roleplay – Page 5 – Longest Night Midwinter Masque

Storyline: Gentlemen Bring Word from Afar

The evening was chilly, so Petrea and Marco sat by the fireplace in her private apartments at Cereus House. He was in the City of Elua for several days, stopping on his way to Alba from Caerdicci Unitas. The silver embargo had been lifted, so Marco had no shortage of work and found himself passing through the City of Elua much more frequently over the past months. The past year had been slim, so he was making up for lost time and profits this fall.

Petrea had been quiet over dinner, much more distracted than usual when Marco was visiting. Her attention was elsewhere and they had retired early.

He sat against the corner of the chaise with her in his lap. She curled against him, comforted by the warmth of his body and the steadiness of his heartbeat.

“You are troubled, my love. What can I do?” he asked, stroking her hair.

She sighed and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face against him. She mumbled something into his chest.

“My ears are up here, not inside my shirt,” he laughed.

She looked up at him and wrinkled her nose in mock anger.

“I said: it feels like everything is going wrong and there is nothing I can do to fix it and unless you are here for the next month and able to step in as Second of Cereus House as well as plan the Midwinter Masque, then I do not believe that you will be able to fix it, either.”

“Ah. Well, yes, I think that may be beyond my capabilities. I am here to listen to you, though, if that will help.”

“I don’t know. I am just, well, it all feels as though it is falling apart. I laid out a very clear plan for the ball and, at every turn, there is some problem or someone has made a mistake. How do the silk dyers mistake blue silk for white? Why did the servants bring out brandy glasses instead of champagne flutes? Why have pheasants been delivered and not duck breasts? Where are the gooseberries for the jam? These are not small mistakes, Marco!” Her voice raised at every sentence and her face grew redder.

Marco took her chin in his hand and silenced her with a finger to her lips, “My love, you have time. The ball is not tomorrow. People make mistakes. You are clearly frustrated, but you are speaking of fabric and glasses and foodstuffs. You have planned this ball for many years and certainly there have been mistakes before. You have a large, experienced staff to assist you. What truly troubles you?”

Petrea looked away, her face falling.

“It is not just the ball; you are right. In years past, I have been able to focus solely on that and nothing else. This year, however, my attention is forced elsewhere and, if I’m being honest, my absence from the Night Court last year contributed to this. I fear that many of these ‘mistakes’ in the ball preparations are guild leaders testing my mettle, seeing how I – how our House – responds to the constant pressure from them. They want to see me fail so that they can talk of our crumbling leadership.”

Her voice grew bitter. “And Aliks certainly is not doing me any favors. Did you know that she – ”

She was interrupted by a light knock on the door and a young adept peeked his head in. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but the Aragonian gentleman has just returned to the City and is asking for you and, er, you did give specific orders that, uh, he was to be admitted the moment he arrived no matter what, and, um, well…”

The adept rambled and looked at the floor. Everyone in the House knew that she was not to be disturbed when she was with Marco, yet she had told them to admit Ramiro as soon as he set foot in the door.

Her face brightened noticeably. “Oh! Yes, please invite him to my chambers. Immediately.”

“Ramiro back in town, eh?” Marco smiled at her mischievously and tugged on a lock of her hair. She had made no secret of her relationship with Ramiro and took no steps to keep the two apart, yet this would be the first time the two had crossed paths for more than a brief conversation.

“It would appear so. You know that lifting the silver embargo has been even more beneficial to him than it has been for you and he is gobbling up the attention of the nobles here as he swaggers around, negotiating deals.”

“And I am sure that’s not all he has been gobbling up in the City,” he teased, pinching her thigh.

She laughed aloud as Ramiro burst into the room. His eyes flew to Petrea, his gaze full of fire.

“Mi florecita, how I have missed you!” He was at her side in an instant, on his knees before her.

He took her hand and kissed her knuckles, his dark eyes never leaving hers, “It has been too long since I have been in your presence, mi amor. I have counted the hours until we could be together again.”

She turned to him and leaned forward, giving him a deep smile and a kiss on the cheek. “It is good to see you, too, Ramiro.”

She gestured towards the man in whose lap she sat. “I believe you are acquainted with Marco Meridius?”

Ramiro blinked, coming out of his reverie. His eyes slid to Marco, who grinned at him. “Ramiro, how nice to see you again.”

Ramiro dropped Petrea’s hand and jumped to his feet. “Marco!” he cried, “What a wonderful surprise to find you here, as well!”

Petrea bit her lip to cover a smile. Surprise? Yes. Wonderful? Not as much.

“Perhaps we should not be shocked to find each other here. It was bound to happen sooner or later with the trade embargo being lifted,” Marco said plainly.

Ramiro nodded. “And what better place to meet than here?”

Marco chuckled.

Petrea motioned Ramiro to sit in the chair across from them, but instead he grabbed a tufted stool and pulled it close to the chaise. Petrea waited for Marco’s reaction, but none came. Ramiro liked to engage in intimate conversation, no matter the topic, but his tendency to ignore social niceties of personal space, which often put others ill at ease.

“So, Ramiro, what news from Aragonia?” Marco asked, lazily draping an arm across Petrea’s shoulders.

“Ah, well, things are much better now that we can trade for our silver. My father was extremely impressed with the way I finagled that Lancelin fellow into pushing for the embargo to be lifted.”

“That was your doing?” Marco raised his eyebrows. “Hmm. It was an interesting turn of events. One day, an embargo. The next, no embargo. I expected proclamations and fanfare, but, instead, business just went back to usual. It was quite an odd situation.”

Ramiro shrugged.

Petrea rolled her eyes inwardly. Of course Ramiro would believe that it was he who was responsible for lifting the ban. She truly hoped that word did not reach his father about what really happened with both the dinner and the lifting of the embargo. Strange that it seemed to simply vanish as though it had never existed. Perhaps, though, not so strange. Those who worked in the shadows clearly wished to remain there. She wondered what moves her chess playing friend made for the Duc de Chalasse to relent.

“So Marco, my friend, your business has picked up, eh?” Ramiro was all business.

Marco nodded. “Truly the lifting of the embargo has been a great boon. Not just for silver, either. With the movement of the ore, other materials and goods are finding their way back onto the trade routes, as well.”

Ramiro’s head was bobbing as Marco spoke. “Yes, yes, all excellent news.”

Ramiro took one of Petrea’s feet in his hands and began massaging it, as he often did when they were alone. She closed her eyes and leaned back against Marco’s shoulder. After a moment, Ramiro paused, as though something important had occurred to him. He looked up and gave Marco a questioning look. Marco shrugged and Ramiro went back to rubbing Petrea’s foot.

“Your muscles are extremely tight, my sweetest,” he commented. “You are troubled.”

Marco huffed a laugh. “She was just beginning to tell me of her troubles when you walked in.”

Petrea sighed. “I am frustrated with everyone and everything, Ramiro. Keeping up with my duties as Second, trying to keep up with the goings on in the City, plans for the ball – you are coming, yes?”

Ramiro shrugged. “I will do my best, but I make no promises. I still do not understand these duties you have. You are a Servant of Naamah, you call it. Is it your duty not to serve her? What else is there?”

Petrea gave him a smile. “The Second is a position of leadership in one’s House. It is not all parties and patrons. We are still a business, as we fought so dearly to prove, and must operate as such. There are accounts to keep, adepts to bring in and train, hired staff to manage, and now my Dowayne is considering lighting a candle to Eisheth!”

Ramiro frowned, working his fingers into her muscles. “What does it matter why she is lighting candles? Everyone lights candles every night?”

“It means she wants to have a baby. It’s some D’Angeline thing,” Marco explained.

“Ah, that would complicate matters for you. She would retire?” Ramiro asked.

Petrea shook her head. “Oh no, not Aliks! That would be far too easy for her. Her plan is to simply continue running Cereus House – essentially managing the entire Night Court – while carrying a child, lying in after giving birth, and then raising a child.”

Marco frowned. “That does seem…complicated. I assume this is with Waldermar?” Aliks’s love affair with the Mandrake adept was the worst kept secret in all of Terre d’Ange. Nevertheless, everyone pretended it was a secret.

Petrea nodded. “I have no idea what her plans are for his involvement. Who knows where this child would live? I assume here.”

She waved her hand. “The whole thing is simply preposterous. The ripple effects of the Dowayne of Cereus House having a child with an adept of another House are too many to even begin to list. And she accuses me of scandal.”

Ramiro nodded sagely and continued his ministrations.

The trio sat in silence for a moment. Neither man knew which scandal Petrea referred to; both secretly suspected it was the one he had caused.

It was Ramiro who finally spoke first. “Marco, word about town is our lady has taken a new Tiberian patron. She has been seen with Crescens Emerentius. Perhaps you have some competition, eh?”

Marco chuckled, toying with a lock of Petrea’s hair. “Ah yes, I know the man. He’s here with his sister, to present her to King Gustav in hopes to marry her off.”

Petrea groaned. “He is one of the most arrogant men I have ever encountered!
It takes every bit of my extensive training to get through the assignations. Of course, I have dealt with men of ego, but this is beyond the pale. He cannot stop talking about himself and his accomplishments – how much he has done in such a short time. Oh how, it is tiresome! Not one that, but he seems to believe that he can impress me with the names of people he has met while visiting here in the City! I must bite my tongue not to retort that I have had half of them in my bed!” She paused and poked Ramiro with her free foot. “I am trusting you two with private information.”

In fact, she trusted that none of this would stay private, what with Ramiro gossiping worse than any new adept. She wanted this to get out. Petrea knew that information about Crescens’s sister, Aurea, was scarce and rare information is always valuable. Petrea knew from Marco that Aurea was proud; she would likely not appreciate insults to her brother and would want to confront the person starting them. If Petrea could draw Aurea to her, so much the better. If nothing else, knowing the Second of Cereus thought poorly of someone would close other doors in the Night Court to him…and keep him away from her. Perhaps deflate his overly large ego.

Marco barked out a laugh. “That would fit with what I have seen of him. His father is well liked enough, but the little I know of Crescens? I would not have picked him to accompany Aurea. Let us just say that he does nothing to bolster her chances.”

“Aurea seems rather quiet, does she not?” Ramiro asked.

Petrea frowned. “She has been seen out and about and does the appropriate amount of socializing, but nothing more. She certainly has not visited the Night Court. Yet.”

“Yet? You have plans to change this?” Marco teased, pulling her closer and placing a kiss on her brow.

Petrea shrugged and gave him her most innocent smile. “Mayhaps.”

Ramiro put her foot on his thigh and motioned for her to give him her other foot, which she did. “Ah, Ramiro, you could make your marque at Balm House.”

“I think that would be quite boring,” he responded.

“Balm House is nice for a night, but there are more preferable Houses.” Marco grinned at him.

“Ramiro, have you had a chance to make the acquaintance of Évrard de Bretel? He spends much of his time in the Gaming Room at the Palace and I understand that you have been given apartments there,” Marco mentioned.

Ramiro brightened. “Beautiful accommodations! And yes, I have met Lord Bretel. Wonderful fellow. We have traded much money over dice. I believe he is engaged in a new love affair.”

“His family invests significant funds in various trading enterprises. I have worked with them often. Évrard always has a story to tell about someone, knows everything. He is most interesting,” Marco explained.

Petrea knew Lord Bretel well; she had used him as a contact many times to keep up with the gossip of the City. She wondered if Évrard had been in contact with Aurea Emerentius. If nothing else, he would have tried. She would have to ply him for information at their next assignation.

Ramiro’s hands had moved up to knead the muscles in her calf. Petrea let out a soft sigh of contentment. Absent-mindedly, Marco trailed his fingers up and down her hip as their conversation continued. Petrea could feel her attention waning. Trade, politics…much though she tried, she could not seem to focus on these topics much longer.

She felt her eyelids begin to grow heavy and the men’s voices seemed to fall away. “I am bored of this,” she said abruptly, untangling herself from Marco and Ramiro and standing.

The two men stopped talking and looked at her.

She looked slowly, deliberately, from one to the other.

“I am going to bed. You are more than welcome to sit by the fire and continue your business conversation, but I am finished here.”

She snatched her skirts and stalked off towards her bedroom.

Marco and Ramiro looked at each other, stunned. What had just happened?

After a momentary pause, Marco gave Ramiro a broad smile and gestured towards Petrea’s departing figure.

“Shall we?”

Ramiro grinned devilishly. “Oh yes. We shall.”

Storyline: Counting Cards

The dinner with Aliks had left Nik stunned. He knew none of them were as young as they once were and he had fond memories of his first introductions to the City of Elua and to society, but the plain fact was that they were all slowly getting older. Nik had inherited the County what, three years past now? The family was in a fine state, but things were changing. He had thrown his weight behind the Courtesan and her relationship with the Crown Prince… well, he was King now and still no closer to being wed. That was why Nik had started frequenting the Hall of Games again. The gossip was far better there and there were far more people there willing to lose money for no good reason.

He found himself at a table of younger Namarrese lordlings who were already well into their cups when he sat down. No challenge in taking their coin, but he wasn’t really there for that. He needed news. He wanted his finger back on the pulse of the Court. There were no rumors yet about the Longest Night; his friendship with Aliks ensured that he’d had an invitation to the fete at Cereus House. Perhaps he’d lose that good fortune once she retired? If she retired. Though, he couldn’t conceive of a Dowayne remaining in office when one was considering a permanent relationship with another, be they adept or no. He was close enough with Petrea and had come to know Aimee. Well, whatever would be would be.

Distracted, he found himself losing a few hands at plaques. He frowned, realizing there’d been another person who joined the table after him. Focusing, he realized there was a grinning face across the table from him. As he moved back to the present, the name of the person came back to him as well.

“Michel nò Bryony… I thought you’d moved back to Eisande!”

“I had, my Lord, but with the Longest Night coming up, my Dowayne asked if I’d make a special trip back. Even though I’ve completed my marque, Rachelle wanted her best people available for the gambling.”

Niklos nodded in response, a wry grin on his face. “Well, that explains why I’m down twenty sovereigns right now. I think I’ll cut my losses. Can I interest you in a drink?”

He stood, Michel rising as well, and they headed toward the bar. Niklos noted a number of eyes following him, curious, until Michel leaned in to comment to him. “There’s a book open on you, my Lord. More than one, actually. One is regarding whether you’ll serve as Sun Prince again, with this likely being the current Cereus Dowayne’s final year heading her House. The other, however, is if you’ll ever marry. I think there are a number of ladies looking to be winners in that bet.”

Storyline: An Old Friend’s Advice

It was shortly after sun set when Dowayne Aliksandria’s carriage arrived at the Shahrizai town house. The hostler took charge of her carriage, horses, and driver while a servant with downcast eyes led her in to the dining room.

Dinner was amazing, as always. Each course more delicious than the last. And the company – well how does one describe dinner with a dear friend? Aliks had known Count Niklos Shahrizai for many years. They met when she was still making her marque. She had been cast as the Winter Queen in the Longest Night Masque the same year he was selected to be the Sun Prince. Later, he contracted her as a patron and their friendship had never faded.

“My lord, please send my compliments to your chef.” She said, dabbing her lips with the silk napkin.

“And your usual marriage proposal?’ he asked with a smirk, gesturing a servant to deliver the message.

“Not this time, my lord.”

“Oh?’ he said, his eyebrows raising a bit, “Was the dinner not as good as usual?’

“Oh no, if anything she appears to have out done herself yet again, but there is something I wish to discuss with you that may affect my ability to wed.”

“I am intrigued.”

“My lord,” she began, “you and I have known each other a great many years and I would like to think that, as such, we have developed a certain familiarity with each other, In that vein, I would ask if I may speak frankly with you this evening?”

“Aliks, please, say what it is you wish to say, you know we don’t suffer on pretense betwixt us.”

She smiled, looked down, took a deep breath then began, “I have been, for some time, engaging in a clandestine affair with Waldemar nó Mandrake.”

Count Niklos nearly choked on the wine he was drinking as the laughter took hold of him, “That is the least clandestine of affairs my lady.”

“Well, that may be true, but I have to at least pretend it’s a secret. After all, what would it look like for the Dowayne of Cereus House to be going to Mandrake to be tied up and whipped?” she said indignantly.

“I trust that’s not all you do there,” he said with a smirk.

“Well, as it happens, Waldemar has asked me to light a candle to Eisheth.”

“Hence no marriage proposal,” he noted.

“Exactly.”

“Congratulations.”

“I haven’t said yes,” she replied.

“Is it your intention to say no?” he asked.

“I’m not sure, I wanted to hear your thoughts on the matter.”

“I think it matters not what I have to say, but what you want, my dear. But since you asked, I think you will make an amazing mother. Elua knows you’ve raised enough adepts in Cereus House. But in all the time we’ve known each other, I’ve never heard you express any interest in children of your own.”

“Both of those things are true and I worry about if and how my life would change once I had a child. I have worked very hard to get where I am. I do not wish to give it up.”

“A lady can do both,” he pointed out.

“But can this lady?”

“This lady stood up to the City Judiciary. I don’t know if there is aught this lady cannot do.”

Storyline: A D’Angeline Desire

Corrian de Borlean knew she had a reputation. To be perfectly frank, she kind of enjoyed it. When she was younger and of age to play the courtship game, she had shied away from it and spent as much time at her father’s country estate as possible, only going to Court when required to by her mother. After her mother’s passing, her father had stopped pushing the issue all together, which gave Corrian plenty of time and space to bed every eligible maid and lad in the county village, plus several ineligible ones to boot.

Time, however, had continued to pass, and what was amusing for an 18-year-old lady, her father found annoying in his 27-year-old unmarried daughter. If she had her own way, she would never have married, and would have continued to find her pleasures in any bed she chose. But her father was all she had left and she would do anything for him, which is how she found herself in the Hall of Games at the palace trying to flirt and compete with girls a decade her junior. She needed a husband, her father had said, but she would not play devoted wife to just anyone.

The gossip in the Hall of Games was her favorite part. This courtier talked of that courtier’s dalliance, all while the first was eyeing a married lady across the room. It nearly shocked her when the topic turned to the King. “His Majesty needs a wife. It is said that his personal assistant is assessing possible candidates as we speak.”

“Oh? Why is it that there is a rush to wed the King?” she asked, trying to play coy, but genuinely interested.

“Wy, the business of Odilia, of course. If the King weds a noble lady, then it will put to bed the rumors he intends to wed his mistress,” said the plump lord next to her, a Monsire Valles.

“I wouldn’t wish to marry him,” said the lady next to him. “To go into a marriage knowing one’s husband has a mistress already? No it’s too much.”

Corrian laughed to herself. A husband with a mistress would be a fine thing. He would be less likely to scoff at his wife’s own dalliances. It had just been a passing thought, truly, but as the night wore on she kept circling back to it. The King was not so much younger than her, so her age would likely be less of an issue. Oh, the idea sat well with her, and by the time she retired to her quarters in the palace she had decided, she would pursue the King.

The ladies who were openly vying for the King’s affections were obvious and dull. If she tried to get his attention that way she would be lost in the crowd. No, she needed to find a different strategy, and what better way to learn what the king likes then to go the her in the first place. So Corrian made an appointment at Dahlia House with Odilia, herself.

Jocaste encouraged Odilia to take the appointment. Lady Corrian de Borlean was not a woman known to be a vicious gossip or noble keen on advancing at any cost. The rumors of Lady de Borlean was that she was a true connoisseur of Naamah’s delights and, so, an assignation with her could be just what Odilia needed to return to herself again.

Odilia sent her acceptance, as well as a date and time, and prepared herself for that duty to which she had devoted her life – Naamah’s Service.

When she arrived, Lady de Borlean would be presented to the salon for rest and refreshment among the younger adepts and other guests of the House. Only once she was relaxed and comfortable, enjoying the music and atmosphere of the elegant Dahlia salon, would Odilia approach her personally.

And when she did make her move, it was with her head held high – upright and unbending – as she greeted her guest.

“Lady Corrian de Borlean. Welcome to Dahlia House.”

Storyline: A Secret Liaison

The tiny room was dark and stuffy, but Marion Basilisque didn’t care. It could have been on fire for all she cared. What she cared about was that Évrad had grabbed her around the waist and pushed her inside, shoving her against a wall and pressing himself against her back as he did so. It was utterly unexpected and utterly thrilling.

She was quite in love with Évrard de Bretel and, when he had suddenly grabbed her hand and dragged her away from their lunch in the salon and dragged her down the hall, searching – desperately, it had appeared – for the smallest, most inconspicuous room, she had no idea what was happened, but couldn’t wait to find out.

She tried to speak, but he shushed her, his breath tickling the nape of her neck and causing her to shiver.

“Wait…” he murmured.

For what?

After a moment, he chuckled quietly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered in her ear. “I just had to get you out of there.”

“Wha- what?” she stumbled to form words.

He pressed his forehead into her hair and sighed.

She held her breath waiting for his answer. He wanted her alone!

“I simply could not listen to Oudine prattle any longer. She chatters on like a chipmunk; although a chipmunk would probably have more interesting things to say. I do not know how you stand to be in her presence as much as you do.”

Marion was confused. Why was he talking about Oudine? What did she have to do with anything? Certainly, their hostess, Oudine de Fhirze, thought she was the center of the world, but Évrad rarely did. If anything, he did his level best to brush her aside at every opportunity.

“Évrad, whatever is going on?” she whispered.

“Oh! Forgive me, Marion.” His voice was gentle. “I must have scared you, grabbing you as I did. That was unkind of me. I saw an opportunity to escape her loathsome presence, so I took it!”

He dropped his hands and stepped back. A wave of disappointment rolled through her. He had not wanted to be alone with her; he simply wanted to get away from Oudine. She should have known.

“Évrad, forgive me.” She cleared her throat, gathered her dignity, and turned around. “But, if you simply wished to be free of Oudine, why did you not leave? Why have you dragged me into this closet like I am a broom?”

She swore she could hear him smile in the darkness.

“You had started to tell me some news of – what is her name – Aurelia? Aurea? From Tiberium. I wanted to rest of the story,” he whispered excitedly.

Silently, she chastised herself for not knowing better. Of course. Gossip. She had begun to tell Évrad about Leonia Emerentius Secunda, the senator’s daughter, but had been interrupted by Oudine raving about foreigners invading and the need for strong D’Angeline rulers. She had gone to yell at a servant and Évrad had taken the chance to pull Marion from the salon.

He took a step forward; his forehead bumped hers. “So, what news? You always tell me the best things, dear.”

Marion ducked her head. His face was too close.

“Um, well, I have heard a few things being said in the Night Court,” she muttered.

Évrad huffed a quiet laugh against her cheek. “Ah, yes, I hear you have been spending much time at the Night Court of late. A special adept there, perhaps?”

Marion bit her lip. She wanted to scream and pound his chest. No, there was no special adept! She went to the Night Court to distract herself from him! And now here he was, quite literally within her grasp. And yet, she had not the courage to reach for him.

She shook her head, causing his lips to brush against her earlobe. She shivered. Pure torture.

“No, um, no one special. Just, uh, as you are aware, a good, um, place for entertainment.”

Through the closed door, they heard Oudine screeching down the hall. “Évrad! Marion! Where are you?! Did you leave?!” She sounded both angry and sad.

Évrad sighed and leaned his cheek against Marion’s temple, continuing their whispered conversation. “Tell me quickly, so we can get back to Her Imperiousness. It will be unpleasant no matter what, but I fear the longer we are gone, the more she will whine.”

“Er, yes. You are probably right,” Marion agreed, desperately distracted by the feel of him against her, the touch of his arm against her shoulder, his leg brushing into her skirts.

She cleared her throat, trying to compose herself. “Um, so, yes, Leonia. Well, her father, in addition to, um, being a senator, is a trader in, um, fine goods. He has been, uh, doing much business with the, um, Cereus Second’s lover, Marco. At least, according to the adepts at, er, Balm House. She, uh, is here with her brother Crescens, I think his name is. He has taken to visiting the Night Court and leaving Leonia in the care of her maids. I, um, have not heard of her visiting – ”

“Ah, so she is not indulging in the D’Angeline culture as her brother is?”

“Not that, um, I have heard.”

“Hmm…interesting. I suppose it is not too late for me to call on her, then,” he whispered wryly.

“Oh, Évrad, do not cause trouble for this poor girl!” Marion’s heart squeezed, as it did every time he spoke of another woman. “Aurea is here to meet the king. She cannot – “

“Why does everyone keep calling her Aurea when her name is Leonia? It is not a proper nickname,” Évrad interrupted. “That bit confuses me.”

“Really? Don’t you speak Tiberian?” Marion was surprised. Évrad was highly educated.

He shook his head and she felt goosebumps on her arms as his nose tickled her hair.

“It’s her hair,” she whispered quickly. “She…she has golden hair – “

“Are you cold, Marion?” he interrupted again.

“What?”

“Are you cold? You have goosebumps on your arms and you keep shivering.”

He started to rub her arms as if to warm her up.

Her mind went blank.

“I wonder what I could find out about this brother at the Night Court…” Évrad was now murmuring not to Marion, but to himself. But he was doing it against her throat. And she was in agony.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back. Évrad, lost in thoughts of sniffing out gossip, did not notice that she had shifted, or that his face was pressed into her throat as he absently rubbed her arms.

She thought that perhaps this was what the Valerian adepts and the Mandrake patrons felt, the co-mingling of pleasure and pain. For while she stood there in absolute bliss, her heart ached. Évrad was her friend and nothing more, she reminded herself. She would never have the courage to advance their relationship or confess her feelings to him and she was certain that he did not share her feelings.

His breath was hot on her neck. Her heart pounded and she held her breath. Perhaps if she stood perfectly still, she could hold this moment forever.

“ÉVRAD! MARION!” Oudine’s screeches from down the hall broke Marion’s reverie, causing her to gasp.

Évrad froze.

“We have to get out of here,” he whispered against her skin.

“No!” Marion’s voice was desperate.

“What?”

He paused. “You said no. She is going to find us. She is going to start opening doors soon. This is not going to be pretty, Marion.”

“I, um, I, er, well,” she stammered, her mind racing.

The moment was broken. It was over. But neither of them was moving. Marion was still pressed against the wall and Évrad was still rubbing her arms, his mouth at the crook of her neck.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she thought she felt him lean into her. But she wasn’t sure. Well, surely he wasn’t. And Évrad would never…

And then.

Then he pressed his lips to her shoulder in what could only be described as a kiss.

Marion was frozen, her blood roaring in her ears. Even in his drunkest moments, he had never kissed her. Even in his drunkest moments, he held to a line. He had just crossed that line.

He did it again. A feather-light kiss pressed to her shoulder.

She shivered hard.

“Still cold?” he murmured.

“No,” she breathed.

He chuckled. “I didn’t think so.”

“Évrad, please don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Please, please don’t, don’t tease me.” She was practically in tears, her voice full of panic. “Just, just, please don’t. I could not bear – “

He grasped her face in his hands and stroked her cheeks with his thumbs.

“I would never tease you, Marion.”

His lips found hers in the darkness and he pulled her in for a deep, passionate kiss.

For as many times as Marion had dreamed about kissing Évrad, the flesh and blood man still left her breathless and dizzy.

He pulled away and she let out a deep breath that she did not realize she had been holding. He leaned his forehead against hers and sighed contentedly.

“I have been wanting to do that for some time now,” he admitted, wrapping his arms around her waist.

He had?

“I think about kissing you every time we go to Night’s Doorstep.”

He did?

She could not think of a response, so, instead, she kissed him. Lightly at first, brushing her lips over his. She needed to prove to herself that this was real. She couldn’t help but tug his lip between her teeth and then everything changed. It wasn’t passionate or sensuous; it was a kiss of desperation, of need; full of every ounce of longing and heartache. She knit her fingers through his hair and dug her nails into his scalp.

“Please don’t draw blood, love,” he whispered. “At least, not here.”

“Oh! Évrad! I am so sorry!” Marion drew away quickly, taken aback and embarrassed by her own boldness.

“Come back here,” he chuckled, his hands drawing her hips against him. “I only meant to imply that a head injury will be even more awkward to explain to your awful friend. I did not mean to say that you should stop.”

“Oh.”

In response to that, he bit her earlobe.

Marion’s back slammed against the wall as her knees turned to jelly. Évrad chuckled and licked her collarbone, his body pressing into her. Her head spun and she fisted his shirt, holding on for dear life as she gasped for air.

“I would not hold on to that if I were you, my darling.” Évrad placed gentle kisses along her throat. “I do not think I will be wearing it in a moment.”

Her heart was pounding so loudly that she swore the entire household could hear it.
She pressed a hard kiss to his lips. He kissed her back with equal fervor, his breath growing ragged.

From down the hallway came the screeching shouts of Oudine.

“She’s getting closer,” Marion whispered desperately.

“Then we had best move this along.” Évrad reached for the laces on her bodice. “I’ll try not to rip anything..”

Oudine stalked the house, calling for her friends. It had been nearly an hour since she had left them in the salon, only to return and find the room empty. She was furious that they had deserted her. The servants had not seen them leave and Marion’s carriage and Évrad’s horse were still at the estate, so they were somewhere in the house. But what had happened? Where had they run off to? Why had they left her?

“ÉVRAD! MARION! WHERE ARE YOU?! I KNOW YOU BOTH ARE STILL IN THIS HOUSE!” she shouted.

From down another hallway she heard Marion’s cheerful voice.

“Coming Oudine! We’re here!”

She stomped towards Marion’s voice, her face thunderous. Why had they been avoiding her for so long, especially when she was such a good hostess?

Upon seeing them, Oudine’s anger drained and she burst out laughing.

Marion’s hair was a mess and Évrad’s shirt was rumpled.

Oudine gave her friend a sly look. “Oh, I see. I leave you two alone for one moment and he drags you off for a little romp, Marion? Well, I suppose he was bound to get around to you sooner or later.”

Marion and Évrad exchanged a glance.

Évrad began to speak, but Oudine waved a dismissive hand.

“It is all right, Évrad. We both know how you operate. Well, Marion, I hope this got him out of your system. Perhaps, now you can stop mooning over him. I was growing so tired of hearing about it. But, really, it was awfully rude of you two to run off like that and leave me. I was in the middle of a conversation and you just left.”

Oudine had turned and was sauntering back towards the salon where the three had been lunching, not noticing that her friends were not following.

Évrad grinned wickedly at Marion and took her hand. “Oh, Oudine!” he called after her. “I do apologize, but Marion and I will be leaving now.”

Oudine turned and gave him a quizzical look. “Well, whyever would you be doing that? We were not finished with our lunch and Marion and I have plans this afternoon.”

“You must excuse us, but I have just made other plans for Marion this afternoon. You see, she may have gotten me out of her system with one small dalliance, but, well, ” He looked at Marion and his eyes glittered. “I am just going to need more than that.”

For the first time in her life, Oudine was speechless.

Storyline: Gossip in the Gaming Room

The click of dice and the slap of cards intermingled with the shout of triumphs, groans of defeat, and murmurs of conversation in the palace hall. Nobles young and old gathered around gaming tables to entertain themselves, to gossip and flirt, and to see and be seen in each other’s prestigious company.

A small group sat at a corner table, ostensibly playing a hand of Knave and Fool, but the game had not progressed in hours. Lord Évrard de Bretel absently swirled in wine in his goblet, his eyes scanning the room, searching for something, anything, to hold his attention because his opponent certainly wasn’t. He turned and glanced down at the stack of coins in front of him on the table, then up at the woman who sat across from him. She sighed and gave him a bored look.

“Why are we still sitting here?” she whined. “We aren’t playing and I don’t even like this game! You said we would only be here for a few minutes to mingle and we’ve been here for hours, Évrad! Hours! I’m so bored I could scream.”

Lady Oudine de Fhirze was known as something of beauty, but her pinched brows and angry pout ruined the image she worked so hard to maintain. Oudine was also known well as something of a spoiled brat, an image she need not work to maintain. She came from a family of wealthy vintners in Namarre and her father had doted on her for her entire life, giving her anything and everything she asked for. As a result, she expected everyone else to do the same. She surrounded herself with only the richest and most influential young people in the City – like Évrad and the other young lady who shared their space.

Marion Basilisque was completely oblivious to her friends’ bickering as she sat, her back to the wall, her eyes fixed on a beautiful towheaded woman sitting at a table across the room.

“Isn’t she just the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen?” she sighed.

“What? Who?” Évrad asked, looking around, completely confused.

“The young Tiberian girl!” She pointed toward the blonde. “The one with the famed golden hair! You know her; she is one who has come to be presented to the King!”

Marion lowered her voice and looked and gave her friends a conspiratorial look. “I have heard about the city that, among the ladies coming here, she could be the most likely to win the King’s hand.”

Oudine rolled her eyes and snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous, Marion. She’s a senator’s daughter. She’s a commoner. She may be gentle on the eyes, but Queen of Terre d’Ange? What a preposterous notion.” She raised her voice, then continued pertly. “No foreign woman would make a suitable Queen.”

It was no secret that Oudine and her family supported King Gustav taking a D’Angeline bride and Oudine took every opportunity to reinforce this opinion.

“Must you go on like this every single time someone brings up these suitresses? It’s tiring,” Évrad glared at her. He didn’t care much who the King wed, so long as it took plenty of time, giving him much to discuss amongst his friends.

“It’s just not appropriate for all of..” she waved her hand vaguely at the room, “..them to come and parade themselves in front of our king like a bunch of sheep before a shepherd.”

“I don’t know why you care so much. It’s not as though any of this affects you,” Évrad pointed out. He swallowed the wine in his goblet and motioned for a passing servant to bring him another.

Oudine tossed her hair and gave him an arch look. “There’s just no reason for the King to take a foreign bride. There are plenty of perfectly respectable D’Angeline noblewomen who would make far better queens. And it’s not like Terre d’Ange needs alliances. A marriage to some foreign girl would just lead to meddling in D’Angeline affairs by some other country.”

Évrad gave her a wry grin. “Respectable D’Angeline noblewomen, hm? Offering yourself up, Oudine? Think you’d make a good queen, eh?”

Oudine scoffed. “Well, I would certainly be better than what’s coming in from across the borders. Not that I would want to be queen. It’s far too much work. Besides,” she reached across the table and smiled condescendingly at Évrad, “when would I have time for my friends?”

Marion had stopped paying attention as soon as Oudine had begun her rant and gone back to gazing at the Tiberian girl. Marion didn’t particularly like Oudine, but being seen with her opened doors to Marion that might have otherwise been closed. Plus, when Oudine grew tired of fancy clothes and baubles, Marion was all too happy to scoop them up.

Évrad tapped Marion on the hand with a card, grabbing her attention. “So, dear, what is it that you have heard about this Tiberian lovely? Should I go and introduce myself?” He waggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

“Oh Évrad, you’ve ‘introduced yourself’ to half the men and women in Terre D’Ange. Must you be crossing the borders, too?” Marion giggled. “Besides, I don’t think it would wise to have a liaison with one of the most rakish men in the City of Elua when you have come to be presented to the King as a potential bride.”

Oudine made a disgusted sound.

“Come now Oudine, we’ll go over together. I’ll introduce myself to the young lady; we’ll all go off and you can…entertain her gentlemen escorts.” He winked. “You are so skillful at entertaining the local gentlemen. I’m sure Tiberian men would appreciate those same talents.”

Oudine’s jaw dropped. “Évrad, you pig! How could you suggest such a thing?!” She snapped open her fan and furiously fanned her face.

Évrad turned away from teasing Oudine. He knew he could only push her so far before she would throw a tantrum and ruin the whole afternoon. He didn’t particularly like Oudine, but Marion somehow picked up the best tidbits of gossip and Marion was always tagging along behind Oudine. Why that was, he could not fathom.

“So, Marion, the Tiberian girl?”

“Well, I don’t actually know much about her, but you know I will!”

He gave her a pointed look. “Marion, love, you know I depend on you for my best morsels of information.”

Marion touched his hand. “Oh Évrad, don’t worry. I have much else to tell you.”

“Yes? Well, don’t hold back.”

Her eyes shone with excitement. “When I was last home, my family was housing the Skaldi girl – Gisilia, I think her name is – and her delegation. And Évrad, you won’t believe this – she’s traveling with birds! Birds, Évrad! It’s like something from a carnival!”

“BIRDS?!” Oudine screeched, her voice so loud that several people turned to see what the commotion was. She noticed and cleared her throat before continuing at a more normal, though still high volume. “What is she, a circus performer? Perhaps she’s a falconer? I suppose a falconer would at least be useful. Perhaps she is not here to wed the King, but one of his stablehands?” She laughed loudly at her own joke.

“That’s quite enough, Oudine,” Évrad snapped at her. “You are being cruel and it’s uncalled for.”

“No, I’m not,” she continued primly. “I’m being honest. I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking, but is afraid to say. We don’t need a foreign queen. We need a D’Angeline queen. Perhaps King Gustav could marry his Dahlia lover, hmm? Has anyone thought of that?”

In fact, many had not only thought of it, they had whispered about it. Many had wondered – and whispered – what would happen to Odilia once the king wed, particularly if he took a foreign queen who was not familiar with D’Angeline ways?

Évrad turned back to Marion, who, as usual, had shrunk into herself when Oudine grew bombastic.

“So, this Skaldi girl, eh?”

Marion immediately perked up. She was a little in love with Évrad and preened at his attention. “Well, aside from her…pets…she is traveling with two quite large, formidable men. They seem to be, perhaps, soldiers of some type? It’s difficult to tell with the Skaldi; the men all look fearsome to me.”

“Savages,” Oudine muttered, sipping her wine.

Marion ignored her and continued. “She seemed kind, I suppose. She was very quiet, very polite. More than anything, though, it felt very much as though she simply did not want to be here. I almost felt sorry for her.”

Oudine opened her mouth to speak but Évrad held up a finger to stop her. “Don’t start, Oudine. We all know how you feel about the Skaldi and how much you would agree that this young lady doesn’t belong here. No need to say it yet again.”

Oudine harrumphed. “Well, at least this whatsername and I can agree on something. Besides, aren’t there Skaldi men who need wives?”

“I’m sure there are many Skaldi men who need wives. I bet you would make a perfect Skaldi bride. After all, you do love draping yourself in fur in the winter,” Évrad countered acidly, then quickly turned his attention back to Marion before Oudine could start ranting again.

“Anything else? You must share everything with me.” His eyes sparkled and her heart melted.

“Um, well,” she tried to think. Évrad loved gossip, so she listened for even the tiniest rumor she could find, just to have an excuse to talk to him.

“Well, as I said, it would appear that she has come at the strong urging of someone else and, if she had her own way, she would have stayed in Skaldia with her, um, animals.” She said the last word quietly, so as not to set Oudine off on another tirade.

“You traveled with her from Camlach, yes? Did you get to know her?” Évrad was greedy for gossip like a child for sweets and Marion was desperate to feed him.

Marion shook her head. “No, I only met up with her for a day or so. I do not think her to be meek, however much she is here against her wishes.”

Her paused and her face suddenly lit up. “Oh! I almost forgot! It is said that she could be the great granddaughter of Waldemar Selig, himself.”

At this Oudine gasped. “Waldemar Selig?” she hissed, leaning towards her friends. “The monster who almost destroyed our country? One of his descendents comes to wed our king?? This is another plot by the Skaldi to rule us!”

Évrad guffawed. “Oh Oudine, the conspiracies you imagine! A young lady, thrice removed from the man, is presented to our king in a legitimate offer of marriage, but it’s not, in truth, an offer of marriage, it’s a secret plot to undermine our government? How? Let me guess,” he sputtered through his laughter, “by birthing a half-Skaldi king? And then what? Marrying him off to another Skaldi girl? Until eventually, the entire D’Angeline royal line is just full Skaldi blood hundreds of years from now?”

Évrad wiped tears from his eyes and took a deep breath. He gave Oudine a sympathetic look.
“Oh, you dear girl. I do wonder sometimes how that mind of yours manages to get you through every day.”

Oudine sputtered. Marion covered her mouth to hide a giggle.

Évrad shook his head and stood up. He brushed off his trousers and straightened his jacket. “Ladies, we have been here far too long. I’m off to Night’s Doorstep, if you’d care to join me.”

Oudine pouted. She hated Night’s Doorstep.

“Night’s Doorstep?” she whined. “Why do we always have to go there? It’s dirty and foul-smelling!”

Marion touched Oudine on the arm gently. She had anticipated this turn of events and planned for it. “Don’t worry Oudine, I have an extra pomander you can use. We can peruse that jewelry stand you loved so much the last time.”

“Oh alright,” she relented. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind some more jewelry. I haven’t bought anything in a few days.”

Marion gave her a bright smile. She loved Night’s Doorstep. Évrad always underestimated the strength of the wine and became more and more affectionate the more he drank. He never seemed to remember anything the next day or, at least, he acted like he didn’t. But Marion remembered.

Évrad clapped his hands. “Let’s not dally, ladies! I’m sure there is someone at The Cockerel who has news of these suitresses! And someone who has that delicious tsingani wine!”

He winked at Marion and held out his hand to her. She blushed as he led her out of the gaming room. Oudine trailed behind them, her grumbles and complaints following the group through the hall.

Storyline: Gisila and Her Birds

Gisila sat quietly on a cut log in front of a fire, struggling to enjoy her last night before entering the D’Angeline capital. She wasn’t from the wilds by any means, but she’d never seen this many people in one place. Even at this distance, she thought she could hear a murmur carried on the wind, though that could be just her nerves. So many people gathered together, were any of them going to be friendly? Would she be in danger? When she’d set out, or been sent out as it were, she’d insisted on the smallest number of warriors to accompany her, taking only the two men of the men that guarded her. Not only did she want to be received kindly by the King of the D’Angelines, she was accustomed to largely being left to her own pursuits so she needed the time on the journey to get mentally prepared for what lay before her.

She reached up and touched the feathers on the breast of her pet crow, Agnetta, her fingers looking for the familiar softness. The bird turned and preened a strand of Gisila’s dark hair, the feeling soothing Gisila a bit. Of all her birds, Agnetta was one of the most special. As though they could hear her thoughts, the birds she’d insisted on traveling with stirred in their woven cages, breaking her reverie and stirring her to action. She went to check on them, moving through the motions of their care almost without thought.

There were only three cages attached to the wagon, and they held the birds that Gisila couldn’t stand to leave to the care of others. Two of them held birds that were going to be released as soon as their injuries were healed, but one contained a young magpie that she had found after a storm sitting on her steps. The bird had been so young it didn’t even have the most rudimentary of flight feathers so she’d taken it in. She was worried that it wouldn’t be able to be free or happy so she insisted on taking it. The bird stirred a little under her gentle touch, ate as she handed it food and remembered when she’d left.

“Gisila! You are going as a delegate and potential suitor to the King,” her grandmother Ishild had said sternly, emphasizing her words with thumps of her staff on the wooden floor. “You have to represent us well, girl, leave the birds at home!”

A different woman would’ve immediately bowed to the matriarch’s wishes but despite her quiet nature, Gisila was stubborn. Arguments about her beloved birds were not new.

She spoke firmly and evenly, her quiet voice carrying easily, “I am The Blackbird, not taking them would be dishonest. We are Skaldi, the cold doesn’t care for pleasantries and lies. They should see me for who I am or not see me at all.”

The two women stared at each other silently for a long moment before Ishild nodded and said, “Good, girl. I will pass along to the chief that you will leave in a week.”

“Is it still struggling?” a voice said quietly near her, making her turn head to see Gebhard, the older of her two companions, standing near her. Despite being known as Widowmaker, Gebhard had a gentleness about him that helped put Gisila at ease. He was unmarried and if people whispered that he had a lover in the warriors’ barracks, they were wise enough to do it where he couldn’t hear them.

“Yes, she’s just not doing as well as I wanted. The finches and red-breast will be ready to be free again in a week or so but this little thing,” she furrowed her brow for a moment, “I just am not sure what she’s missing.”

Gebhard nodded, “Companionship maybe?”

Gisila sighed, “You’re likely right. None of us are meant to be alone, are we?”

Storyline: Heliotrope Gossip Regarding the Skaldi

“Have you heard that even the Skaldi are sending a prospect?” the girl whispered, leaning close to her companion while she peeled potatoes. “The Skaldi! As though the King would pick her while he’s got access to an Adept! And a Dahlia at that!”

The other girl opened her mouth to respond, but her thoughts on it were forgotten when hands reached out, catching their ears and giving the upper shell a twist.

“I know that there is no way that novices of my House are speaking in judgement of someone? Let alone someone’s potential love? I know my ears must be deceiving me,” the Dowayne’s voice was low, pitched so only the two girls could hear her, and she was crouched down behind them.

The girl who hadn’t spoken quickly said, “No, my Lady, I’m sorry.”

However, there’s always one with more nerve.

“I’m just repeating what I’ve heard, my Lady Dowayne,” the first girl said, her voice tight. “That’s what everyone is saying.”

Philomena let go of the second girl’s ear and stroked it lightly, signaling that she was not in trouble. The girl reached up and brushed the sore spot before continuing with her kitchen chores. The first girl, Mena noted, was smart enough not to turn around. That was a good sign. The kitchen was still bustling, everyone clearly too busy to eavesdrop. So naturally, everyone was listening.

Naturally.

“Tell me, child, what else is everyone saying?”

The girl took a deep breath, “That a Lady of Camlach’s people escorted them across their land, that the savages-” she broke off with a meep of pain as her ear got twisted further.

“We do not use such language in this House. They are strangers in an unfamiliar land, to be spoken of with compassion and kindness or you will not speak of them, do I make myself clear?” She never raised her voice, but a hush fell over the bustling room, waiting for the girl to make a smart choice.

“Yes my lady.”

“Good, tell me what else ‘everyone’ is saying.”

The collective exhaled as she continued. “The delegation should be in the City within the week. The woman, her name is Gisila, she travels with two warriors, and her two pets.” The girl paused before continuing, “And everyone says it’s silly that people think the King would want anyone else, when he’s got a Dahlia.”

Mena took a deep breath and finally let go of the girl’s ear. It was bright red and had to ache, but the girl made no move to touch it.

“Lady Odilia, if you speak of her, respect her and do it properly.”

The girl nodded.

“Our King has not spoken his preference, do not claim to know his mind or his heart. He entertains whomever he chooses, whenever he chooses, without judgment from us. Our House supports his heart with no reservations. ”

Both novices nodded, and Mena caught a few other people in the kitchen nodding as well.

She stood and caught the eye of her housekeeper. “Please send my coffee and lunch to my office. I think I must offer our Houses hospitality to the incoming guests of the kingdom. Clearly we need a bit more exposure to the outside world.”

Storyline: A Ruined Chessboard

Unfortunately, it was not the Duc L’Envers’ letter that brought the news to Odilia first.

Jocaste was concerned, to put it lightly. She had heard from the novice, Silvere, that a letter had arrived for the Second bearing the seal of the Duc L’Envers. The Duc of Namarre had ever been a constant friend to King Gustav and a warm, welcoming presence for Odilia after the monarch and the Dahlia had begun their affair. Sebastien L’Envers had supported them and helped them as he could. Why should a letter from him cause such a change in her Second?

She scolded herself for not paying more attention to Odilia. The business of the House and the managing of the assignation contracts and the preparations for the Longest Night Masque had taken up enough of her time that she had trusted Odilia to do her job as Second and handle everything else.

“The Second has claimed she was too sick to appear in the salon since before the letter arrived,” the novice said as he set down the afternoon tray. It bore the herbed boar sausage that the Dowayne’s Alban lover had sent to her as a gift and token of his continued affection, paired with a sharp cheese and some fresh late summer berries for her afternoon cravings.

Jocaste frowned. That wasn’t like Odilia. Something was wrong.

“What happened before she fell sick? Did she have an assignation?”

“No,” Silvere said, standing tall with his hands clasped behind him in an easy courtier’s rest, “but she had spent a few evenings in the salon with the prospective guests.”

“Who?”

“I wasn’t in the salon those nights, my lady. I do not know.”

Jocaste needed to find out whom Odilia had been speaking with and what they had said to so upset her. Jocaste had her own friends spread throughout the city and the country. She knew what the gossip was; she knew what was happening and what the palace was preparing for; she knew what pressure the world was putting on Gustav’s shoulders. It was too much for one so young, but she had taken heart knowing Odilia was helping him. But there were too many ways for this to go wrong, depending on how her Second had found out that the King would be taking a bride.

No wonder Sebastien L’Envers had written to her.

“Has she been eating?”

“Not the full meals but she hasn’t been starving herself. She’s upset but not self-destructive.”

No, Odilia was many things but self-destructive was not one of them. Jocaste was more concerned that her hurt would result in a bold, dangerous move on that famous chessboard of hers that would destroy what she had worked so hard to build. People were dangerous and unpredictable when they were hurting.

Jocaste rose and said, “I will visit her and see how I can help her.”

Her Second’s behavior was clearly a cry for help, perhaps not how Odilia thought about it, but that was how Jocaste saw it. Odilia was hurting and Jocaste needed to support her, for the good of the House and for the care of her friend.

And it was clear, upon entering the Second’s private chambers, that Odilia needed care. Her bed was unmade, she was but barely dressed in a shift and a robe, her hair unbound. A bottle of wine, mostly empty, dangled from her hand and her slightly puffy eyes were fixed on her chessboard, as though it would have all the answers. She didn’t move when Jocaste entered, the only movement in her was the rise and fall of her breast as she breathed.

Jocaste knew her friend. She knew Odilia was not a woman possessed of a great temper, but judging by the disarray of the decorative cushions strewn about the room, there was evidence that Odilia had certainly felt something very strongly.

“Odilia,” she said, trying to be both firm to get through to her and also gentle so as not to worsen the situation, “this does not become you.”

Odilia barely blinked, taking another swig from the wine bottle.

Jocaste closed the door quietly behind her, watching her Second and considering how she wanted to handle this. This wasn’t a willful novice that needed a talking to. This wasn’t an adept overwhelmed by a patron and needing grounding. This was her friend and Second, the woman closest to Jocaste and the nearest thing she had to a true equal in Dahlia House. And clearly she was hurting.

She crossed the room slowly, giving Odilia plenty of time to see her and prepare for her presence as Jocaste took the seat on the other side of the chessboard, glancing across the pieces.

“You and I have never sat down to play,” she said lightly. “I genuinely don’t know who would win.”

Odilia’s eyes flicked up to look at her.

“Tell me about this game,” Jocaste murmured, folding her hands in her lap and leaning back, quite comfortable. “Who are your pieces here?”

It took a moment for Odilia to swallow and wet her lips, but finally she spoke, “The King is the King.”

“Of course.”

“The Duc de Chalasse is the queen-side bishop. The queen-side knight is Lancelin de Perigeux. King-side rook is Petrea. One of the pawns is Rosanna.”

Jocaste nodded and asked, “And where are you?”

Odilia’s eyes cut to the side and Jocaste followed them to see the King-side bishop tossed to the floor, discarded and unneeded.

Jocaste sighed, “Oh, Odilia, you know that’s not true.”

“I’m not sure.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You don’t fool me, Jocaste. You know as well as I what the city is saying. You know as well as I who is coming to the palace.”

“Yes,” Jocaste nodded, “But none of that means that his heart has changed towards you. None of this means you are cast aside.”

“And why not? Isn’t it clear that I serve at His Majesty’s pleasure? Why should I have expected any better?”

“Why shouldn’t you have?” Jocaste fired back, “Why wouldn’t you have the chance for something more?”

Odilia scoffed.

“Who said these things to you?” Jocaste’s brows pinched in. “This isn’t like you; that doesn’t sound like you. Who has fed these doubts?”

“What does it matter?” Odilia returned her attention to her chessboard, focusing on the exquisitely carved queen piece sitting so placidly next to the king.

“I want to know who has lied to you.”

“Besides the King?”

Jocaste’s head tilted, “Did you see the letter Sebastien L’Envers sent you?”

Odilia shook her head silently.

“Perhaps read that before you think that His Majesty has abandoned you.”

Jocaste handed it to her and sat back, watching, as Odilia broke the seal open and unfolded the parchment to read it. Her dark eyes scanned the lines on the parchment, reading it twice, before she refolded it.

Jocaste’s brows raised. “Well?”

“He asks me not to interfere.” Odilia’s voice was still dull and flat.

“Anything else?”

“And to trust Gustav,” her lip curled slightly, “and the love he has for me.”

Ah. Jocaste had suspected as much. She regarded Odilia carefully before venturing, “Is that the word he used? Love?”

Something flickered behind Odilia’s eyes and she avoided Jocaste’s gaze as she answered, “Yes.”

“Is that the first time that word has been used?”

Odilia hesitated. “No.”

“Have you used it?”

Odilia pressed her lips together. “No.”

“Have you thought it?”

Odilia didn’t answer.

“Oh, Odilia,” Jocaste sighed. “That makes everything so much more complicated.”

“I know.”

Jocaste sat for some time with Odilia, a silent comfort and presence. She would not advise the other woman unless she was asked to but she could be a friend. Friends were all the more valuable for people like them.

When she did rise to leave, she paused before she went too far, taking up one of the soft blankets on Odilia’s bed and coming back to her Second to wrap her in the warmth. Comfort without touch, support without presumption. It was what she would offer without being specifically asked for help. Draping the blanket across her back, Jocaste smoothed her hands down Odilia’s shoulders, imagining that strength and calm was flowing from her and into her friend. And only then did Jocaste lean down to pick up the discarded bishop piece, pressing it into Odilia’s hand.

“Where you place it and what you do with it is up to you,” she said softly, “but do not do yourself the disservice and the discredit to think you are out of this game. It has changed, but I have never known you to give up. Or to lose. Perhaps all you need to do is change your strategy.”

She leaned down to brush a feather-light kiss to Odilia’s cheek, “Think about it.”

And when the door closed behind her, Odilia was alone again, looking down at the piece in her hand. Weighing her options.

Storyline: The L’Envers Letter to the Dahlia

From the desk of His Grace Sebastien L’Envers, Duc of Namarre

Odilia,

I write this letter to you in fear that perhaps the news has reached you through other channels. But I pray to Elua you read this letter with an open heart. You know that I am your friend and I have been a companion of Gustav’s since we were children. I was the one that brought you together and I hope that you will trust me when I say all is not lost for you.

Many of the courtiers, powerful scions of impressive Houses, have been pressuring Gustav to take a wife, to solidify his rule with a queen that will give him an heir. Things moved too quickly for me to delay and they are coming here, to the City of Elua, women from across our country and beyond, all coming to try to catch his eye.

Odilia, I’m sorry. I know that this will hurt you to see him courted by these daughters of great and powerful kingdoms. But please, please don’t interfere. We must not give the traditionalists like the Duc de Chalasse reason to move against us. You must trust that I will do what I can for you and Gustav, but you mustn’t be here in the palace. International politics are delicate matters and I can only do what I can when I know that you aren’t working against me. I remember that night in the Dahlia Salon when I faced you on your grand chessboard, I remember how formidable you were.

Odilia, please. Please don’t do anything rash. I know you have a heart and I know it might be hurting, but you must trust me.

Or if you don’t trust me, trust him. Trust him and the love he has for you.

Signed,
S