Count Teagan Elf-child sat back in his chair, took a moment to stretch his arms, and then – after his moment’s peace – immediately plunged back into the letters and portraits which littered his desk.

Of course, he appreciated why he must get married. Teagan’s own debacle of a rise to power showed the need for heirs. As many as can be had, if the gods are arrayed against you. His father had a least one bastard son to offer up for his vassals and farmers on his deathbed. Teagan hadn’t even managed that, so far, at least.

The portraits he pushed aside with no interest.

Each image was only a collection of little lies that come together in the amalgam known as classical beauty. The lustrous hair, full lips, and swelling breasts; Teagan seriously doubted any of these women actually resembled their portraits. If they did, there’d be no room to move in Whitegate for all hair, lips, and breasts swelling everywhere.

For the tenth time that night, he sighed and cursed his half-brothers. Cursed them for have the audacity to go off and die, leaving him to this.

Bran left them when he fell off his horse and broke his leg. Less than a week later, it turned gangrenous and killed him.

Marcus was killed in a tourney accident, when a lance had struck him upside the head and snapped his neck.

His eldest sister Julia wasn’t even in line to inherit anything, but the gods had taken her just as well. She drowned swimming in the White Sea with her lover, whom their father later had executed for not saving her.

Tiny Camilla, the youngest of them all, had just gotten sick and died. No one ever knew how or why.

Sweet little Alyssa still remained, however. Teagan was thankful to still have some family remaining.

His mother was still alive too, of course. But when the count took sick and realized that only Teagan was left to inherit his title, she was sent away. It wouldn’t do to have the new Count be seen with his elf serving girl of a mother.

He was Count now, he could always have her sent for, but Teagan understood that his reign was still tentative enough as it was. The last thing he needed was a popular revolt. After he was married, and had given her a grandson, then he would have his mother brought back to the Overwatch.

She was comfortable where she was, according to her letters…

Teagan made another valiant effort to concentrate on the letters from his prospective fathers-in-law, but soon his mind drifted back to family and sweet little Alyssa.

Sweet little Alyssa wasn’t so little anymore, though she could still be sweet when she wanted something. In fact, she would be a woman soon, and he would need to repeat this whole process again to find a spouse for her.

The thought was almost too much to bear.

At last, he yielded to his boredom and collected all the letters and stowed them in his desk drawer. Then he spread out all the portraits before him and tried to decide which artist most skillfully depicted the swelling. Finally, he decided on a rather fine pair depicted with more vivaciousness than any of the others.

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He blew out the light on his lamp, and then headed towards his bedchambers.

His majordomo intercepted Teagan coming down the stairs the next morning. “My Lord?”

Teagan yawned, still half-asleep. “Yes? What is it?”

“There is a guest at the door, Ser. It’s the monk, Fra Pierre.”

“Oh? That’s nice. He can join us for breakfast.”

“It’s noon, Ser. The kitchens are preparing dinner.”

“Well, it shall be breaking my fast.”

“He’s also brought two women with him.”

“Oh? Are they good looking?”

“I don’t notice such things, Ser.”

Teagan nodded. “A wise precaution. Put out three extra places at breakfast anyway though.”

“They all seemed, er… worse for wear.”

“Well, have them cleaned up then. Fresh clothes- all that. You know all the appropriate procedures when someone needs cleaning up before a formal meal. The Fra won’t be offended if I start eating before he arrives, so take your time with them if you have to.”

“He claimed they may be in danger, my Lord.”

“I see.” Teagan scratched his chin. “Well, inform the guards to be on high alert. Now, my stomach gets upset if I don’t eat. So, I must have a bite of something at once.”

He went into the dining hall and helped himself to the White Sea eel, served in garum. The wine was a fortified red from Lusitan, with a flavor so rich it almost tasted like butter. A plate of plums was brought in, so sweet and ripe that the flesh of the fruit was blood red beneath the skin.

Everything was completely delicious, as it always was.

The domestic staff at his ancestral castle, the Overwatch, was certainly more than adequate. But here at his private manor house in the city, he had one of the finest head chefs to be found on Castle Hill. And that one district held the single highest density of truly great culinary artists on the continent. So, Teagan considered himself very lucky to secure the services of one, he considered, among the best of the best.

At length, Fra Pierre arrived with two women.

The monk owned nothing, but Teagan always kept a few clean sets of robes in his size for him when the Fra visited. Life on the streets was often hard on his garments. The clothes he wore were new, but he still had his old sling belt around his waist.

Neither of the two women he brought with him were very attractive. They weren’t ugly, just very plain. The kind of person one tended simply not to notice. One of them was a human, and the other a low-elf. They both wore holy symbols of the Earth Mother.

Teagan smiled broadly at his old family friend. “Brother! It’s been more than five months since I’ve seen you. Not since we spent the winter looking after those foundlings in my hall, after the orphanage burnt down.”

“It’s another mission of mercy which brings me to you today, my Lord.” He bowed.

“It always is.” Teagan laughed. “No need for formality. You’ve known me since before I was an heir. Sit down and tuck in, please. The plums are excellent, by the way. Just the perfect ripeness, when it just falls apart as you eat it.”

Sisters (and Brothers) of Charity were not permitted to eat meat, or even fish, but Teagan knew that fresh fruit happened to be Brother Pierre’s greatest vice. His family had sponsored the monk's work in the slums since before Teagan was born, and they were each well aware of one another's strengths and weaknesses.

For proprieties’ sake, Teagan noticed his friend tested for the firmest plum before biting into it. Inside, the one he chose was only a deep orange. Not quite ready yet, for Teagan’s own taste.

The women piled up their plates eagerly with anything they could lay their hands on. It seemed neither of them had eaten in some time.

“Now, what brings you here?” Teagan asked, once they’d had time to eat.

“These young women are Rosa and Anita. They have a rather curious story to tell. I’ve only just learned the broad details on the way here, but if I’m right, I believe they may be able to clarify several points regarding that conspiracy of Stirba's, which Alexius and the Doge have been so concerned about recently.”

Teagan sent his major domo to fetch more wine.

This had the sounds of a long day ahead of him.