Maël de Rocaille – Longest Night Midwinter Masque

To Study a Chessboard

The liveried footman stepped up to open the door of the carriage the moment it pulled to a stop within the courtyard of the townhouse. No one would think it askance that the carriage bearing the green-black-bronze livery of the Rocaille family was coming to the Rocaille townhouse off the Rue Courcel, no one would pay it any mind. The gate closed firmly behind it, and the carriage drawn further into the courtyard to keep it from view, there were no prying eyes that could see the footman offer a hand to the woman that stepped down out of the carriage.

“My lord is waiting for you in his library,” the footman said quietly. “The butler will show you the way.”

“Thank you.”

She swept toward the house with a swish of her winter cloak, and the footman rubbed his hands together. He had never touched an adept of the Night Court before.

Inside, she was greeted by the butler, who took her cloak and showed her up the stairs to the library. It was a grand space, paneled in beautifully oiled wood and occasionally showing a mural of the Siovalese mountains and forests which surely helped to remind the visiting family members of their home. The shelves set along the walls stretched from floor to ceiling and were filled with all kinds of books and scrolls in several languages. A fire had been laid in the fireplace adjacent to the window and set before the window to get the most natural light was a sturdy wooden desk strewn with papers. Maël de Rocaille did not so much sit at his desk, rather he lounged against it, one hand pressed mindlessly against the stack of books to keep him balanced as he propped himself up by hand and hip alone.

He looked up as the door opened, immediately straightening and setting the book down as he greeted his guest. “Odilia. Welcome.”

“Thank you for making the arrangements,” she said, crossing to the fire to warm her hands. The longest night itself may have passed, but winter still held a firm grip on the city and her gloves could only do so much in the carriage.

Maël glanced at the butler hovering in the doorway, giving him a nod. The servant bowed and withdrew to see to the other arrangements his lord had requested, leaving the two of them alone for the moment, which gave Maël a chance to really study this woman. Even with how he had helped Gustav meet with her, sneaking him out of the Palace and delivering him to the doorstep of Dahlia House, he himself had not had a chance to really look at her. She was taller than the average D’Angeline woman, and her excellent posture—likely a product of those House words, upright and unbending—gave her an extra inch surely. Her dark hair was braided back from her face, a practical choice, and twisted into a no-nonsense knot at the nape of her neck to keep it out of her way. He wondered what her pedigree was, whether her family had any noble blood or traced their lineage back to any particular province. He knew very little about her, only that she was the Second of Dahlia House, and that his friend was losing his heart to her.

“Please,” he said, gesturing to the plush, green armchair set by the fire, “sit, and be comfortable. The butler will bring us some light refreshments in a moment. Do you enjoy coffee? I work hard to source the coffee in my house from Jebe-Barkal itself. The strength of it is invigorating and I dare say we will need the strength.”

“A tisane will be fine for me,” she said, sweeping her skirts aside to lower herself to the chair.

“I do have proper tea from Ch’in,” Maël said, taking his seat in the other armchair set at the fireplace. “I have a blend I think you will like, it is smoke-dried which gives it a unique kind of smoked flavour. It actually comes from a kind of camellia plant, did you know that? Beyond just flowers, the camellia family has long been cultivated for their tea leaves and medicine. I have heard some people in Ch’in and beyond use camellias for hair care as well.”

She watched him with her dark eyes and he thought he saw a hint of amusement in them. He gave a little shrug. “I like to learn things. It comes with the family name.”

“Naturally,” she agreed, her hands folded in her lap. “I see how the two of you have become such good friends.”

“Well, someone had to help him study,” Maël said easily. “It certainly wasn’t going to be L’Envers.”

He won a smile from her at that and, even if it was small and close-lipped, he could see the silent laughter in her eyes.

“Nevertheless,” she continued, “I am glad he has a friend like you. Especially now.”

The butler let himself back into the room, bringing with him a tray of fragrant coffee served in the Jebe-Barkal style—in an earthenware jug, with small cups, and with a small plate of roasted peanuts along with the sugar bowl. Maël murmured to him the request for the smoked tea for his guest and the butler bowed. A second servant accompanying the butler had also brought a wheeled cart upon which was set a selection of fresh fruit, some savoury pastries, and an arrangement of cured meats with cheeses.

Maël gestured for Odilia to choose as she pleased from the refreshments and, as she did so, she said, “I also wanted to thank you, my lord, for bringing me the news as quickly as you did. I would have heard it anyway, but I am grateful I heard it from you. Thank you.”

He nodded. “You are welcome. I know how important he says you are to him and I knew this would change a great deal of things. You deserved to know.”

He accepted the small cup of steaming coffee the butler had poured for him and the servants withdrew to make the arrangements for her tea. Alone again, she nibbled on the slice of sausage she had taken, identifying it as herbed venison, before she said, “I asked to meet with you because I think we could be good allies for each other. I said it then and it is still true that he will need our help. A year is a very short time to prepare to become King. However much we can assist him, I think we should.”

Maël leaned back slightly in his seat, cradling his coffee cup in his hands as he got comfortable, asking, “What did you have in mind?”

“Do you play chess, my lord?”

It was his turn to smile as his brows lifted. “I have heard you do.”

“You heard right,” she said. “It is a clear way to help me picture how to strategize. Do you have a board here?”

“It’s not my choice of game,” Maël admitted, “but the family does keep a few in our collection. Do you have a preference of material? Ivory? Metal? Wood?”

“Not for this,” she said wryly. “Any set will do.”

He rose and crossed to the other side of the library, considering a corner cabinet full of various collectible items, before withdrawing a fine chess set. The wooden one was lighter to carry, so he left the metal and marble ones there. She had moved a side table from the wall to place it between their armchairs so that by the time he returned, there was a place for him to set it down. The board was made of cherry and maple woods, the pieces carved from ivory and mahogany, red and gold setting the scene for the Game of Kings.

He opened the box where the pieces were kept and asked, “So, how do you set the board?”

“For this?” She selected the ivory king from the box, setting it down at its proper place, “The king is the king. As for the rest, we can use the pieces to visualize who is close to him. What piece are you?”

Maël considered this before selecting an ivory knight and placing it down. He asked, “And you?”

She placed a bishop down and gestured to the rest of the pieces, saying, “Now, we fill in the rest of the board, as best we can. Who can help him? Who can we trust?”

“What do you think he needs?”

She pressed her lips together, frowning slightly, before turning it on him. “What do you think he needs? You know him on a more personal level than I do.”

“He’s a good student,” Maël said, setting the box of pieces down and picking up his coffee again. “He was always ready to learn new things, try anything, which delighted L’Envers. He works well under pressure, has excellent composure and poise when it comes to public speaking. But L’Envers was always the leader of our merry band, getting Gustav into trouble more often than not. But he was…comfortable. When he knew how his world worked, he didn’t seem interested in changing things.”

“And now things have changed around him,” Odilia said quietly. The butler returned with her tea tray and poured her a cup before silently withdrawing, closing the door softly behind him.

“Fact is,” Maël said, watching her stir a scant spoonful of sugar into the steaming black tea, “I think we could be balancing forces for him. Like the Ch’in concept of yin-yang, almost.”

She shook her head slightly as she swallowed her first sip of the deliciously strong tea. “I’m not familiar.”

“Well,” Maël said as she sank back down into the armchair, “I’m with him at Court and I’m one of his companions in the Palace, so while we’re there, he’s focused on his duties and the responsibilities that they’re putting on him. He may need to be reminded that he can enjoy life. My priorities for him are strengthening his confidence and making sure he knows how to balance his responsibility with his own wants. He cannot be a king cut off from his heart. But when he’s with you…”

She picked up the thought effortlessly. “He is more focused on his desires, putting the royal duties aside. So, while you are encouraging him to be honest with himself at the Palace and face Court with the self-assurance of knowing what it is he wants, I can balance him in his indulgences and show him how to ground his desires and wishes in what he can truly accomplish, helping him build a plan for his own success that he can achieve in his own terms.”

He leaned forward to nudge the knight and the bishop closer to the king’s sides. “If you and I keep a strong alliance, we can work together to guide him and prepare him. You’re right, a year isn’t a very long time. So we need to make our plan now.”

“Then let us consider who we do not trust,” she said, taking another sip of her tea. “Who do we not believe will be good guiding forces for him?”

A flicker of a shadow crossed Maël’s face and he admitted, “It may come from the personal history of my family, but I do not trust the Shahrizai. L’Envers, for all that he comes from the line that killed Edmee, I know him. He doesn’t have the drive to wreak destruction. Not now at least. Anyone can be forced if the odds are against them, but for now his friendship with Gustav is true. If wild. But the Shahrizai?”

He shook his head with a hard look in his eyes. “That family has caused too much pain and their name has been behind too many tragedies. I don’t care that he’s a cousin, Gustav doesn’t need to pay the price of their ambitions.”

Odilia considered this. Yes, this heir to the Rocaille family would have more reason than most to loathe the Shahrizai for what their great and terrible Melisandre did to twist David into her puppet, shaming that family and bringing pain to them. Yet, she had met the Shahrizai Count who had come to Dahlia House to play chess. An ambitious man, perhaps, but she had read him as a loyalist at heart. Whether to the Crown itself, no matter who wore it, or to the true line of succession remained to be seen.

So she only nodded. “Very well. Who do we trust? Who do you think could help him?”

“Sebastien, obviously,” Maël said with an idle shrug, the shadows clearing from his face once the topic of the Shahrizai was gone. “He’s already a friend and, for all his frivolities, he does care deeply about Gustav. The Cassiline, Manuel. Though I’m still not entirely sure about him, I know the Cassilines take their oaths seriously. Manuel will keep him safe, though that might at times put him opposed to our maneuverings, depending on how we push him.” Yet Maël was sure that Manuel similarly was seeking redemption for the Cassilines for the actions of David de Rocaille. He would even wager on it.

“Well that may pose a problem,” Odilia said, reaching for the teapot to refresh her empty cup, “because I have been contemplating a bold idea.”

His brows lifted and he risked a half-smirk as he observed, “You don’t seem like a woman who does anything by halves.”

“Hardly,” she matched his smile in return. “But in my conversations with him, Gustav has hinted that he is not quite comfortable with the level of deference and service he is being shown since he returned to take his place as Dauphin.”

“Facing a coronation next year, I can’t imagine that deference will abate,” Maël said. “If anything, it will only get worse.”

“I agree,” Odilia said, her hand lifting to make sure none of her dark hair had escaped her braid. “Which is why I plan on writing to Valerian House to make arrangements to have them invite Gustav and me to their Mara’s Eve fête.”

Taken aback, Maël blinked. “I don’t follow.”

“Gustav is uncomfortable with the power that he already has and how it reflects in the servitude and obeisance he is being shown,” she said, her fingertip absently tracing the gilded rim of the teacup as she traced her thought process aloud. “Where better, then, to take him to get him used to service and obedience than the House of the Night Court that specialises in submission? Among the other guests of the fête, we will be able to pass without notice and he will be able to see and experience the dynamics of power without the pressure and stakes of a royal court watching his every move.”

“A bold move indeed,” Maël mused, “and unorthodox. But not, I think, without its own merit. Unfortunately, I cannot help you with that. I…cannot say that my tastes run to Valerian House’s particular skills.”

“I am not worried,” Odilia said with a little smile. “I am the Second of Dahlia House, the Valerian Dowayne will take my letter and accept my request. She must. Who among the Thirteen would refuse a royal visit? Even if it must be a secret, she will accept it for the gift it is to have the future king attend her fête.”

“Then while you are tending to that,” Maël said, picking up another bishop from the collection of game pieces and turning it over in his fingers, “I will make a gambit of my own.”

He leaned to put the bishop down off to the side, a small distance away from the king piece. He said, “He will need a powerful ally among the other nobles. I may be the next in line in my family, but our influence is limited in scope.”

“You have someone in mind?”

Maël smiled, “Oh yes. Do you know the Duc de Chalasse?”

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.”

Two Sides of Shame

“I don’t know, Aliks,” Manuel said, sipping tea in her sitting room. “I knew it would be hard, being the first Cassiline to ward a member of the Royal House since the Rocaille incident, but it feels as if my very presence in the palace is an insult to be borne by those around me.”

“Pray tell me what has happened since you were last here, perhaps I can help,” Aliksandria urged him. It had been months since her old friend had shown up on her doorstep, and she was eager to hear how his life had gone and the gossip of the palace.

Before the expression of incredulous shock could fully form on Manuel’s face, she smiled and assured him, “I will keep Naamah’s confidence, you can speak freely.”

He let out a long breath before sighing. “It started the day I arrived. I was to meet with the Lord Commander of the Royal Guard, and when I told the steward of my appointment, he huffed and bade me wait outside like a merchant. When the commander arrived, he was just as curt and ordered me to follow him with such swiftness that I nearly stumbled attempting to bow. Every servant we passed in the hall would not deign to look upon me. The nobles, however, could not keep from gawking at my presence.”

It was hard for a Cassiline Brother to live through this all once, let alone relive it in telling. Manuel was brave, however, and continued. “I was thus admitted to an audience with Her Majesty Queen Anielle, who had requested my appearance in the first place. She was kind enough, though I would better describe our interaction as neutral than as pleasant. She informed me she was concerned about her son and wished for him to be accompanied by a Cassiline Brother during this transition. Though it was well above my place, I ventured to ask her why she saw fit to resume the practice of a Cassiline warding the scions of Elua. She told me that while she had many reasons, her father had always spoken so highly of the Cassiline training, and she was minded to grant an olive branch to the Brotherhood. I am not sure how exactly I feel being the meter the entire order is judged by, but I will do my duty with honor.”

He looked down into the teacup, clearly not seeing any of the details of the pattern on the cup as he continued. “The Dauphin was amenable enough, after his own fashion. He accepted my presence with no argument but on the word and request of his own mother. But only in the role of warder. He made it quite clear he did not appreciate having his mother select his companions for him. I can hardly begrudge him that. His friends find my presence quite the nuisance and are repeatedly attempting to thwart me by sneaking him off. If only they would tell me where they were going, I would be able to ascertain the situation and know if my presence is required. For example, this afternoon they snuck off here, to Mont Nuit. I know that His Highness is currently safely ensconced in Dahlia House which is how I was able to come here for a brief visit.”

Aliks laughed lightly. “I was wondering how you were able to pull this off. I can’t imagine your Prefect would look kindly upon you taking free time to visit the Night Court.”

“Not in the least. But all this is made worse in that one of his companions is a Rocaille, Aliks. And he does not like nor trust me in the least. I can handle not being everyone’s best friend, but I run the risk of being forsworn if the situation does not abate.”

“I cannot imagine it is an easy situation for either of you. You have lived long in the prefecture, but even you must remember how the Brotherhood is spoken of in the Night Court. And many a noble in the palace, nay even all of them, are counted amongst our patrons. You cannot expect D’Angeline nobles to easily abide what they perceive as judgement of their frivolities.”

“I do not judge them, I merely ask they not judge me!”

“I know, love, but they do not know you as I do. And palace memories are long.”

Manuel took the gift of the brown cloak Aliks offered him, wrapping it around his shoulders to hide his grays and cover his sword. However, he was naïve to think a simple brown cloak would disguise a Cassiline Brother in the Night Court. He should have left through the kitchen, but he had stayed too long enjoying tea and cookies with his friend and needed to get back to Dahlia House quickly. The fastest route was through the front door.

“Cassiline?” A voice drifted over to Manuel as he crossed the street to Dahlia House. He turned around, looked both ways until he saw him. A cocky, self-assured man leaning against the garden wall, his auburn hair pulled in a tail over one shoulder as his eyes examined the unlikely sight of the Cassiline sneaking his way out of Cereus House. Maël.

“My Lord de Rocaille,” Manuel said, bowing reflexively in the Cassiline fashion.

“This is a surprise, I did not expect to see you of all people indulge in the Night Court. I wonder, what would Her Majesty have to say about this?” His tone was teasing, but his point was clearly made.

Manuel flushed, not with embarrassment at being caught out but in indignation at the suggestion. “I assure you, good sir, it is not at all what it looks like.”

Maël raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Because it looks like you chose to abandon your charge and break your vows at Cereus House. Tsk tsk, very naughty.”

“I did not abandon my charge, the pair of you snuck away from me and forced me to follow you on foot through the city!”

Maël shrugged innocently. “You weren’t invited.”

Manuel stood his ground as best he could in this profoundly uncomfortable movement. “Regardless, you know as well as I that His Highness is safer in Dahlia House than he is in his own bed chamber! “

“Now you insult the royal guards of the palace and the quality of their service?” Maël pushed himself up from the wall, continuing to eye Manuel with an almost innocent suspicion, like a scholar studying a new specimen. “Is that what you will tell Queen Anielle when she summons you for the next report on her son and his pastimes?”

“My ward is the Dauphin! I do not betray that confidence!”

“No? Not even to whichever fragile flower has caught your eye at Cereus House? What do you see in them, Cassiline? I wouldn’t have expected so stalwart a warrior to be drawn to such frail and delicate lovers.”

Manuel remembered suddenly the way he felt in the training ring when one of the older Brothers sparred against him, pressing him relentless step by relentless step toward a defeat he could see coming but couldn’t figure out how to avoid. It sounded desperate even to him as he tried to defend himself. “I was merely visiting with a friend!”

Maël smirked at Manuel’s anger, a petty kind of delight playing on his face at how easily the Cassiline was thrown off his guard without weapons in his hands to help him save face. “What sort of friend does a Cassiline have in the Night Court?”

Manuel blinked rapidly, his mind scrambling for an answer that would not come. “I…well…I…”

Maël waved him off dismissively. “Was visiting a friend. I suppose that’s the way you would have to phrase it.” He paused, looking thoughtfully into the distance. “I do wonder, though, what do you do with this friend when you have spent your life devoted to the chastity of the Cassiline Brotherhood?”

Manuel looked at his feet. How would he explain without actually explaining? “We do what friends do,” he said quietly.

Maël threw his head back and laughed. “Well it would seem to me a waste of money to sit and, what, chat over tea and biscuits at Cereus House? Why, you could do that with any number of your boring Brothers!” He laughed as though this were the funniest thing he had ever heard. “You must be a rich man, Manuel!”

“It’s not like that!” Manuel burst out. “I am not a patron!”

Maël’s laughter stopped, and he locked eyes with the other man. “You meet with an adept of the Night Court? In the First and Foremost House of the Night Court? Not as a patron?”

Manuel bit his lip, but he held Maël’e eyes. “That is correct.” Though his heart thundered in his chest, his voice held firm.

Maël narrowed his eyes, his brows knitting. “Who. Are. You?” His voice held a sharpness to it.

Manuel’s shoulders fell a fraction of an inch, it was time to tell the truth. “I was born in the Night Court. At ten, I took myself to the Brotherhood rather than pledge myself to Naamah. My oldest friend happens to be from Cereus House, and she is the one whom I have just come from seeing.”

Maël’s head reared back a fraction, hazel eyes very obviously starting at the top of Manuel’s head and scanning slowly down to the tips of his toes and back again, considering what this new information meant. A glint of something mischievous kindled in the depths of his eyes and the smirk spread across his face. “Well, no wonder you’re less of a stick in the mud than I’ve heard your brothers can be.”

Manuel blinked sharply. “What?”

The smirk spread into a full smile, bright and impish. “You heard me fine, Cassiline.”

Manuel blinked again, trying to figure out what to say. “I…I thought…don’t you hate me?”

Maël gasped theatrically. “Hate you? Don’t be absurd. I don’t care about you enough to hate you. I don’t trust you, I don’t know you, but I don’t hate you. In fact—” His eyes sparkled wickedly. “—this just made you much more interesting to me.”

Manuel got the distinct feeling that this was somehow a bad thing.

But Maël merely jerked his head towards the Dahlia House mansion and asked lightly, “Shall we? I believe we have a princely package to pick up.”

Whistling nonchalantly, he strolled across the avenue to the gates, leaving Manuel to catch up. The Rocaille and Cassiline walking together in some strange kind of initial peace towards the House where the Dauphin was being entertained.

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.