The Summer Palace in Bruglaas, perched atop a cliff that overlooked the vast expanse of ocean to the west, offered idyllic views and a pleasant temperament in the summer months, but as the nights grew long, the sky grew dark and the sea more ferocious, it was usually only manned by a skeleton staff through the winter. And yet, as the first snows begin to fall across Europe, the Summer Palace finds itself playing host to Arch-Duke Jean-Baptise Dervau himself. 

Jean-Baptiste had travelled with a skeleton staff himself, his retinue a fraction of the one that normally trailed after the Arch-Duke wherever he went, a product of the abruptness of his move. Accompanied by only his wife, a dozen of his most trusted servants, and the inevitable company of Royal Guard, Jean-Baptiste had left the capital of Rivierberg a week ago, taking his court by surprise. After all, while the Summer Palace has served as a popular retreat for the Dervau family for generations, it is a cold and bleak place in the winter. The abrupt journey was labelled as a 'holiday', the Arch-Duke taking some precious time away from the court in order to clear his head with the stiff sea-breeze, but the true cause of the journey was known only to a handful of people. The reins of the Empire itself, at least for now, once again rest in the hands of Jean-Baptiste's son, Christophe, under the watchful eye of the dowager duchess, Isabelle, while Jean-Baptiste himself spent nearly every waking hour standing at the window, watching, and waiting. 

The diplomatic delegation that had departed for the capital of the Kingdom of Hispalis some weeks past had carried with them perhaps the most important letter that Jean-Baptiste had ever written. Ever since it was sent on it's way, the Arch-Duke has been able to think of little else. And yet, still, nothing. Jean-Baptiste understood the weight of his proposition, but to delay for so long? Eventually, the pressure had reached a boiling point, and he had made his unexpected journey south, and here, in the Summer Palace, he will be the first to hear the response from Hispalis. The main road for Rivierberg, coming up through Arhan from Hispalis' own capital of Toletum, ran along the coast, almost a stone throw from the palace itself, and from it's perch atop the cliffs, it had an unparalleled view of any ships that were travelling north from Hispalis. Every day, he stood in this window, and every day, no news came. 

Jean-Baptiste heard a soft sigh from behind him, but he didn't turn. Soft footfalls crossed the bare room until they came to a stop just behind him. Arms wrapped around him, and he felt his wife gently rest her head against his back as she embraced him, the subtle scent of rose petals suddenly filling the air. 

[b]"Still nothing?"[/b]

The Arch-Duke felt his shoulders sag, surrendering himself into the embrace for a moment. He had been watching since dawn, and the sun was already beginning to sink towards the horizon. And yet, there had been no ships, other than the usual trade vessels, and the road had been all but deserted, few wanting to brave the cold chill in the air. The last message he had received from his diplomats was that the proposition had been presented to King Charles XII Philip, but since then, there had been no word, and Jean-Baptiste could hardly bear the delay of his contemporary. He sighed himself as he replied. 

[b]"Nothing, mon ange."[/b]

[b]"Come away from the window, you must be starving."[/b]

[b]"I will... Soon. But if the ship left with the morning tide, it will be passing..."[/b]

The embrace was suddenly broken, the scent fading as Jean-Baptiste fell Roseline pull away. He winced slightly, already knowing what was coming. 

[b]"Jean-Baptiste Dervaux. Look at me."[/b]

Tearing his eyes away from the sea, the Arch-Duke sheepishly turned around, and looked into the face of his duchess. Dark hair just beginning to turn grey, emerald eyes intently watching his face, Roseline was as beautiful as the day he had first laid eyes on her, across a crowded ballroom two decades before. It had been after that that Jean-Baptiste had found that his wife was not always as gentle as her appearance might suggest. She was one of the few people that could challenge the Arch-Duke, and she did not shirk from that responsibility. More than once, she had been the voice of reason that he had needed, and looking into those eyes, Jean-Baptiste knew that she was right. 

[b]"You still need to eat. You have a dozen men watching the road, and another dozen watching the sea, they will not miss your eyes for the time it takes to eat."[/b]

Jean-Baptiste allowed himself to smile, leaning forward to gently kiss his wife's forehead, her own annoyance melting away. 

[b]"Thank you, mon amour. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me."[/b]