Her days in Dusktown were coming to an end. Late summer was already turning the leaves in the palace gardens the first golden hues, and the morning mists drifting up from the sea were getting thicker. Valentina felt the approaching change like a slight tingling under her skin.

On the morning of the day before her departure, Jenny brought her a message from the duchess – handwritten on the finest paper with a subtle scent of lavender. The duchess wished to speak to her in her private chambers.

"Quite formal," Vyxara commented with amusement.

"I wonder what she wants?" thought Valentina as Jenny helped her into a simple but elegant dress in lavender grey. The color had become her trademark at court – hers and that of the duchess.

Lady Beatrice, the duchess's lady-in-waiting, led Valentina through a series of elegantly furnished rooms. The last was a small salon whose walls were decorated with landscape paintings.

The duchess sat at a delicate desk made of light wood. She wore a morning dress of grey silk and her dark hair was artfully braided. When Valentina curtsied, she waved her hand.

"Please, no formalities. Not today." She pointed to a comfortable-looking armchair. "Come and sit with me. Would you like some tea?"

A servant brought a pot of fragrant tea and then discreetly withdrew. The duchess poured the tea herself, an unusually personal gesture.

"You'll be leaving us soon," she began, handing Valentina a cup. "Back to Bridgewater."

"Yes, Your Grace. The new academic year begins."

"Rosalind." The duchess smiled thinly. "Call me Rosalind when it's just us. I think we've earned that, don't you?"

Valentina sipped her tea to buy some time. The situation was... unexpectedly intimate.

"I've told you this before, but you've handled yourself very skillfully in the last few months," the duchess – Rosalind – continued. "With far more dignity and sense than most of your predecessors."

"I... thank you. Rosalind."

The duchess put down her teacup and leaned back in her armchair. Her gaze was penetrating. "I spoke to my son. The day after your birthday."

Valentina felt the blood drain from her face. That night.

"He was devastated," Rosalind said quietly. "Not just because his proposal was rejected. But because of the way his father brushed him off." She broke off, shaking her head. "Cosimo can be very cruel sometimes."

"I know," Valentina whispered. The memory of that night, of the way the duke had taken her while telling her about Lorenzo's proposal... She shuddered slightly.

"Oh yes, you do." Rosalind's voice softened. "I confronted him, you know? I managed to get it out of him, what he did to you. For the first time in years, I actually yelled at him."

That surprised Valentina. The ever-controlled duchess, yelling?

"He was... confused." A thin smile flitted across Rosalind's face. "That doesn't happen often. But what he did to you... that was incredibly blockheaded, even by his standards."

"My goodness, she's really not holding back with her opinion today," muttered Vyxara enthusiastically.

"You know, I've known Cosimo for over thirty years," Rosalind continued as she poured herself more tea. "He's brilliant. A born ruler. He understands power like few others." She paused, searching for the right words. "But love? Real affection? That's completely beyond him. He can't handle it."

"Love?" Valentina felt her heart beat faster. "I'm his mistress, not-"

"Oh, child." Rosalind laughed softly. "Do you really think I haven't noticed the way he looks at you? How he's changed in your presence? How happy you made him?" She shook her head. "And that's exactly what scared him so much."

"Why on earth would I scare him?"

"Cosimo fears nothing more than losing control. Of course, he often has beautiful young women in his bed, most of them are dumb little things, short-lived mindless diversions. And suddenly you came along – a young, ambitious, brilliant, beautiful Weaver. He fell in love with you without wanting to, without even realizing it at first. And then... then Lorenzo came with his proposal."

Valentina stared into her teacup. "He would have had nothing to fear," she said quietly. "I would never have… Lorenzo-"

"I know. You're far too pragmatic for that." Rosalind leaned forward and put her hand on Valentina's. "And if he had actually used that formidable head of his for a minute, he'd have known too. But the sudden fear of losing you... He only knows one way to deal with this fear – absolute control." She sighed. "He wanted to bind you to him and almost destroyed everything in the process."

"Maybe I should hate him for it," whispered Valentina.

"But you don't." It wasn't a question.

"No." Valentina smiled weakly. "I don't. Even though sometimes I wish I could."

Rosalind got up and went to one of the high windows. The morning mist had lifted, revealing a view of the city. "His Majesty the king has proclaimed a parliament for next summer. Two months in Vandercourt, the entire realm assembled."

"I know," Valentina said cautiously. She had heard of the great assemblies where the estates of the realm met to discuss and decide on taxes, war and peace, justice and law.

"The duke wants you to come with us as my second lady-in-waiting."

Valentina almost choked on her tea. A lady-in-waiting to the duchess?

"Of course, he actually wants you to accompany him," Rosalind continued. "Officially, you will simply be my second lady-in-waiting. But it will give you access to the highest circles. To people you might otherwise never meet, even if you are a Master Weaver one day."

"Perfect," Vyxara whispered excitedly. "The easiest way to have you around and introduce you to the circles of power without risking scandal."

"That... that's very generous,' Valentina said cautiously.

"It was his idea, of course. He can hardly bear to let you go now. He wants to have you around." Rosalind turned away from the window and looked directly at Valentina. "But I agreed to it. More than that – I approved."

She came back to the table and sat down again. "Do you understand what this means?"

"I... I don't know exactly."

"It means that I accept you as part of our lives. Not just as his mistress, but as... well, as someone who belongs to us in whatever way." She smiled thinly. "I've never done that before."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Valentina felt tears welling up in her eyes. This acceptance without judgment came unexpectedly.

"I hope you find it in you to fully forgive him one day," Rosalind said gently. "He'll never ask for forgiveness – he can't. But he regrets what he has done. In his own blockheaded way."

She stroked an imaginary crease out of her dress. "Besides... he worries me when he's unhappy. And he was very unhappy after your birthday, until you grew back together."

"He was?" Valentina hadn't noticed.

"Oh yes. Not obviously – he's incapable of showing weakness. But I know him. It tore him up to see you hurt like that." She sighed.

Valentina looked at the duchess thoughtfully for a long time. "The duke is certainly an exceptionally capable man, Your... Rosalind. But what would he do without you to smooth over the edges?"

Rosalind just smiled in response. The two women understood each other.

A knock at the door interrupted them. Lady Beatrice poked her head in. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but the envoy from Clairmontine is waiting."

"Of course." Rosalind rose elegantly. "Politics always calls at the worst possible time." She held out her hand to Valentina. "Think about the parliament. It would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you."

As Valentina turned to leave, Rosalind held her back once more. "And Valentina? Thank you."

"What by all the flames of the Martyr would you have to thank me for?"

"You made it easy for me to maintain my dignity. That is the most precious gift and only you could have given it to me."

~

That evening, the duke sent word through Morris that he wanted to dine with her in his private chambers one last time before she left. As Valentina walked along the familiar corridor, she felt a strange fluttering in her stomach. The guards along the corridor to his chambers nodded respectfully to her – she had long since become a familiar sight.

The duke stood at the window, looking over Dusktown in the evening, a wine glass in his hand. When she entered, he turned around. His smile was warm, but wistful.

"Ah, beautiful." He came up to her and kissed her gently. "I've brought us a special wine from my cellar. A splendid drop that I only open on very special occasions."

"How sentimental," Vyxara commented with amusement. "That's really not like him."

The table was set for two, with the finest silver and crystal glasses. Candles bathed the room in warm light. The duke gallantly helped her to her chair, a familiar gesture that still touched her anew every time.

"Your last evening," he said quietly as he poured her some wine. The ruby red drop glistened in the candlelight. "Tomorrow, the palace will be a much colder place."

"You sound almost wistful, Your Grace," Valentina teased him gently.

He laughed softly. "Maybe I actually am. That's... unusual for me." He took a sip of wine, as if he needed to build up his courage. "You know, normally... I lose interest quickly. In my lovers. They get... boring."

"And I don't?" She raised an eyebrow.

"You?" He smiled that strangely wistful smile again. "You're anything but boring, my clever beauty. These few months with you have been... more intense than years with others."

The servants brought the first courses – exquisite dishes, his favorites, as Valentina noted. But the duke barely ate, playing more with his food. He seemed to be struggling with himself.

"I'm not a man of big words," he finally said. "At least not when it comes to... my feelings."

"I've noticed," Valentina said softly. She remembered the duchess's words from this morning – how difficult it was for him to show real emotion.

He smiled wryly. "Of course you've noticed. Little escapes you." His large hand clasped his wine glass as if seeking support. "You know, the first time I saw you, at my competition... I thought you were just another pretty toy. A talented young Weaver from a humble background that I could take."

"That's blunt," Vyxara laughed.

"And now?" Valentina's voice was barely more than a whisper.

"Now?" He leaned back in his chair, his gaze resting intently on her. "Now you've... you're dangerous now."

"Dangerous?"

"Oh yes." He took a deep sip of wine. "You crawled under my skin, you know that? That's never happened to me before. Never."

"Look at him squirm," Vyxara whispered, amused. "The mighty duke who can't admit he's in love."

"On your birthday..." He broke off, staring into his wine. After a long moment, he looked up again. "It was... not my finest hour."

"No." She held his gaze. "It wasn't."

He fell silent again, his fingers playing restlessly with the wine goblet. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded rougher than usual. "Lorenzo is a good boy. Too good, perhaps. To him the world seems to be..." He made a vague gesture.

"You could have trusted me," Valentina said quietly.

The duke flinched for a moment. Then he laughed, a short, bitter laugh. "Trust?" He shook his head. "That's not... easy."

"He can't even express how frightened he is at the thought of losing you," whispered Vyxara.

They fell silent as the servants cleared the barely touched plates. The duke stood up and walked to the window, his broad shoulders tense. After a moment, Valentina followed him and snuggled up to his side. He visibly relaxed.

"There will be a parliament in Vandercourt next summer," he finally said, his voice firmer again. More secure. Familiar territory. "Rosalind told you about our... invitation?"

"Yes." Valentina stepped up next to him. "It's very generous."

"Generous?" He smiled faintly. "Yes, maybe it is. But actually it's pragmatic. You'll meet people who can be useful to you. Influential people." His hand stroked her back. "And I... want you close to me."

He turned to her. "Of course, until then there will be other… distractions. For both of us, I suppose."

"Of course." She thought of the Violet Delights, of his hints.

"But you... I…" He broke off, obviously searching for words. "You're... special to me."

"How cute he is when he's so helpless," Vyxara murmured, amused.

The duke took a deep breath. "I want to give you something," he then said, almost abruptly. "A sort of... privilege, if you will."

He took her hand, his thumb stroking over her knuckles, over the ring with the grey gemstone that he had given her for her birthday. "When we're alone – only then, mind you – you can call me Cosimo."

That surprised Valentina. She knew that only his wife and Master Bloomfield, his oldest friend, had this right.

"This is... a great honor," she said quietly.

"No honor." His voice sounded rough. "A... truth, perhaps."

After everything that had happened, after the cruelty of his lesson... and yet this awkward gesture of closeness touched her.

A mischievous smile flitted across her lips. "But in bed," she purred, "I think I'll keep calling you Your Grace."

He laughed in surprise, a genuine, deep laugh that broke the tension of the moment. His hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her closer. "You're really..." He shook his head. "Dangerous. Absolutely dangerous."

His lips found hers, gently at first, then more demanding. Different than usual – not the usual hunger, the usual passion. There was something new in his touch. Almost like... an admission.

"Enjoy it," Vyxara whispered gently. "This is real. As real as he can be."

His hands glided over her body, familiar and yet different. As if he wanted to memorize every curve, every little feature. Valentina snuggled up to him, breathing in his scent – lavender, silk, power.

"Come," he murmured against her lips and pulled her with him. "Let's go to the bedroom."

The duke – Cosimo, she thought tentatively – slowly undid the laces of her dress. His fingers trembled slightly as he slid the fabric off her shoulders.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured as he stroked her bare skin. "So perfect."

Valentina helped him out of his own clothes, quickly opening the fastenings of his robe. When they were both naked, he pulled her onto the bed, into the familiar softness of his silken sheets.

This too was different than usual. No quick passion, no power struggle of dominance and submission. His touch was almost reverent, as if he was memorizing every moment, saying goodbye to her body.

His lips followed the path of his hands, exploring them as if it were the first time. Valentina bent towards him, her fingers buried in his hair. She could feel his arousal on her thigh, but he took his time, driving her higher and higher with gentle touches.

"He doesn't want you to forget," Vyxara purred. "He's downright desperate that you don't forget him."

When he finally penetrated her, she moaned softly into his shoulder. He paused, his gaze fixed on her face. "Look at me," he whispered. "I want to see you."

Their gazes merged as he moved inside her. Slowly at first, then more urgently. His hands held hers tightly, his fingers intertwined with hers, she felt his familiar heavy weight on top of her. It was intimate in a way that, perhaps for the first time really, went beyond the physical. Today he was not His Grace.

"Cosimo," she whispered, testing his name on her tongue. His eyes darkened, his grip on her hands tightened.

"One more time," he muttered breathlessly.

"Cosimo..." She bent towards him, feeling the tension growing inside her. His movements became more urgent, she lost control.

He leaned down to her, his lips at her ear. "You will come back," he gasped. It sounded half like a plea, half like a command. "Promise."

"Yes," she moaned as the waves of pleasure rolled through her body. "Yes..."

They came almost simultaneously, their bodies fused, their fingers intertwined. For a long moment, he held her tightly against him, his face buried in her hair.

He finally rolled off her but immediately pulled her back into his arms. His hand gently stroked through her hair, a gesture full of deeply felt tenderness.

Valentina snuggled up to his chest, listening to his heartbeat, which was gradually becoming calmer. Something had broken between them that night on her birthday. But something new had emerged – something more honest, perhaps.

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