The room was classy for a wine cellar: one floor below the ground in Alain and Sophie's New Haven house, they had set up the basement with a few creature comforts and warm touches in addition to the practical purposes of brewing beer and storing wine. A few pieces of art adorned the otherwise bare walls; the brick, mortar and exposed timber were tastefully old and worn-out, any piece too broken or crumbling removed and replaced; and in addition to a long pool table with handsome green felt (roughly halfway through a game of solitaire), there was a small bar stocked with good bourbon and scotch, plenty of wine and a couple of beers on tap, plus chairs and two tables for entertaining.

The radio in Alain's favorite corner, his workspace with the two copper brew kettles, warbled out a slow, lazy swing rendition of a Christmas song. He was busily and contentedly adding aromatic hops to the wort for a quick half-hour boil, sleeves rolled up and suspenders askew, a man completely at peace engaged in his favorite task.

Although, in most corners of her world, the celebration of the season is limited to Christmas Eve, Christmas, and New Years, the Rhovniks have held true to the twelve festive days as another hold-out tradition from the Middle Ages. It was the sole time of the year where rest and peace could be expected not only for Rhovnik Holding Inc employees but also for the family themselves. And, for once, the season didn't make Sophie the least bit restless. In fact, she was actually embracing it for a change. After all, discontent was in the air in the Rhovnik world and it would only be a matter of time before she had to face the consequences of this engagement.

For now, she was enjoying her down time, filling the open moments between social engagements with research. The focus of her research continued to swirl around Catherine de' Medici -- great-niece of a pope, Queen of France, mother to Kings -- who, interestingly enough, was born right around the same time the Rhovnik family's power grew as Constantinople fell, leading to the Western fascination with regaining control of the region and, thus, the rise of Ad Lucem.

Taking a break from translating the ancient dialects of French and Italian to seek out Alain, she traced a path through the house into the depths of the wine cellar. Still dressed in striped pajama pants and a v-neck tee with her hair pulled back in a loose, messy bun, she's the image of after-Christmas laziness. Her arms crossed over her chest as she made her way down the stairs and a smile crossed her lips when she spotted Alain.

"There you are."

Alain turned to touch her but - thinking better of it, with his fingers thoroughly stained - he leaned in to kiss her and kept his hands to himself. "The Christmas season isn't over yet..." He grinned wryly as he returned to his work. "It'd make me an awful Scrooge if I let this city's kegs run dry."

He'd hesitated over the term: it was one of many common words and phrases people from Sophie's world took for granted, but they had not been a part of Alain's culture at all. He had not known A Christmas Carol, or Dickens at all, until roughly four years ago. "And how's your friend Cathy? Still spinning her webs?"

She laughed softly as she took a minute to find a clean corner to take a lean against. A hand reached out to rub the back of his arm in passing. But the laugh didn't last long. She was too frustrated by what she couldn't put her finger on to find much humor in her obsession at the moment. "There's something more there. I know there is. I'll figure it out eventually."

Then pursing her lips, her blue eyes shifted down to her faux-fur lined suede clogs. Her family and advisors' pressure about the wedding were starting to impede on even that obsession. They wanted answers. They wanted plans. They wanted to figure out how to use the news to their advantage. "So... I guess we kind of need to talk... about, you know, getting married."

Alain finished his work and turned to face her with his arms folded, leaning back against the rough wooden table. "It's only been a week." He knew what she was talking about. This wasn't seating arrangements and centerpieces and picking the right music: this was politics.

"What do they want to know?"

His question earned a tight, tired smile. Of course, he understood that she wasn't pressuring him. Yet, it still felt good to hear him voice it and to know he understood where she stood. She lifted her shoulders into a shrug as her eyes searched the room without really landing on anything. "You know... as many details as they can pry out of us. They want to line up the appropriate engagement party with the appropriate hosts, of course. They want to know when, how, where... and, evidently, who will design my dress is a highly sensitive political matter that they must research. Something to do with fabric merchants in Aswiro and a rival guild in Wenner Glen."

He watched her, and his eyes turned slowly from tired and frustrated to very sly. The message was clear, the man had an idea. "I'd like to do our wedding our way if we can. I'm guessing you feel the same way?"

She paused at the tone in his voice to cut her eyes back his way. As her gaze lingered on him, a slow, easy smile began to form. "Of course. Do you have something in mind?"

"Give them the coronation." His grin followed the sharp angle of his narrowing eyes. "And I mean give it to everyone... your family, their advisers, the shareholders, and the Baronial Council, and the Gallican Catholic Church. Maybe scare up a few interested parties in your Roman Catholic Church, too. Let them fight over it and figure out whatever they like - once we surrender total control over the ceremony to them, it becomes their problem to sort out, not ours."

He stepped slowly over to her, slipped behind her and put his arms around her and smiled in her ear. "Time goes on, tempers flare, and while they're sorting out the god-awful mess of planning the coronation and dealing with each other, the ceremony, reception, and honeymoon gets foisted on us. And we sort it out in our own way - as big or small as we like... and we wear what we like... and we go where we like."

It was the protective hold more than his words that caused the tension to release from her form. It would be a difficult sell.... but if done right? They probably could pull it off. It would take charm, patience, and probably a couple notable allies. With a heavy exhale, she closed her eyes and rested the back of her head against him.

"I think my grandmother would go for it and, at the end of the day, her word is still law in my family. My family has much more to gain with the image of me as a baroness than skirting down the aisle of a cathedral looking like a pastry. It's not the reputation my grandmother wants me to have... but you think the Barony would go for it? I mean, the people. I don't want to start off on the wrong foot. I'm sure many already had hopes that their daughters would be the one snagging the wealthy baron bachelor. I know in a lot of kingdoms, the people see it as almost their right to join in the celebration."

He set his chin on her shoulder and thinned his lips thoughtfully. "There was never a serious attempt from within St. Aldwin... but a couple of times families tested the water for the idea... You're right, though. We can bait the power structure with the coronation, but I still want to share our wedding with St. Aldwin as much as we can."

He looked back at her. "Maybe we could have the ceremony and reception in one of the Newbreton villages. Esp?rance, or Sainte-Ouen. Then a nice send-off on our honeymoon from there or Teobern. Even if the reception ends up small, that gives us some time to celebrate with whoever comes to see the new couple and see us off. Would you like that?"

"As much as the idea of just the two of us on some tropical beach appeals to me, it's not going to work for us. I like the idea of doing it in a country village with a send-off in Teobern. A country village... we could keep it relaxed. It wouldn't have to be completely formal. You know? Much more a country squire getting married?" A hand landed on the back of his neck as he dipped down and she turned her cheek with a soft teasing smile, trying to pull him into planting a kiss on that cheek.

He didn't resist. "That sounds good to me. Something a little more relaxed, surrounded by the people we care about, the people who really want to see us for us, not for an alliance or political advantage... Everyone else can wait for the coronation."

The comment earned a soft, humorless laugh as she took a half step away to turn to face him. "That will be one short guest list."

He played with her fingers, using them to tick off the guests as he listed them: "Chase, Kicks, and Kat... Elsie... 'Lanta, Gaelle, Wolvinator... Seamus, probably Roland and VeeJay, too. Frank, Armand, Amir... There's people I'm missing. Yeah, it'd be a small ceremony... but there are people who care about us. As for the rest of it, the reception, the send-off..."

He grinned at her, enfolding her hands in his. "My people love you, you know. Newbreton and Xhastil press still call you the 'Princess of Icecrest.' You've got a very big heart... and you've shown it to them, and they've seen it for what it is."

"And Yaya. I'm sure she'll be there in some way. After all, she's brought us together." It was a rare that she allowed such sentimental statements, particularly about her sister. Typically, the pain was bottled or buried. Only the sense of safety that Alain and their home provided could provoke such honesty... even if it came in a barely audible whisper.

But after they were spoken, she had to end the conversation. No more memories of Sonja could be allowed. Not right now at least. Even though the topic of when this would all take place needed to be addressed, she'd lingered on talk of other's expectations long enough. She reached up on the balls of her feet - no easy task in the oversized fluffy clogs - to press a kiss against his lips. "Let me go get dressed and let's go out for some lunch. I think it's still snowing."

"You mean you're not going out like that?" he teased gently, and didn't let her leave the cellar with her bottom untouched.

He watched her for a moment longer and sighed slowly. Straightened up his shirt and suspenders, collected his coat and scarf from earlier. She'd surprised him again with her words. He paused near the door, eyes ticking uncertainly as memories of her sister came back to him, information exchanged over burgers and milkshake, and rare glimpses past Ad Lucem's carefully constructed mask. He stepped back to the bar, collected a half-finished glass of port from earlier, and lifted it.

"Here's to you, Sonja," he muttered, and drained the rest.

"If I pot a solid, I've got solids for the rest of the game, same with stripes, except the eight-ball which is saved for last. Sink that early and you're fucked." He lined up the four and sunk it. "Solids."

He maneuvered around a little, made a valiant attempt at the seven, missed the pocket narrowly, and backed away. "Looks like we'll be introducing Mr. Hichi no later than mid-September. Consensus seems to be between August 30th and September 20th."

"I want a solid agreement in place before he is introduced." A grim frown formed by either the subject matter or trying to decide which striped ball to make an attempt at sinking. As far as wedding arrangements went, hammering out this treaty was paramount.

Her first attempt to sink the fourteen ball failed and the cue ball came dangerously close to finding its way into a side pocket. Luckily, it stopped just short. "My grandmother and Baron Laroche are working on where it should be held. It looks like they're leaning towards the Barony, though. They feel it would be the perfect opportunity to show its resources and wealth. We're out to get respect here -- for the Barony, for your title. We need to show it off."

"Teobern. At minimum that should be the point of entry, and possibly hold the meetings themselves in Noirmont, show off the Five Points Gate, but I'd prefer to keep the whole thing in Teobern. It's our effective capital, and our wealthiest port -- Xhastil's still about a billion under in revenue."

He finished what he'd started with the seven, then missed the six. "Merde... Solange told me last night that Santiago and Mayence are both sure things. They don't even agree that the Rhovnik and DeMuer power bases need to be split up, but they see why we came to that decision, and they want to join this treaty. Even in the wake of the war in Mayence, both of those kingdoms are heavy hitters."

He leaned on the cue again, watching her. "We both know what you and I are conceding... but we need to firmly set out what's gained, collectively, from this treaty. Besides sharing the Carolus proto-fusion technology."

The reminder of what she's losing caused a flicker of emotion across her face as her forehead tightened and her eyes briefly narrowed. Giving up her last name and everything that went along with it had been her idea. For while Santiago and Mayence may not feel that it was needed, there were quite a few families and nation-states who felt quite differently. "Aminor from Urson has agreed to be the one at the table who suggests the clause stating I step aside as my grandmother's heir. He's not happy about keeping it from Chase but he's agreed to it. He's well respected. It'll mean more coming from him."

The cue ball had bounced back to an even better position for the fourteen. Never one to give up when having failed the first time, Sophie leaned over, frowned at the ball and then pocketed it. She glanced away from the table long enough to shoot a grin at him before turning back to make an unsuccessful try at the number eleven.

"Take your time," he advised. "And spread your fingers like this," demonstrating with his right hand. It had been getting a little better... he was at least aware now of touching things with it. Writing and typing weren't easy, but improving. He drummed his fingertips on the felt to remind himself where they were, accustom himself to the sensation a bit. Then he took down the five cleanly.

"That'll help a lot, I think. And I'm leaning towards limiting this deal to diplomacy, technology, economics... We shouldn't have anything strictly defense-related, we don't want ourselves entangled in any senseless conflicts -- but the other deals will make it more likely for the members to stand up for one another, and less likely for outside aggressors to commit to an attack."

He took another shot, missed. Didn't seem capable of hitting two in a row. Probably wouldn't change until he got his hand back up to scratch. "Sort of... we all know there's a lot to lose economically from any member-state being taken out of the picture, and anyone thinking about instigating a conflict will know we know that. I think that kind of unspoken mutual defense will work out better than a firm military commitment. Naturally, we'd still keep in the Carolus non-weaponization clause... but I think that should be the limit of military discussion."

"I agree. Those like King Aminor who prefer to focus solely on their country's GDP would not want to get entangled in military conflicts like the war in Mayence." The game was forgotten. She'd taken up a lean against the table and was frowning at the racks of wine bottles that extended to the curved brickwork overhead.

"We want them to see the Barony as a sound financial ally, not a military one. I don't want to embolden one moron to do something stupid and then have to be forced to follow along in that sort of idiocy. Ever. Plus, the whole point of this is so that they don't feel threatened by a Rhovnik-DeMuer union. My family is, in effect, a personal army. It would be best if we downplay any military aspect and instead focus on financial advantages."

"Mm," he nodded. "And I think the non-weaponization clause will do a good job of emphasizing that -- specifically agreeing to take Carolus weaponization off of the table, focusing instead on sharing its numerous economic advantages. As long as Aminor says what he claims he will, and Santiago and Mayence play their parts... I think we can pull this off."

His eyes slid over to her on those last words, a smile secreted in them. "And then get married."

That broke the pensive frown and the concentrated narrowed gaze. Her eyes were drawn back to him and a smile quickly appeared. She set the cue down on the edge of the table before reaching up to slide her arms around his neck for a quick, tight squeeze. "And all those concerns. What do you think the over-under is on how many times over the next week I am asked who is designing my wedding dress? And where the silk will be coming from? And who will be making the lace, if there is lace?"

"And you have to be careful, Soph... wars have been started over less," he teased, running his left hand down her right, then his right down the left... watching the latter as he traced five little paths, focusing on the feeling, on the dull weight of the numb touch and that sharp little spark of reawakening nerves...

He lifted his eyes to her again, smiling. Murmured a Newbreton 'I love you.'