night court – Page 3 – Longest Night Midwinter Masque

Storyline: Nuptial News

It was strange to hear such joyful news so soon after the announcement of the grief of Mandrake House. The Court of Night Blooming Flowers mourned the untimely pruning of one of their best blossoms, and yet that did not stop the politics and the hustle of the City of Elua beyond the gates on Mont Nuit.

A messenger from the palace had brought the news, delivered in trusted hands to the Dowayne of Cereus House, that the Longest Night might be a time of joy for all to celebrate the young King’s happiness.

And soon enough, the notices were placed throughout the city, and riders carried the news throughout the countryside to all the provinces of Terre D’Ange.

From the Royal Palace of the City of Elua, the seat of House Courcel.

By the Grace of Blessed Elua and all of his Companions, His Majesty Gustav de la Courcel, King of Terre D’Ange announces his betrothal.

Upon the Longest Day of the year will His Majesty be wed to Lady Corrian de Borlean of Azzale!

Long live the King! And all blessings to his future Queen!

Storyline: A Fallen Mandrake

Officially, Mandrake House closed its doors for three days of mourning. Unofficially, it would be more than a week before the adepts began entertaining patrons again. For two days after Waldemar nó Mandrake’s passing, Aliksandria was inconsolable. She shut herself in her room and refused all food. On the third day, she emerged in a black gown and attended his funeral.

At the funeral, Aliks sat next to Dowayne Kali nó Mandrake, in the seat usually reserved for the deceased’s wife. She had no legal claim to it, as they were not married and had not even declared each other consorts, and yet no one begrudged her the space of closest family member. The service was overseen by Priests of Elua, as was customary. Afterwards, when everyone left, Aliks stayed in her seat. Only Petrea remained, supporting her oldest friend.

As dusk began to settle, Aliks rose and looked at Petrea. “You should go to Mandrake House, give Cereus’s regards.”

“What? I should go? Where are you going?” Petrea asked, shocked.

“There is somewhat I need to do, and I must do it alone,” replied Aliks, and she left, walking to the carriage and leaving.

Aliks didn’t go to Mandrake House. If she had she would have seen her lover’s flogger laid on a silken cushion in his honor. She would have heard the adepts talk with grim merriment about their lost friend. Likely, she would have been deep in her cups, and she certainly wouldn’t have been alone in that.

No, Aliks went to the Yeshuite quarter.

Her carriage pulled up in front of the Yeshiva, and she bid the driver remain. He was in service to Cereus House and would, of course, never leave the Dowayne stranded.

When she rapped upon the door, a young boy answered it. His eyes grew big upon seeing her, and while she was wearing a modest gown, she knew it was modest by D’Angeline standards not Yeshuite ones.

“I am looking for Esther Negron, do you know her?” she asked the boy, and he quickly nodded then opened the door further to let her in.

She stepped into a small hallway and was directed to sit upon a very uncomfortable bench as the boy left through a different door. She sat there for what felt like an eternity, though it was likely only half of an hour before the door opened, and the Rebbe appeared.

He was a man of middle years with a beard only slightly streaked with gray and a sour look on his face. Clearly, he was not happy about having a Servant of Naamah appear on his doorstep. Nevertheless, hospitality demanded he permit her entrance and curiosity prodded him forward.

He opened the door to permit Aliks into what appeared to be an office of sorts. Seated in one chair was a woman of elder years, eyes downcast. Aliks took one of the other chairs unprompted, followed by the Rebbe.

“Why are you looking for Esther,” he asked coldly.

Aliks looked at him and said, “that I can tell only her.”

The Rebe nodded toward the woman, and Aliks addressed her in Aragonian. “Señora Negron, I am her to talk to you about your son.”

The woman raised her head and looked Aliks square in the eyes. “I speak D’Angeline, girl,” she spat in D’Angeline. “And I do not wish to speak of my son. He made his choices, and I have made mine. Until the day he repents his sin, leaves your goddess’s service, and returns to the One God, I will not speak of him.”

“Señora, I am very sorry to say, but I have come from his funeral. Your son is no longer with us.”

Tears fell down Esther’s face, and she wrung her hands for many minutes. “You loved him.” She said it as a statement not a question.

“I did, Señora.”

Esther stood and turned to leave then paused at the door. “Are you one of her Servants too? Like him?”

“I am, Señora,” Aliks replied.

“And does it bring shame to your family too?” Esther spat.

Aliks sat up straighter in her chair, which was equally as uncomfortable as the bench had been. “My family has been in Naamah’s service for generations, both my parents before me and my grandparents before them serve her. It brings them pride.”

With that, Esther left, and then the Rebbe addressed her. “You have delivered your message, do not come here again.” And she was shown out.

On the ride home, Aliks shed all the tears she had been holding back. She grieved for her lost lover and for his mother too. It had been a thing of great trust that he had even told her where to find his mother. Though his choices had grieved his mother so, they brought joy and pride to Aliksandria and to the others who were fortunate enough to call him family.

Storyline: A Candle in the Night

The decision was made. Aliks had talked to nearly every person of import to her. She had called upon Count Shahrizai, Manuel from the Cassiline Brotherhood, Petrea, even her parents.

Count Shahrizai had told her that she was strong and would do well regardless of her choice. That, while he had never expected her to become a mother, he could see her being a great one. In the end though, he had no opinion nor advice on her choice.

Manuel had written a lengthy letter back, reminding her that while both their lives had been chosen for them by their parents, they loved their paths. He also took care to point out that crofters’ children usually became crofters, and merchants’ children usually grew up to become merchants, so how was her profession any different (a decidedly un-Cassiline thing to say)? His final statement was that his only regret in his path was his lack of children and advised her to have them.

Petrea, on the other hand, had been furious. First, because Aliks had not told her first (though the reason she had not was because she wanted to be sure before she involved her Second). Second, because she feared for her friend. An adept from Gentian House had passed in the child bed not a year gone by, and they had both gone to her funeral. Finally, she had reminded her that every child at Cereus House was Aliks’s child. It was part of the Dowayne’s duty to guide the children under her care.

Her parents, having retired from Naamah’s service and taken up a residence in the city, told her what it was like raising a child in the Night Court. They shared their challenges of living in different Houses and how her father had made a point to visit his child twice a week, at least until her marque was sold. It was not easy, they said, to be a parent and a Servant of Naamah, but it was emphatically worth it to them. They left her with the reminder that the choice was hers alone, but help and advice would always be available from their home.

Aliksandria sent a missive to Mandrake House, requesting an assignation with Waldemar at the Shahrizai hunting estate outside the city. Count Niklos had been kind enough to offer it. This was a conversation she wanted to have away from Mont Nuit.

The day arrived, and with it early snows. They arrived at the manor separately, Waldemar arriving about an hour before Aliksandria. They greeted each other warmly then went to the sitting room to talk.

A large fire was roaring in the hearth when Aliksandria pulled the single beeswax taper in its box from her cloak. She looked at him expectantly, his face was schooled to stillness, but she knew his mind must be racing.

“There is a Temple to Eisheth in the city,” she said softly, “but I wanted to do this alone with you.”

Carefully she took a twig and ignited it from the fire, then lit the candle. She sank to her knees abeyante and began the prayer. Though it was one she had learned years ago, she had never said it before, but her voice held true, and her words did not falter.

They honored Naamah as only a pair of her Servants could, in front of the roaring fire as the candle melted. Their union blessed by both goddesses.

——

As they had arrived in separate carriages, they needs must leave the same way. But Waldemar gave her a departing kiss and assured her he would call upon Cereus House tomorrow.

A funny thing it was. Aliks was a Servant of Naamah and had lain with many a patron, and Waldemar more than any of them. Yet that night in the hunting lodge felt different, and she was giddy as a schoolgirl about it.

Aliks owed it to Petrea to tell her first, so when she got back to Cereus House she summoned her friend and Second to her office. It was during that conversation that the footman burst in.

“What on earth is the meaning of this?” Aliksandria demanded, rising from her chair.

“My lady Dowayne, I am so sorry, word has come from Mandrake House. Master Waldemar’s carriage overturned in the snow. He did not make it.”

Storyline: A Stunning Proposal

“How is my little Dahlia?”

Odilia glanced up as Roland de Chalasse came striding into the private parlor of his ducal townhouse. He didn’t bother removing his leather gloves before taking her hand and bringing it to his lips for a kiss.

“Missing the anxiety of your Mont Nuit and the preparations for the Longest Night?”

“No,” she said, a tiny smile on her face at the thought. “I am not missing that at all. These days spent here have been a balm for my mind.”

“I may not be an adept, but I can manage the basics of resting and soothing.”

She scoffed a little laugh, and he settled beside her on the couch with a theatrical groan. She smiled at him, asking archly, “Shall I have the servants stoke up the fires and prepare a hot bath to soothe your ancient bones?”

“Hardly.” He snorted. “I am hardly in need of coddling. Not even by you, courtesan.”

She feigned a blush, ducking her head in a show of false modesty that he didn’t believe and made it clear with another little snort under his breath. But her fingers absently toyed with the tooled leather of the book she had been reading during her morning of leisure, and she asked it quietly, “What news from court?”

There was a long breath of silence, and she could feel his eyes on her. She didn’t look up, just traced the gilded designs stamped into the leather binding of the book on her lap.

“The vultures continue circling,” he said at last, answering her quietly. “The Caerdicci are particularly intent. They bring their breeding stock out every chance they get to try to catch the king’s eye. Certainly they are lovely, but he doesn’t seem to be particularly interested in any of them. People are beginning to whisper.”

She continued stroking the leather, determined not to react. “What else?”

“They are insisting he make a decision soon. They say it has been long enough. He must choose a bride and a queen by the Longest Night. They have given him enough time to get to know them. A decision must be made.”

“I know,” she whispered. It would break her heart, but she knew it would happen soon, she couldn’t deny that the day was coming. “I won’t stand in the way.”

“I know you won’t,” Roland said, taking her foot and drawing it into his lap so he could rub her feet slowly. “But you have plenty of courtiers afraid that you will.”

“I wouldn’t do that to him,” she said. “No matter what happens. I wouldn’t. I love him too much.”

It felt strange to admit it to the Duc de Chalasse. How far had they come? She had thought he was her enemy, and she still wondered at times what his angle was, what he was getting out of their arrangement, but he had acted with honor, and she couldn’t ask for anything more than that. And strong and fit as he was, he was still past the prime of his life, a man with grown grandchildren. It was strange to find in him a compassionate soul after everything. Jocaste had warned her not to let him into her head, but there were times that she thought he was letting her into his first. And this assignation now, three days as his guest and courtesan in his home…

A year ago, in her rage and fury, she had asked him to help her show the court that she did not have a soft heart, that she was a threat to the court, and he had delivered. Patron gifts, nights on the town, assignations. He favored her for all the City to see. But now with Gustav’s letter, with the very real possibility that she would lose him, her fire had dulled slightly. She had allowed a certain intimate honesty to rise between her and Roland.

And there was warmth in his voice when he said, “I know you do, little Dahlia. That’s why you’re still such a threat.”

“Because I love him?”

“Because he loves you.”

She finally looked up at him as he took her hand in his, rubbing his thumb against the back of her knuckles. His eyes were filled with sympathy. Not pity, he knew better than to hurt her pride like that. But he had seen how the court was pressing in on the young king, had known that if the king had his way, there wouldn’t be any question whom he would choose. And he knew she had been hurting, keeping it to herself, trying to prove herself strong and capable. There was so much in her that he recognised from his younger self. There was so much he could do to help her, if she would let him be so sentimental.

“He does,” Roland continued. “He loves you. This choice is tearing him apart because he knows no matter what he chooses, he will lose. Follow his heart, and he loses power. Follow his head, and he loses you.”

“I never wanted this for him.”

“I know,” he said softly. “None of us want such hardship for the ones we love.”

He reached out with his other hand, fingers brushing her chin to lift her face again, meeting her eyes. “I have grown very fond of you, Odilia. Far more fond than I had ever thought I would. I would help you, if you let me.”

“How?”

Elua, she looked young. Sadness and trust and hope all glittered in her eyes, and he knew she was a balm for his lonely soul.

“We both know he must choose a wife, the kingdom needs a queen. We also both know he will struggle with this duty so long as you are available to him.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“As a courtesan of the Night Court, you have made your marque and all of the country knows what that marque indicates. That you are accepting of contracts. Even if he were to marry, he could still contract you through your House and continue to play at having you for his, even for a night.”

He watched her brows pinch, seeing the way her dark eyes flicked between his, watching the thoughts race through her mind as she followed his logic.

“As a married woman,” he said quietly, “He would not be able to cling to the hope of keeping you. It would break his heart, but he would move on stronger than before and determined to do his duty without…distraction.”

“Married?” The word was almost silent as it passed her lips. He had stunned her, he knew, so he reached into his pocket to pull out the ring box.

“I do not love you,” he said gently, “nor am I asking you to love me. Upon my death, the ducal title will pass to my son, I am not giving you a title of that magnitude. There are some traditions I still uphold, and my son has the right of the ducal lands upon my death. But…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. And he couldn’t keep you as his mistress without unbalancing the tenuous peace of the duchies.”

He opened the ring box to show her the ring he had had made. A gold band with a topaz in the center, like the necklace he had given her, but tucked to the side of the topaz, was a small diamond.

“I know he is the one in your heart,” Roland said, looking down at the design. “The diamond is for him. I acknowledge his place in your love. But the topaz is for me, for the opportunity and protections I can offer you.”

“Roland, I…”

“I don’t want an answer now,” he said. “There’s too much already weighing you down. But I ask that you think about it. Consider it in your grand game. Regardless of what you choose, the ring is yours. Wear it as my wife or as my courtesan, it’s a gift.”

Storyline: Tea at Heliotrope – Part Four

Part Four

She shook her head and went on, “But as you said before, it almost doesn’t matter to most people if the king loves his partner. Neither king nor queen, nor consort is an actual human, they’re toys to move around as we all see fit.”

She opened the cold box and pulled out the dessert and a chilled bottle of wine. “Please, try this shaved ice. It is a triumph shown to us by one of our new adepts. It’s got fruit and sweet things, it’s delicious.”

The wine uncorked easily, and she poured Niklos a healthy serving, then poured her own. “The idea that they’re toys is what makes this Corrian so potentially dangerous and yet so appealing to people. No one knows where she’s from or how she grew up, so there’s no guilt in her being the toy. I am personally uninterested in her past. I need to know her future, her plans, her dreams, her desires, so I can pick them apart and decide if I’ll become soft and give her what she wants or if I will have to stand strong before her and give her what she needs.” She chuckled. “But I’m Heliotope’s Dowayne, of course I use our canon and teachings as easily as I draw breath.”

He nodded as he took a bowl of the dessert. He had heard of such things but had never had the chance to try it, so he took a small bite, the chill running through him pleasantly. He smiled at the fruit flavors, and he eyed the wine. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—refuse it, but he rarely had wine with a sweet. He was curious as to how they would taste together. “I can only imagine how your interactions with the various Houses would be. And Dahlia’s canon seems so…opposite…your own. It feels to me a dichotomy on the level of Valerian and Mandrake? Without the pain, certainly. We all have our feelings about people, and I have no right asking your explanation, as your reasons are yours. As for Corrian, I believe her intent is to throw herself into Gustav’s path often enough that he will begin to look upon her and possibly court her. The concern in the back of my head is why? And for that answer, I need to know more about where she came from. Because if she is a toy, who is pulling the strings?” He frowned, taking a slow sip of wine. He paused, looking at the glass, a smile crossing his face at the interplay of flavors, before rubbing his forehead briefly. “There are too many variables right now. And I can only see a part of the board.” He sighed ruefully. “I’m sorry to have brought all this to your doorstep. Though I hazard to think that we both would have been more in the dark if we hadn’t spoken.”

Mena smiled at him, noticing his pleased expression when he had the wine. She had gone out of her way to find a wine that would surprise him with that choice, and it seems she was right. Getting her own bite, she savored it as she listened to him and thought about his words carefully. “You aren’t darkening my door with worries, Niklos, quite the contrary. I know you are trusted among the other Houses, so I trust that my faith in your discretion will not be misplaced.”

She got up and crossed to her desk and picked up a thick leather folio and set the folder on the table, leaning it on the wine bottle. “That file belongs to one of our patrons who passed away many years ago, so you are welcome to look through it. We use it as part of the education of all the children raised here. Lord Myiere was a patron of the late Dowayne for forty years, from his first visit here just after he reached majority to the day he died in a freak accident seven years past.”

She looked up at the ceiling, carefully considering how to proceed. After a long silence, she spoke. “Not all who are called to Heliotrope have a natural gift that allows them to read patrons correctly in the moment. Plus, patrons will often need to be seen by more than one adept. So, many, many years ago, a system was set up where we train all who are raised here in the art and skill of observing, predicting, and handling people. And we keep extensive records.” She gestured at the folio on the table. “Lord Myiere has four such collections, that one is the weightiest, as it was made in the first two years of his patronage of Ricard. Helping train the children in the nursery and the novices was added to my duties when I was nearing twenty. And as Second, keeping abreast of the comings, goings, and shiftings of the City, as well as helping predict a patron’s whims was one set of duties I was best at. Despite my terrible penmanship and hatred of paperwork. I feared this was a potential problem.”

She sat down in her chair as close to heavily as a lifelong adept could. “I told the Dowayne that a Dauphin with an adept as a public lover was the riskiest of situations. I don’t pretend to know everything or have my hand in political intrigue, but I know people, I know how to read people, and I know how to anticipate. This Court is supportive of His Majesty to the point of being indulgent. But there’s no way that they would allow him to choose an adept, let alone a Dahlia, as his bride, and the brides that would suffer a Night Court trained official mistress are as rare as snow in the heat of summer.” Laughing a little, she went on. “He told me that, even in the summer we can see the snow on distant mountains and that I was worried about something that would likely not come to pass, as men’s hearts are fickle. We had a bet on it, and the large red roan horse in the stables shows you who won. This is a time of potential upheaval for all of us, Night and Day Court alike. Perhaps we need to step in and quietly remove women from his path until we leave him with that snow-capped peak.”

After a pause for a sip of her wine and to collect her thoughts, she went on. “I mean that in our way, of course. A delayed carriage, a public mistress at a social gathering, an ill-mannered conversation, or food that doesn’t sit well with the lady’s disposition. You were right earlier, when you said that Heliotrope and Dahlia are opposite each other. They are upright and unbending in all things, something I do not understand, clearly.” She gestured down at her gown with a smile. “I might not know what she’s doing or why, but I feel that it is my duty to aid Odilia in finding her happiness. And, more importantly, helping to ensure that the Night Flowers can bloom without the influence a jealous queen would have.”

Storyline: Tea at Heliotrope – Part Three

Part Three

He chuckled softly as he took the bread from her, her earlier words having cut rather closely. Time felt like it was hurtling forward, as opposed to the slow and steady march it had felt like in his youth.

He nodded. “The Dahlia, yes, I have heard about her. And I don’t think I’m as well-connected as I once thought I was. Too much turmoil in the typically placid waters.” He took a bite of the bread and jam, his eyes widening fractionally, surprised at the taste. He chewed slowly, interested in where Mena was leading.

Mena smiled and chewed her bite carefully. “You are right, there’s a lot of turmoil swirling around here. Between the poor bachelorettes, Odilia, and the nobles and guilds all on a knife’s edge, we’ve all been struggling. One of the things our patrons come to us for is to be soothed and made to feel as though their worries will fade away. It’s been hard to do that lately, particularly since my adepts are not feeling stable themselves.”

“And now there’s that new noblewoman…what’s her name…” He paused, waiting for a reaction from her. “Corrian. That’s her. I ran into her at the Hall of Games, and when she found out my family her reaction was…rather negative. I thought we’d gotten past all of that. And then I bumped into her at de Morbhan’s fête. She and I are supposed to visit Bryony, now that I think of it. The poor king. All these possibilities circling him. I can’t imagine what it’s doing for your business…or that of half the other Houses.” He reached out and took his tea cup, taking a sip and relishing the flavor.

Mena made a face. “Mmm, I have heard of her. One good thing about my adepts is that they often accompany their patrons not as adepts, but as partners.” She laughed again, brighter this time. “Which is why I can’t often keep them once they’ve made their marques. I digress, two of my adepts have had direct interactions with her, and most of them hear of her from their noble patrons. She is like a bite that has crunch in what’s meant to be a smooth dish.”

Picking up her own cup, she had a sip and closed her eyes momentarily. “This tea is worth the price I pay to have it brought to me. It never fails to clear my head and improve my mood.” She smiled at him as she had another sip. “I can only speak for us, but Heliotrope’s loyalty is to the king’s heart. We support and desire for him to take a partner who flows into the spaces in his heart like honey. Beyond that, we have no opinion. As for how business is going,” she shrugged. “I am not the accountant, that’s Matin, his office is on your way out, if you’d like to know specifics.”

He grinned. “It is good tea. If Jacob didn’t have his own blend that he insisted on, I might be asking you where I could obtain this one. And I don’t think I need to meet with Matin. Your House’s accounts are none of my business. I just find it odd that this Corrian of no real influence is suddenly a piece on the gameboard. And we both know marriages at some of the higher echelons of Terre d’Ange are purely political. Love doesn’t always enter into the equation. Marriages for the Crown are even more complex. I don’t believe His Majesty is in a situation like Ysandre once was. But I don’t move in his circles often enough. He’s a good man, and I’ve seen him on occasion, but I’m not one of his close acquaintances. That’s probably for the best, as I would probably cause more harm than good if I associated with him too often.” He chuckled then, a broad grin on his face. “We all know how well scions of Kushiel are perceived when they move too closely to the Courcels.” He picked up a little cake, having finished the bread and jam, and took a bite, a strange glint in his eyes.

Mena laughed quietly but with no real humor. “It seems we have adopted that from the Yeshuites: the sins of the father being passed to the children. The Court of all people should know that one’s family name means nothing about the individual. How many of them spend their nights in our Court, bemoaning the uselessness of their first born? Besides, that was a long while back, and just because a person’s tendencies aren’t yours, that doesn’t make them a traitor.”

She rolled her eyes. “That bothers me, my apologies for my outburst. We find that occasionally in our Court: a born in-house novice or adept lording it over a transfer or purchase. It’s despicable, we’re each a clean slate to Naamah and Elua, aren’t we?”

Giving her shoulders a shake, she inhaled deeply. “Never mind that. This Corrian problem is one that we’ll see a solution to in our lifetime, let’s apply our energies to that. I am incredibly confused as well by her appearance. My adepts are listening and asking of their patrons.” She smiled again, reaching for a plate of dates and offering them to Nikos as she spoke. “Not in any spying kind of manner, just gossip we haven’t heard. We’d hoped, myself and a few other Dowaynes, that Odilia would come and pass on what she knew, or at least let us know she remembered who raised her. She, of all people, should know who this woman is, wouldn’t you think?”

He gently motioned his dismissal of the dates as he considered her words. “We should all be clean slates, but there is always the possibility that family lines run stronger than we would hope. As for the Corrian question…Do we even know where the Borlean family comes from? She’s pretty, but she could be from half the provinces.”

He shrugged, then grinned. “I think Odilia has some of her own ambition. Dahlias have always gone hand in hand with pride. I get the feeling she saw an opportunity, and she made a play for it. She could love Gustav, but I’m not certain she does. But Gustav could love her. And if he does, is that more dangerous or less dangerous?” He leaned back, trying to put all the pieces together, knowing that his network was not as useful as it might have been. It bothered him.

“There is a concern that the contemptuous and dismissive ego that a lot of adepts have contended with in their dealings with Dahlia House have been distilled into Odilia. That she is playing some chess game and we, who will likely be impacted by her actions, are purposely kept in the dark. As for her loving the King…”

Mena trailed off, thinking deeply. “When I was still Second, I had a lot of dealings with other Seconds, but rarely her. She didn’t attend our meetings often and was rarely involved in what needed to be done. Even Orchis’ Second was committed to what needs to be done to keep our lives running, but rarely Dahlia. That shades my opinion no matter how I try to keep neutral. As for the king, I believe he loves her, even if it’s just in the same way you love the view from your balcony at midwinter.”

Storyline: Tea at Heliotrope – Part Two

Part Two

The morning, three days hence, arrived. Niklos had been busy these past days, gathering whatever information he could on Mena. He had passing familiarity with her, having met her a few times at the Palace when she’d been Second of Heliotrope. He remembered her as being incredibly efficient, and rumors in the City did not disabuse him of that memory. Jacob had been terrifyingly useful in getting information on the now-Dowayne of Heliotrope, and it appeared that not all the houses on the Mont were fully behind the Dahlia’s power play. That made sense with the various canons of the Court, and Niklos found himself unsurprised that Heliotrope might be one of those houses on the fence, as it were. Niklos had a small smile on his face as he climbed into the coach for the ride up to the Mont, settling in comfortably for the ride.

The coach pulled up to the gates of Heliotrope in good time, and the driver announced Niklos’ presence for a meeting with the Dowayne, upon which the gates were opened, and the coach entered the confines of the house itself. As Niklos stepped down from the coach, his eyes took in some other coaches waiting in the yard. Minor houses all, but they would also be important moving forward. He made his way to the main door of the house and smiled at the initiate that opened the door. “Count Niklos Shahrizai here to see Dowayne Philomena no Heliotrope, at her invitation.” He waited patiently for the initiate’s direction.

Vouloir had been waiting for the Count’s coach to arrive, her fingertips tingling with anticipation. Or nerves, she wasn’t sure, but she was choosing to believe that it was the former. She pulled the door open and curtseyed, “My Lord, the Dowayne is expecting you. Please follow me to her office.”

Gesturing to the stairwell behind her, she turned and started up them, trusting that he would follow her. Elua knew she wanted to speak, to ask him questions about the day, the news, the crops, anything to fill the silent walk, but her Dowayne had expressly forbidden her from doing so, saying that she alone was to escort him and that after, when she was dismissed, she was to sit in the kitchen, eat her meal, and listen for any comments from adepts or staff on the topic of his visit or any gossip that sounded related.

After extending her invitation, Mena had asked her Day Errand Adept if there was anything she needed to know about her visitor and had been told nothing that she didn’t already know or hadn’t heard through Night Court gossip. Very well, a straightforward visit, likely both social and fact finding, which was exactly what she needed right now. A mentally stimulating visit from someone she knew well enough but not so well that she could predict their every move.

The decision to conduct the visit in her private office, not her official one, was a given. Her official office was for things that were, well, official. This was a mutual fact-finding mission wrapped in a social call, and these things were never official. So she’d had her office tidied some, the low table between two chairs cleaned off, and the room aired. Her clothing and hairstyle were also chosen to reflect that this was not official: a day dress in Helio’s colors and her hair braided and pinned up off her neck. While she waited, she read a book she’d been meaning to catch up on to keep her mood even. Paperwork would only put her in a mindset that would be useless for this visit.

She lifted her head from her book when she heard Vouloir’s knock on the door, watching the door push open to admit the girl and her guest.

“My Lady Dowayne, Count Shahrizai, as requested.” Vouloir’s voice was polite yet unyielding. Mena smiled and thought, ‘I was right about this one, so very right’

Standing, she nodded at the girl. “Thank you, Vouloir, please go enjoy your meal and have the kitchen send up the food I requested.”
Vouloir nodded, curtseyed again to Count Shahrizai, and before she’d left the doorway, Mena gestured to the comfortable chair in front of hers before sitting back down. “My lord, do come in and have a seat. Food and drink will be up soon. I know that the rest of the Court is on quite a different schedule from us, but I think everyone appreciates a light meal and good drink after midday?”

Niklos nodded politely to Mena as he entered her office. He was curious, as he didn’t think he’d been inside the Dowayne’s private office here at Heliotrope before. He’d certainly been to some others, Cereus being the first in his mind, but any time he had visited Heliotrope before he had been accommodated in the more public, “official” office.

His eyes followed the adept who’d led him through the House, a brief upturn on the corner of his lips. She had carried herself as if his presence was the most important thing she would undertake…and he supposed that was befitting of a Heliotrope. Wasn’t their canon devotion? His eyes turned to Mena, studying her as he moved towards the chair she’d gestured to. He caught the book that looked like it had just been set down, but there was no title on the coverm and he was curious as to what she might be indulging in. “Refreshments would be most welcome, my lady.”

He leaned back, relaxing in the chair, a languid smile crossing his face. “And how have you been, Dowayne Philomena? How has your adjustment to being head of Heliotrope House been? I must be honest, I was a little surprised to hear that your predecessor was retiring, but I am happy to know yet another old acquaintance in a position of leadership within the Night Court. How are you?”

Mena smiled at him. “Please, call me Mena. I only rarely stand on ceremony and never in my home.” At the mention of her predecessor, she felt a pang of grief. Few outside of the House knew the truth. “It was a shock to be sure. He hid an incurable illness behind his retirement and died a few weeks after his retirement was announced. We didn’t tell anyone at the time, as per his wishes. He didn’t want a fuss to be made over his passing.”

A quiet knock on her door came, a man came in carrying a large tray, followed by a girl no more than twelve who was carefully carrying a box. Mena looked up at them and smiled, grateful for the distraction. “Ah, Rich, Louise, thank you both so much.”

The man smiled back at her as he set the dishes out, “You are welcome, my lady. If you and His Lordship need anything else, Louise will be just outside.”

Mena turned her smile to the girl, “Make sure you have your schoolwork or something to read, child. We might be a while, it would be a shame to waste that time.”

Louise curtseyed before she left, “Yes, Lady Dowayne.”

Mena turned her attention back to Count Shahrizai. “I was unsure what you preferred, so I had a selection prepared. My cook is incredible. She makes this cold soup that you simply must try.” She gestured to the small bowls as she continued. “There’s also meat and cheese and our homemade bread, if that is more to your liking. Also just for you, because I know how you adore wine,” she patted the top of the box that Louise had brought in, “I have some of one of our chilled wines here, as well as a delightful mixture of cold fruit, sweet wine, and some shavings from our last ice block.” Cutting two slices of bread, she held one out to him. “This is a recipe as old as Heliotrope House. All of our novices learn it, and there is nothing like it in the world.”

He leaned forward and took one of the slices of bread, his eyes ranging across the variety of delicacies that Heliotrope had provided. He was impressed, their cellars might be as good as the ones at the Townhouse. He would have to speak to Jakob about that.

“You are too kind, Mena. Far too kind.” He took a bite of the bread, enjoying the taste. “This bread is quite good! A house secret, I’m guessing? Delicious.” He leaned back into the chair, relaxing as he processed the information she had provided. The old Dowayne had passed, and it seemed somewhat unexpectedly. He hadn’t heard the news, but he also didn’t move in circles with anyone who could provide him continuing information on the goings-on within Heliotrope. He was grateful to have some insight into the houses he did know about. “And I expect no formality from you as well. Not here in private, at least. This is nothing but a social call. It’s been far too long since we’ve seen each other…last year’s Masquerade, wasn’t it? I do apologize for my distraction. I should have come to visit sooner.” There had been so many things going on, including his visits to Kusheth. But things were falling into place. He leaned forward to take a wedge of cheese, taking another slow bite as his gaze rested on her.

She smiled a little sadly. “Time is a fickle thing, Niklos. When you’re juggling knives, they’re all you can think about. No matter how much you want or need more, the knives demand focus..” Laughing a little, she added, “at least I can’t. I am no Orchis, and I will never understand juggling. I saw a group of them out in the market a few nights ago, juggling and telling stories. Completely magical, if you ask me.”

A silence slipped over the two as they ate. It was comfortable, contemplative even. As she spread jam and butter on a slice of bread and held it out to Niklos, she smiled a slightly less serene smile. “I know you’re well connected within the Night Court, I assume you’ve heard about Odilia?”

Storyline: Tea at Heliotrope – Part One

Part One

TIme is a slippery thing. One minute, Heliotrope was preparing for the Masque, and the next it was the beginning of winter, another Masque looming in the distance. Mena wondered where the time went and why it went so quickly. One look at the mountain of paperwork on her desk and she knew where. ‘I really need to finalize my Second,’ she thought as she dragged another pile of paperwork over. RIght now—much to the scandal of anyone who mentioned it to her—she had delegated the work of the Second (and a bit of the Dowayne’s, if she was honest) out to three different people: One handled incoming novices and fosterlings; one managed the household staff; the other did the Day Errands, as they were called, the things that the Dowayne couldn’t be seen to be handling in the decent hours after dark.

That left Mena handling everything else, and that was still a lot. Many of her duties from before she had yet to let go of, but as it was, she was drowning in work. She needed a break so she could get her own head right.

As if summoned, there was a knock on her open office door, and Mena looked up to see Vouloir, one of the older novices, standing in the doorway holding a tray. Mena smiled, pushing her paperwork aside. “Loir, come in, my sweet.”

Vouloir smiled like the sun itself, approaching the desk and setting down a tray laden with a pot of tea, a small stack of cups, a dish of shaved ice, fruit, and sweetened milk, and, most surprisingly, a crisp ivory envelope.

Her training kicked in, and Mena smiled in return, gesturing towards the empty chair, “Please, please, sit down, child. Have a cup of tea and a bite of this with me.”

“Lady Dowayne, I don’t want to intrude,” Vouloir replied, her hand lingering on the arm of the indicated chair.

“Mena. You may call me Mena in this part of the House. Especially since you’ll be making your offering to Namaah next week. As for interrupting me, I am in desperate need of a distraction.”

Vouloir nodded, a small smile on her face. “As you wish, Mena. It would be nice to sit for a moment.” She filled two cups with tea and handed one to Mena along with a spoon. As she pulled her chair closer to the desk, she asked, “Aren’t you curious about the envelope?”

Mena didn’t even spare it a glance, “Not at the moment. I am sure it just brings me more work. Indulge me, tell me about the preparations for your dedication.”

Vouloir beamed. “Well, Mother and Father are coming into town, her old House is putting them up for the week. And grandmother and two of my aunts are coming up from Jebe-Barkal to do our traditional ceremony of womanhood. We considered having them stay here, but I ended up trading favors with Jasmine so they’ll be well treated and can go home with something to brag about. They’ve never been to the Night Court before.”

Mena smiled. “I am glad to see you so happy to have your family witness your dedication and to honor your father’s homeland as well. I would, of course, love to host them any time they come, but I can see why you’d want some space between your House and them, particularly since it’s their first visit.”

Vouloir nodded, “Next time they can stay here and know that the sun warms as well in Terre D’Ange as it does in the deserts. Now, my Lady, the envelope. I feel as though I might perish with excitement! What if it’s a love letter?” She gestured with her spoon at the envelope.

Mena laughed. “Loir, my sweetest child, I doubt that. I have no regular patrons, so it could not be a love letter. It has been many summers since I received a love letter. Besides, this new tea and even newer dessert are so much more interesting than a letter that’s probably just some artisan or another wanting our aid to show their goods to the Mont.” She waved her own spoon. “I am not going to tell my own adepts how to dress, why would I agree to tell the whole Court? Besides, I am not Cereus.”

Vouloir picked up the envelope and studied it. “Yes, Mena, the roasted grain tea is so well matched with the dessert the cook just learned of. I think it suits better than most of the leaf teas we have in the House. Now this envelope.” She brought it near her face and inhaled, her eyes closed. “It smells like old books, wine, and candles. And the paper is too fine to be from an artisan, plus the ink is such a deep dark blue; it had to have cost a pretty penny. This has to be from someone important! You have to open it!”

Mena sighed and waved her hand. “Go ahead, Loir, open it for me.”

Vouloir froze. “Pardon? My Lady? You want me, not even an adept, to open mail addressed directly to the Dowayne by name?”

Mena considered the words and then nodded. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Open it. I am sure it’s nothing. And if it’s something, you’ll be able to tell everyone you knew first because your Dowayne let you into her confidence.

Vouloir snorted. “I would never. What happens here, stays here, you taught me that.” The young woman carefully opened the envelope, setting aside the wax seal, and pulling out the heavy paper within. As she read, her eyes widened. “Mena, it is from a Lord of the Shahrizai, requesting a meeting!”

Mena made a face of confusion. “What on Earth is a Shahrizai doing asking to come to Heliotrope?” She took the letter from Vouloir’s shaking hands and read it through calmly. “Ah, Count Niklos. I have met him before at other events. This makes sense now. He wants to come to discuss the current state of affairs with me.”

Vouloir gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Will you do it? Will you meet with him?”

Mena nodded, setting the letter aside and returning her attention to the dessert. “Of course. Not only is he a Peer of the Realm, but he’s asking so politely. When we finish, have one of the runners head over to his estate, and indicate that he is welcome to come in three days’ time.”

Vouloir nodded but still asked, “Me? Me dispatch a runner?”

Mena nodded and smiled at the girl. “Yes, like I said, we’re in confidence now Vouloir, my sweet.”

***

Niklos was not surprised by Jacob informing him that a runner had stopped by, wearing the colors of Heliotrope. Nor was he surprised at the invitation provided. Jacob looked at him slightly askance, but he allowed it. The man had been instrumental in the situation with the Dahlia, and he was quickly affirming both Niklos’s personal trust and the trust of the family. Niklos was certain that the man had been placed as a spy for someone in the family, but nothing he had planned went against the family stipulations.

“Three days?” He asked, looking at Jacob, who nodded. “Very well then. make certain the family coach is prepared. Once I get to the Mont, it won’t particularly matter, but I want the statement of the coach moving through the City. I want the people to know that the Shahrizai haven’t wholly vacated the City.”

Storyline: Odilia’s Memory

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

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

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

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

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

~
Several Years Ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jocaste smiled at her. “Will you play?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Storyline: Gustav’s Letter

Beloved Odilia,

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gustav