By the time the official announcements had been made and the pamphlets were papered across the City of Elua, she was gone. She had stayed long enough to offer her brief respects to the fallen Mandrake, but soon enough she was gone.
Jocaste had tried to stop her, tried to ask for time and for patience, for her Second to choose temperance instead of passion. But Odilia had been cold as the winter ice of the Longest Night itself. “Why should I stay when again I have been humiliated?”
And there was another willing to offer sanctuary.
The Duc of L’Agnace had a marvelous estate, several generations old and filled with the history of Terre D’Ange and the glory of L’Agnace. The province was the heart of the country geographically and many would say even culturally. L’Agnace hosted the City of Elua itself within its territory, and the fertile farmland fed most of the country.
It was a peaceful place. And she needed peace.
Odilia stood at the balcony outside the parlor of her private suite—the second best rooms of the chateau—watching the gardeners tend to the grounds of the Chalasse estate. The flowers were blooming, they needed upkeep so they could provide the Duc’s bees with enough nectar to create the honey of which he was so proud.
It was peaceful here. She could find happiness here.
His invitation had arrived the very same day that the first announcements had been made of the royal engagement. He certainly had wasted no time. The clinical part of her appreciated his pragmatism. Better to jump on the new opportunity as soon as it arose. And the wounded part of her, the part that had hoped for something special and magical, wanted to be taken care of. She hurt. In the deepest parts of her heart, she hurt.
Her left hand rose to press her palm to her cheek, trying to force herself to calm again—trying to push down the emotions that rose in her chest, the ones that would bring her to tears again. There was no use in weeping. She had known who the Crown Prince was when he had first come to Dahlia House. She had known there would be no fairytale, no grand romance like the great Phedrè with her Cassiline or Queen Ysandre with her Cruarch. She had known this. There was no use wasting her tears on something she had always known she would never have.
She wished Gustav all the best, she really did. There was nothing else she could do. And she…
Well, she did love him. She wanted him happy. Her prince who had rested in her arms and told her her eyes were the stars by which he set his course. She loved him.
But he needed to love Terre D’Ange more, and she was many things, but selfish was not one of them. She wouldn’t keep him hers when a king needed to serve his people above all.
Besides, there was another offer on her table. Another question had been raised, another possibility lay before her.
She glanced down at the topaz and diamond ring that Roland had gifted to her, remembering his words. As my wife, you would have certain protections. You would be a Duchesse, so long as I am living, you would have a place at court where you could still play your games and influence the politics with your cunning mind.
Odilia would need to give him an answer soon. Perhaps the kingdom should see a double wedding. Perhaps she finally ought to grow up and leave her girlish heart behind.
What had it given her but pain?
