[center][b][u]Kienne, Aontas[/u][/b][/center]

"My most sovereign liege," Lady Kasparov performed a delicate curtsy and rested on the arm of Captain Svenricksen, "I had hoped I would have the honor of accompanying you to Castlerue tomorrow morn, as is our custom."

Kristian gave a polite nod of the head but said no more than, "We shall speak of it later," before deferring to the captain who had the lady in escort, "Captain, reports?" 

The military man handed over a rolled piece of parchment, which the king unbound and read on the spot. They were reports detailing the removal of the army from Torrik and a vast portion of the civilian population which had been resettled. The report was dated two days ago, and no doubt had made quick time on a clipper from Fjall in the Torrikan Islands. The monarch rolled the report back up and tucked it into his frock coat. "Thank you."

All the while, an uncomfortable silence had passed over the room, and Svenricksen looked to the Lady, who seemed to be biting her cheeks for fear of crying. Seeing this, Kristian ordered Svenricksen out and bade him leave the doors open but range a ways. With the two of them in his study, the fire crackling in the hearth behind his desk, they could speak freely and speaking freely was a forte of the Lady Kasparov, a daughter of half-Rubrusian lineage which would normally have signified a blood composed of ice but for the peculiar type of choleric disposition which she was taken with. "My Lord," she began, "do I speak your mind in saying that you wish me speak honestly?"

Kristian nodded, slowly, fearfully. 

"Then I must speak honest when I tell you of the wretched condition which you have left me in. Long has my heart been warm to yours, but of late the High Office seems to have filled your veins with ice."

"Stay, woman." 

"Nay, my lord, stay and be cheated. Who do I appear to be that you can with such short shrift disperse my suit without a word? What, a I your whore sir or your lady? Am I to understand that our engagement is ended?"

Silence. 

"I beg pardon your liege, I had thought there came an answer but 'twas too small to hear it."

Kristian's face knitted in a careworn expression of dread, a lump built tight in his throat. He paced a short distance, till he could put a hand to the frozen window pane and look out on the snow-drenched courtyard below, where serving men were carrying in the firewood in chords. For a while, he was silent, and then he relented, "It is I who should beg pardon of you, Agnes, but it has been the heavy discharge of my office which has kept me from relaying this hard thing to you," he paused, "nay, it is more like my cowardice..."

The lady approached a few steps, "Dearest Kristian, I know the contents of your heart as plainly as though it were written on your face."

"Then you will know," he said, "that my suit to you was honest, and that my withdrawal of that suit is also honest... Thy station befits a queen, but my country requires that I retain my marriage bed for a foreigner, as befits our custom. I had not expected that so heavy a mantle would fall upon me, and if I had then I would have been criminal in the wooing. Therefore, I release you of your engagement."

"And if I shall not be released?"

"You shall be." He turned away and pressed his face closer to the glass, feeling the cold radiate through the pane frosted over with snowflake patterns at the corners. She, meanwhile, took a place by the desk not unlike the place she and he had sat when he was a dashing young captain and she was barely a woman when their suit began nearly a decade ago. From her bosom she produced her kerchief and began to sob which was, to put it lightly, not a comfort to the monarch. 

The butler emerged from without, took a short survey of the room. "Uhm, my lord, I shall return." He said, attempting to beat a hasty retreat before Kristian's commands intercepted him. "Nay, Isaac, the Lady Kasparov has been ill and it has not well-countenanced her lately. Bring up tea for us presently, but what news do you bear that you intercede most impudently?"

The butler, somewhat cowed, replied, "It is Ambassador Faustus's wish that you discharge immediately a letter to Attolia. He desires us to join the community of nations called the Continental Alliance."

"Yes, I read his letter. I will reply anon in the affirmative."

"My Lord, is it wise to discuss such counsels in such untrained presence?" His eyes shifted to the lady. 

"The Lady Kasparov has long been my counselor, Isaac, let nothing ill of her befall your lips."

"Yes, my lord." The butler quickly departed and the room was again silent save the crackling of the fire.