahlia House, a woman more proud and distant than most of her comrades. And she smiled at him like he had sprinkled the stars in the sky above them himself. 

“Well,” the Dahlia Dowayne said from her throne among her favourite lovers, lifting her goblet in a toast, “it seems our Revels have truly begun!”

Maël’s eyes swept across the gardens, tracking the ripples of the gossip and seeing the spreading whispers as the fête continued, and it was not just the Autumn chill that came kissing his neck. No, he knew that nothing good could come of this. 

Niklos’s Investiture

The Royal Post had delivered a letter addressed to Niklos marked with all of the hallmarks of the Palace. He’d let it sit on his desk for a day, staring at the Courcel swan impressed in the navy wax of the seal every time he walked past it. It demanded an answer, and he didn’t know that he wanted to see the question. Finally, after some subtle prodding from Jacob, he opened the letter to see what the Palace might want from him. 

From the Office of Her Majesty, Anielle de la Courcel, Queen of Terre d’Ange, to Lord Niklos Shahrizai

Regarding the matter of the succession of the County of Angers and the wishes of the late Demitrios Shahrizai, Her Majesty wishes to discuss the future of the title. Your presence is expected at the Royal Palace tomorrow after the midday bells. 

Court dress is not required. 

On behalf of Queen Anielle, from the hand of the Royal Steward

The official seal of the House Royal of Terre d’Ange was pressed into blue wax, a crowned swan beneath a lily flower. 

Niklos made his way down to the main level of the townhouse, proffering the rather basic summons to Jacob. A faint chuckle escaped from his throat as one of Jacob’s eyebrows raised as the man read the summons. “It could be much worse,” Nikolas said. “The note could have said that the inheritance had been voided due to some peculiarity of law. Unless Her Majesty is saving that information to tell me tomorrow.” 

Jacob’s head shifted marginally. Niklos thought it was in the negative, before the taciturn man spoke. “My Lord, were the Crown to rule in opposition to your inheritance, there might be some issue. The lands are within the Shahrizai duchy and held by the family since the very beginning of Terre d’Ange. While the Crown must approve of the inheritance, the lands around Angers must remain within the family’s holdings. And there are—” Jacob paused, considering his words, “—only a few qualified members of the family that the lands could be bestowed upon… and none of them fit every stipulation of Lord Demitrious’s will. None aside from you. I rather think Lord Demitrious wrote the provisions with you specifically in mind. And he was old enough to have met Melisande… He would have made certain everything was to the letter.” Jacob smiled briefly and handed the note back to Niklos. “I shall have the good coach prepared. We wouldn’t want the Palace thinking that you were some backwoods relative trying to press your way into the higher echelons of the nobility without any training.” 

With that, Jacob slipped across the main hall and through a concealed doorway, leaving Niklos standing there, summons in hand. Niklos took a deep breath and made his way back to the stairs; tomorrow couldn’t arrive soon enough. And after that, well, he had more people in the city to see. Perhaps a visit to Cereus was in order… or possibly Jasmine.

When the royal guards at the gate of the royal palace saw the carriage bearing the Shahrizai keys rolling up the Rue Courcel towards the grand gates, there was not a hint of their personal thoughts on their faces. Trained for discipline and loyalty, they paused only to verify the summons before permitting the coach to pass through. 

Likewise, the footmen that waited at the door requested to view the invitation to verify the parchment, ink, and seal before opening the doors to the halls and salons housed within the royal palace. While the Shahrizai maintained apartments within the palace, this particular Shahrizai had not made use of them in some time, and the steward had briefed the footmen carefully about the summons for this day. 

Therefore, the footmen guided the Kusheline nobleman through the hallways, not to the grand throne room, but to a smaller reception chamber deeper inside the palace. The guards on either side of the door did their duty to ensure the guest did not enter into the royal presence armed then stood aside to let the footmen open the door and answer, “Lord Niklos Shahrizai.”

Her Majesty, Anielle de la Courcel, Queen of Terre d’Ange, sat in a simple chair set against a drape of Courcel blue. Her hands folded neatly in her lap, her elbows rested on the arms of her chair, her crown prominent on her dark head, she was every inch the ruler of the country as she looked evenly at her guest entering into her presence. And she was not alone. Off to the side, standing at the tall window with the narrow circlet on his head, stood her second son, Gustav de la Courcel, the Dauphin of Terre d’Ange. He was looking pensively out of the window at first, his head only turning when the Shahrizai name was introduced. Two sets of Courcel eyes watched Niklos enter. 

Niklos made his way into the audience chamber slowly. He’d been present in the past for audiences, but those were always in the grand Audience Hall, and he hadn’t been the focus of those audiences. Jacob had reminded him of some of the more significant courtly customs that he would need to be aware of for this, though even Jacob hadn’t anticipated a fully private audience.

He crossed the hall at a measured pace, his boots whispering across the floor. He’d always had a light step, and Jacob had cautioned him about making too much noise as well. Nine paces back from the Queen, he paused and bowed deeply, his attention on her, though he had noted Gustav by the windows. The Dauphin seemed pensive, which could prove to be a good quality. Jacob had passed word that Gustav had once been rowdier than his brother, but that was to be expected from a spare…at least it would have been expected. Now Gustav was the heir, and that role seemed to weigh heavier on his shoulders than it had his brother. Or perhaps it was more obvious in Gustav. 

Niklos cleared his throat softly. “Majesties, I am responding to your summons.” Niklos spoke clearly, though quietly. There was no reason to be loud, no one was going to interrupt them.

“Welcome, Lord Niklos,” Queen Anielle said evenly, gesturing for him to rise. “Let us begin by offering our sorrows for the passing of the late Count. This last year, it seems, has taken much from many of us, and offered opportunities to prove the mettle of our spirits in how we rise to fill the empty places left.”

The Dauphin turned more of his attention to the conversation then, not yet joining his mother at the chair sat by her right hand, only watching from the sides at the moment as he considered the two people in the center of the room. The tiniest smile flickered across his face as he remembered the chessboard his lady kept in her chambers, the one that laid out all of the world of politics in thirty-two little pieces. 

“Yet, the world does not stop moving while we grieve,” the Queen continued, gesturing a footman forward. He bowed and presented her a document on a silver tray, which she plucked up with her fingers to scan. “And there is the matter of the succession of the Shahrizai County to consider. In this document, Count Demitrios makes his wishes clear, and the Judiciary committee regarding noble inheritances has informed me that, as per the stipulations laid out in Count Demitrios’ will, you are the next in line for the title. The only thing that could alter that would be a royal decree.”

Niklos listened, his eyes focused on her, though he monitored the Dauphin in his peripheral vision. He missed the faint smile as the footman stepped forward with the tray, another distraction. He was too close—bad for the angles for observation. His father had taught him that. Never stay in a position where you couldn’t see all the pieces on the board. Of course, his father was warning him about getting stabbed, something that really shouldn’t happen in the chamber he was in, but stranger things had happened. Of course, old Demitrios had warned him about being too observant one of the times he’d met the old man. Melisande spent much of her life in exile on Cytherea, the Count had reminded him, because she had the vision to see all the pieces and all the moves…but not the vision to see the final endgame. Sapphire eyes met Courcel blue ones as the Queen finished scanning the information about Demitrios’ will and the Judiciary Committee’s ruling. Well, one hurdle out of the way.

Laying the document in her lap, the Queen lifted her eyes to regard the lord before her. “We have called you here, Lord Niklos, to discuss the future of the title. Considering our families’ torrid past and complicated entanglement, we have a vested interest in the actions and ambitions of your line. While I bore your predecessor no ill will, nor do I seek to judge you on the past actions of your forebears, it is nevertheless prudent to discuss the matter that I might see what kind of a count you could choose to become.”

He smiled faintly at her comments regarding the discussion of the title. It was only one generation since Imriel de la Courcel, son of the greatest traitor the realm had ever known, had wed Sidonie de la Courcel and continued on the royal line that stretched all the way back to Blessed Elua. Torrid and complicated indeed. This queen and her son could well be considered blood cousins of the family.

“What kind of count I might choose to become, Majesty? I’m not certain how you mean. Every Shahrizai knows of our duty and obligation to the Crown, and anyone who pretends to the cleverness of our shared ancestress are very directly told that there will be none of that nonsense again.” He chuckled lightly. “I fear, Your Majesty, that when it comes to the Crown, the Shahrizai are well and truly under control. We have our personal interests, but we are well and truly yours.” He’d expected something like this, even before news of the will came out. Various aunts and uncles had all made it crystal clear that if any question of loyalty came up, he was to assure whomever asked of the Shahrizai’s absolute loyalty to the crown and realm, at the point of a knife if it came to that.

“It is not just me you will have to convince, Lord Niklos,” Anielle said softly, watching him with the unerring focus of a falcon. “Your family has a reputation, cast by a very long shadow. How fairly it is earned is little matter when all of the nobility, indeed in many ways all of the country, is watching you.”

She leaned back slightly in her chair, comfortable in her seat of power. “But let us speak candidly, then. Few of us often get that chance. Not every person who inherits a title is meant for greatness. Names can easily fade into the mists of history. What matters when heirs are given their titles, with all the power and prestige that can come with them, is what they will do with them. And what legacy they will leave. What legacy do you wish to earn for your name, Niklos Shahrizai?”

Niklos paused, the Queen’s question seeming innocuous. It wasn’t. Questions like that never were. He had considered it, certainly. Didn’t all aspire to some form of greatness or another? He had been quiet, and he had studied. His father had sent him to Tiberium to study at the University there for a time, and there were no books in his father’s library that were unread. And his father had made certain that he understood, in his bones, what he had learned. But she hadn’t asked what he wanted, she asked what legacy he wanted. There was a subtle difference there, and he hoped he could use it to his advantage. 

His eyes snapped back into sharp focus as he smiled at her. “My legacy? I hope to be the counterpoint to Melisande Shahrizai. Where her legacy is treason, I wish mine to be trustworthiness.” 

He never again wanted a Shahrizai to be suspected of what Melisande had been guilty of. Falsehood would never again wear black and gold. “It will take a lifetime of work. And some of our many relations in the nobility have always been jealous of us, merited or not, but the effort is worthwhile.” And incredibly appropriate for the holder of a minor county well within the Shahrizai duchy in Kusheth. 

“And how will that work begin?” Resting her elbows on the arms of her chair, she laced her fingers carelessly together as she watched him. “You must have given it some thought. Beyond the cousins whispering in your ear and the aunts and uncles giving their advice, you on your own must have thought about how your tenure as Count could start. Regale me. If I choose to permit this succession and not stand in the way, how will you begin to prove your trustworthiness?”

He smiled faintly, almost pensively, and nodded to her. “I am here, Your Majesty. Yes, my family encouraged me to take up residence in The City, but I could have just as easily remained in Kusheth. I am present, I did not demur or delay your invitation, and I have not taken possession of property that is yours to grant. Duc Alexius is administering the property, awaiting your decision. We are a well-connected family, and I am doing what I might to reestablish the connections and friendships I have had in the past. Not all news passes through the Palace, Majesty, and some of that which does travel these halls may not reach your ears or the ears of His Highness. Political intrigue is a much safer game to play when you know you have the throne behind you, instead of opposite you.” He took a deep breath. This was a very deep game that could be played, and he had barely established himself on the board. He really needed to get back into the City and reacquaint himself with people.

He was pleased that it didn’t sound like the guards had moved yet, so there had been no hidden signal to restrain him, and he hadn’t threatened. But he wanted the access, and he wanted the information. Melisande had been visionary. The rest of the family, Niklos included, had no chance of matching her brilliance, but that very brilliance was her downfall. She needed to be the smartest person anywhere she had gone, and she desired the power that her brilliance had indicated could be hers. But brilliant people and powerful people were rarely one in the same: The brilliant frequently overlooked something miniscule that could bring them down, and those in power often had to resort to basic brute violence to remain there. Far better an understanding or agreement where both sides aided the other.

“So you offer to be my eyes and ears where neither my son or I may go,” Anielle said, knowing full well the ambitious lordling had said nothing of the sort. But it was a chance that she would extend as a first test. She knew better than to forget the snake in the grass, but a snake that she could direct was far more valuable. “It was that very subterfuge that damned your family before, but you have caught my attention, Niklos Shahrizai.”

She leveled her gaze at him, her voice regal and terrible as thunder as she spoke with the full weight, authority, and power of her throne. “Let us see what you do with this rope: climb or hang.”

Gustav, reading the Queen’s body language and understanding her play, finally moved. Crossing to stand at his place by the Queen’s right hand, he examined the Shahrizai with his blue-black hair and deep blue eyes, blue meeting blue as the cousins regarded each other. But there was enough established now that the rest would come, both Queen and Dauphin watching closely. 

So Gustav gave the faintest smile that did not reach his eyes, saying only, “Congratulations, then, Count Shahrizai.”

A royal acknowledgement of the title. It settled on Niklos’ shoulders. There would be paperwork and official acceptance and court announcements, but it started here, with the Queen and the Dauphin seeing in him a noble ready for the title. 

Niklos squared his shoulders as the Dauphin caught his eye. He grinned briefly, though the Dauphin’s eyes were cool. He bowed again to both of them, his own eyes dimming, as if looking at a sapphire at night. “My thanks to both of you, Majesties… cousins. I hope I will serve you well.” He bowed again, having recognized the dismissal, and backed away through the audience chamber, bowing once again at the door before exiting.

Anielle watched the door close and murmured quietly, “We will see.”

Crowning Joy – Part 2

Standing on the balcony of Dahlia House, Gustav finally felt at ease. He crossed to her, his heart leaping at the sight of her face again, his breathing evening out in comfort as he came to stand with her. She did not curtsy to him. Of course she would not, she was a Dahlia. 

“You are just as beautiful as I remember you in my dreams,” he said. 

She smiled, her dark eyes sparkling at him, saying, “You seem taller. Is this what happens when you go to university? You grow in intelligence and body, too?”

He blushed. “You are teasing me.”

“You do not seem to mind,” she said, resting her hands on the railing as she looked out across the view of the gardens. “After all, you sent me so many poems, I must catch up to your compliments.”

He glanced away, joining her at the railing. 

“It is good to see you,” she said quietly. She did not look at him, however, giving him the safety of semi-solitude as she asked, “How are you?”

He was sure his friends had asked him the same question, surely many people had, but it was different when it came from her. She did not expect anything of him, just himself, whoever he was. She had made it clear the first night, for his majority, that he—just as he was—was enough. She had chosen him that night; he had never forgotten how special it made him feel. 

“I breathe,” he said just as quietly. “I open my eyes in the morning and close them at night. I sit on a horse, I walk on my feet, I dress myself and eat and drink. But I am not living.”

Her hand touched his, and he clasped it at once. 

“Your poems were beautiful,” she said softly. “I enjoyed every one of them. But I liked your letters better. I could hear the honesty of your heart in them as you told me of your day, your classes, your professors, your friends. You can be honest with me, Gustav.”

“I know,” he whispered, twisting his fingers with hers. “I just….Odilia, I do not know where to begin.”

“Come,” she said, stepping back from the railing and pulling him with her. “I will call for wine, we will return to my rooms, and you can tell me.”

“I did not bring my purse.”

“It is a gift,” she said with a smile. “I have made my marque, my Dowayne permits me to choose my patrons as I see fit. And I choose you tonight, Gustav. Come.”

He followed her through the halls, glancing only briefly at the frescoes of Naamah and her lovers on the walls. Far more mesmerising was the play of the lantern light on her dark hair. Her rooms were as he remembered them—though he had not paid much attention the first time he had come here—with tall windows and heavy woods, jewel tone upholstery and plush pillows. Truly an apartment of luxury, tastefully decorated to be subtly elegant. 

The wine already sat waiting for them by her chaise, a clear, bubbly prosecco in the crystal decanter to help soothe the early summer heat. She poured two crystal goblets for them and lowered herself onto the chaise, holding out her hand to him. Sitting next to her, he took a deep breath and found the words, knowing she would listen. 

He unburdened his soul to her, pouring all of himself into her dark eyes, offering the troubles of his heart into her hands. And she did not stop him, did not interrupt him, just let him speak. She refilled his wine and held his hand and, when he wept for his brother that he had lost, she stroked his hair as he cried against her shoulder. This could not have been the grand romantic reunion he had wanted or she expected, but it was what he needed. When she wound him in her arms and pressed her lips to his forehead, the weight and stress of the last month was lessened. 

She leaned back, letting him lounge against her, and her fingers combed through his hair and he nestled into the scent of her skin and the perfume of her gown. 

“Odilia?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

He heard the smile in her voice as she said, “Of course.”

“I would like to see you more often, now that I am returned to the city.”

“I would like that.”

His head turned slightly, his lips brushing against the fabric that covered her heart, and she paused for just a moment before resuming stroking his hair. This couldn’t be anything more. It just wasn’t smart. 

He would be the king one day. He could not lift a courtesan up with him. This was only a dream, a naive hope for a romance written in the stars. She was too practical to allow this. 

But perhaps for the moment, she could indulge his fantasy. After all, that was what the Night Court did best.

Crowning Joy—Part 1

It had taken some time for Maël to learn the schedule of the palace, but he was nothing if not a quick study. He waited just long enough to be sure he could do it, then made the arrangements to sneak the Dauphin of Terre d’Ange out of his own palace. Careful timing, stealthy steps, and careless confidence all worked together, and soon enough, the two young men were in the nondescript carriage waiting for them, rolling down the Rue Courcel away from the royal palace and towards the City of Elua proper. 

“So,” Maël said, fixing his friend with his shrewd look, “it’s a lady you’re going to visit?”

“Yes.”

“The same lady whose poems I have helped you write over the last few years?”

The tips of Gustav’s ears turned a delicate shade of pink. “Yes.”

“And your mother does not know about her, judging by the fact that we are sneaking out like youths in the night.”

“Yes.”

“Is that all you are going to say today?”

“No.”

Maël pretended to let out a huff of irritation but could not hide the amusement twitching his cheek. Neither could Gustav, who shot him a sly, little smile. He seemed lighter, Maël thought, the farther they got away from the palace. The weight of his new title did not weigh him down so heavily. 

Maël may not have known the full brunt of that weight, but he understood the long shadow cast by expectation. Gustav was facing his title unexpectedly, Sebastien had been raised as the Duc L’Envers all his life, but Maël had more time to wait. His uncle’s health was always in flux, and Maël knew eventually the county title would pass to him, but until then, he had a freedom that Sebastien didn’t understand–not with how he had been raised and trained all of his life as the Duc of Namarre—and that Gustav had just lost. Maybe his uncle had told him to get closer to Gustav, to become friendly with the prince because of how it would be advantageous for the Rocaille family later to regain some of the honor by companionship that they had lost in David’s betrayal, but Maël had found Gustav to be genuinely likeable. Charming and charismatic, he was deeply intelligent and connected to his feelings. It was easy to follow him, easy to love him, easy to be loyal to him. What had begun as clever maneuvering had become a real friendship, and Maël couldn’t really pinpoint exactly where or when it had happened. 

“Well,” he said. “I feel like I know her already, with all the synonyms you begged me for in your poems. I will look forward to meeting your…what did you call her? The guiding star by which you set your heart’s course?”

Gustav sat a silent crimson, mumbling something under his breath that was surely unflattering to his friend’s character and gross mangling of his very heartfelt verses. 

“Where are we headed, then?” Maël glanced out of the carriage. “Does her family have a house in the Noble District?”

“Not exactly.”

The carriage jolted slightly as it rolled onto the bridge that crossed the river leading to the slightly lower-class districts. Maël glanced at his friend. “Is she…the daughter of a merchant?”

Gustav shook his head, but Maël saw how he was sitting up on the padded bench, a light shining in his eyes as they traveled onward. Whoever she was, she was clearly special to the dauphin. 

Which was why he felt a pang of dismay when they turned another corner and entered Night’s Doorstep. 

“Gustav…”

Gustav blinked almost innocently at his friend, but Maël could see underneath the blithe mask was something else. Something more serious. Gustav was trusting him with this, trusting him with the knowledge of his lady—what and where she was. 

For all that Maël was a schemer—he knew he was, he was a son of Siovale, and he knew well that knowledge is power and that all knowledge is worth having—he was not willing to destroy his friendship with the crown prince of the country over a secret woman. So, when the carriage rolled through the gates of Mont Nuit and began the journey up to the great mansions of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers, all he said was, “I would have been able to prepare better if I knew where we were going.”

Gustav nodded, accepting that, but not apologising for not telling Maël all of the truth. 

Maël watched the avenue roll by though the carriage window. He did not spend much time in the City of Elua, but he had been once or twice on university business, and the first time he had visited the City after his majority, his uncle had given him the gift of a night at the Night Court.

Bryony House had been his first experience. His uncle knew his competitive nature and had gambled on his nephew enjoying the games of chance at the Bryony gaming tables. Maël had enjoyed the games well enough, but the joining of bedplay and gambling games was not one that he initially appreciated. Money was money, gambling was gambling, and pleasure was pleasure. He enjoyed the competition of the risk and reward of victory, but he discovered he was not quite the target patron for the adepts there. Somehow, he doubted Gustav’s lady was from Bryony House, however. Which left him to wonder to which House she did belong. 

When the carriage turned onto the drive leading to the Dahlia House mansion, he was not sure if he was surprised or not. He had not been to Dahlia House before, it hadn’t been one that had caught his immediate attention. So this may well be an interesting experience for him. The footmen in the Dahlia livery bowed to the young men as they opened the carriage door. Gustav clearly knew where he was going, climbing the steps to the Dahlia House confidently. They swung inward at his approach, and for a moment, Maël could see the sliver of golden light fall across Gustav’s face, lighting his Courcel blue eyes with a gleaming light. 

The Dahlia House salon was a grand hall, candles set just so to reflect the light in the mirrors mounted on the walls to fill the room with golden light. The rich jewel tones of the drapes complimented the sumptuous nature of the salon with one side of the hall open with glass doors to a grand balcony overlooking the gardens which rivalled even those of the royal palace. The novices of Dahlia House slipped between the mini courtesan courts the full adepts held, serving trays held perfectly as they provided the food and drink to the patrons there courting their Dahlia monarchs. Along the walls were the older novices, those on the brink of their coming of age, painted gold and standing as living statues. 

Maël took it all in as he followed Gustav through the salon, skirting the great black and white checkered dance floor in the center of the salon. Gustav seemed to know where he was going, or at least what he was looking for, he was focused on a singular mission and barely acknowledged the adepts and patrons alike that nodded to him with low murmurs of, “Your Highness.”

A stately woman with silver ribbons threaded through her hair rose from her seat to approach the Dauphin. “Your Highness, welcome back to Dahlia House.”

He took her hand and brushed a kiss to her knuckles. “Dowayne, thank you. Is she…?”

“I believe I saw her take a moment on the balcony.”

He smiled. “Thank you.”

He took off with quick steps, striding for the balcony, and before Maël could follow him, the woman was addressing him. “I have not seen you in the salon before, my lord. May I make your acquaintance?”

Maël was many things, but rude was not one of them. He presented himself properly to the lady, introducing himself, “Maël de Rocaille, my lady.”

“Jocaste nó Dahlia,” she introduced herself, taking him by the arm and leading him to the couches in her corner of the salon. “A pleasure to meet you, Lord Rocaille. Welcome to Dahlia House.”

Maël tried to turn his head, craning to keep an eye on his friend, and Jocaste smiled. “Have no fear, my lord. No harm will befall him here. Only joy.”

Gustav stepped out onto the balcony, his head turning until he found the figure standing in the shadow of one of the ivy-wrapped support pillars. The moment his eyes fell upon her, he felt the serenity wash over him like a wave, filling his chest with light as he took a step toward her. “Odilia…”

She turned, a look of surprise on her face morphing slowly into one of affection as she answered, “Gustav.”

Royal Reunion

Underneath the shade cast by the royal canopy tent, Queen Anielle de la Courcel clasped her hands tightly to stop herself from wringing them. Her senechal had brought her the news that she had long been waiting for. Her son had returned to the City of Elua. For the first time in years, she would come face to face with the young man her second son had become. 

The young men, weary from their days of travel, had been met at the palace by the Head Chamberlain, who greeted the first of the riders with a deep bow and a reverent, “Welcome home, Dauphin Gustav de la Courcel.”

Gustav’s horse danced under him, and Maël saw the tightening of the muscles in Gustav’s jaw that revealed the way he clenched his teeth before answering, “Thank you. It has been a long journey.”

“Baths are being prepared for you and your companions, Your Highness,” the Chamberlain said as ostlers came forward to take the horses while the young men dismounted. “Your mother will be informed and will surely wish to greet all three of you herself. Please, refresh yourselves, and we will bring you to the queen in due time.”

And so the three were separated—each to their respective suites. Sebastien was shown to the L’Envers suite his ducal family maintained; Maël was taken with heavy apologies to a guest suite done in the themes of Siovale, as the Rocaille family did not keep their apartments in the palace, preferring to maintain a townhouse on the edge of the noble district; and Gustav was shown to the suite kept for the Dauphin of Terre d’Ange. For as long as he had known them, they had been his brother’s rooms. Now they were his. All of the belongings from his chambers had already been moved, Daniel’s things long gone. That, more than anything, cut through Gustav’s carefully constructed defences. He sat down on the edge of the bed, breathing in the quiet stillness of the chambers that echoed with his life while his brother was dead, and closed his eyes against the onslaught of grief. 

Eventually, he bathed and dressed himself in fresh clothes, joining his companions at the terrace overlooking the garden. And the royal tent that was there on the far side of the carefully sculpted hedges and beds. 

The queen waited, her gown still the deep color of mourning, her dark hair covered still in the translucent gossamer veil beneath her simple circlet. She did not pace, she stood still and looked out over the rolling hills of the rest of the grounds, the palace behind her. The servants had set out a bowl of fresh fruit and a blown glass carafe of light wine, something to welcome the queen’s guests. And she did hear them coming, the crunch of boots on the path getting closer and closer. 

Taking a steadying breath, she turned to survey the young men who came to her canopy. Sebastien L’Envers, tall and lean with a fencer’s grace and dark violet eyes. Another young man, one her steward had said was Maël de Rocaille, nephew to the Count who maintained the Université de Rocaille, with his clever smile and bright brown eyes under his auburn hair. And then: her son. 

Gustav had the Courcel blue eyes. She remembered how they had blinked sleepily up at her when the music had him dozing on her lap. His hair had been blond, like his grandmother Sidonie’s, but had darkened as the years passed into a deep honey shade that sometimes looked like burnished bronze when the sun hit it just right. He walked with the confidence of a young man, but without the swagger of arrogance. His shoulders were broad, his build lean like Sebastien’s but more restrained, without the flourishes of Sebastien’s fencer’s style. He resembled his grandmother, a true Courcel. 

He bowed to her, his companions following suit, with a murmur in unison, “Your Majesty.”

The Queen slid her royal mask over her face and smiled at the three of them. “Rise, please. My lords, thank you for escorting the Dauphin safely home. Please enjoy the gardens while I have a moment with my son.”

However, in a move that prickled deliberately at her pride, she watched the two noblemen rise and glance at her son, as though waiting for his permission. Gustav gave his friends a small nod and only then – only then! – did they take the three steps back to leave the royals alone under the pavilion tent. And Anielle, speaking in the fresh flare of the sting, said crisply to her son, “Well, you seem to have become accustomed already to the command of authority.”

Her son looked at her, his face blank, and he replied, “Madam, I have returned to the city as you bade me. I present myself to you as required. I serve at the pleasure of Her Majesty, the Queen, as do all of her loyal subjects.”

The distance in his tone was a fresh wound anew, and she forced herself to swallow her hurt, putting it aside and gentling her voice to say, “Forgive me. I have missed you, my son. Please, sit with me. Tell me of these last years.”

Gustav remained standing, his hands clasped loosely at an easy courtier’s rest, giving his report impersonally. “I have endeavored to succeed in all of my studies, learning languages and history as well as tactics and philosophy. I have read the writings of the great thinkers from Hellas in the original Hellene and studied the epic poetries of Hellas and Caerdicca Unitas. I have found a particular interest in astronomy and tracking the movements of the stars, as it draws on the legends of the constellations as well as the earthy science of the mathematical calculations of the rotations of the skies. I have done my best to study everything that could serve me well in service to my queen and country.”

“Surely you have done me proud,” Anielle said, pouring herself some of the wine to cover the way her fingers trembled. “I have read each of your letters recording your academic successes, I have kept them all. But you have been many years away from me. I would like to know the man you are now.”

“Rest assured, Your Majesty, I am become a man that will serve the country loyally and with all that I am as the new Dauphin.”

“Tell me of your companions,” his mother said, some desperate grief in her heart at the formal way he still spoke to her. “How did you meet them?”

“His Grace, the Duc L’Envers, introduced himself to me when I arrived at the University,” he said. “As a more senior student, he was more than willing to help me learn the locations of my classes and how best to impress the professors. Lord Maël, due to his upbringing within the university itself, often serves as assistant to the professors. He offered me some advice in strengthening my performance in a particularly difficult class and has proven himself not only intelligent but a true friend. They are good men both, I am honored to have their friendship.”

“Good friendships are all the more valuable for those with the responsibility of leadership,” Anielle said, lowering herself to sit at the table with her wine. “I hope your friendships with them only continue to grow, Gustav, I truly do.”

She watched him with her Courcel blue eyes before releasing a heavy sigh. “Gustav, my son, I will not force you to speak with me if you do not wish to. But I have missed you, and I am glad you are home. Your sister will likewise be thrilled to see you.  She read your letters every moment of the day when they came, memorising every word. Will you visit with her?”

“Of course.  When will we speak of the new responsibilities of my title?”

“You have been travelling for the better part of a month, you may rest before we look to the future of the kingdom,” she said wearily. “Take some days to yourself, remember these palace halls and the city, then we will speak again about what is next, Dauphin Gustav.”

She covered her eyes with her hand, her heart heavy as stone, and she heard more than saw her son – her son! – give her a courtier’s bow, murmuring, “By your leave, Your Majesty.”

Gustav turned away from the half-stranger who was his mother, stepping out of the canopy and into the garden. He had only taken three steps before the first figure emerged from the hedges. Maël was silent, and only stepped into place at his friend’s left shoulder. Another four steps and Sebastien joined them. The three walked silently through the gardens, along a meandering way back toward the palace before the Dauphin, Crown Prince of Terre d’Ange and heir to the Courcel throne, stopped. 

“Maël,” he said quietly, “I need your help.”

“Anything.”

“There’s somewhere I need to go in the city, someone I need to see. I want to get there quietly and subtly. Find a way to get me out of the palace and across the city without the entire court knowing, please.”

Sebastien’s L’Envers violet eyes watched his friend. “Causing trouble already, Gustav?”

Maël only smiled. “Oh good! Time to have some fun!”