#Montrachet

[contremineur]

Alvina Pernot, vigneronne in Puligny-Montrachet

from here

[asgoodeasgold]

Who needs words when you have hands. Matthew Goode being his zestful, exuberant and adorable self on The Wine Show. Happy weekend everyone❣️ 📷 The Wine Show s1:06 my edits

And here is the same portrait with a different background, just for the fun of it.

[enibas22]

from IG mxtchantcho - 13th December 2022

Tom Wlaschiha and I ready for the masquerade ball, where anything goes. #dangerousliaisons on @lionsgateplusuk 😉

[ewinofthelake]

Melisandre and Jaqen as Jacqueline and Henri De Montrachet ;)

Dangerous Liaisons trailer

6 November 2022 on Starz

[menubot]

Welcome to 1968! Why not enjoy some Chassagne Montrachet (Charles Deroy) 1961 at St. James Restaurant Ltd? http://menus.nypl.org/menus/26373

[irontrashglitter]

my sleep paralysis demon is pascal de valmont seducing the wrong woman by mistake

[the-avengers-ate-my-tongue]

Mrs. Fell (Smut)

Summary: you've been living with Hannibal in Florence under the identity of Mrs. Fell. Although you missed Will dearly, the energy between the psychiatrist and you begin to unfold in different — and intriguing — paths.

Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x reader, Will Graham x reader (mentioned)

Warnings: Mentions of blood, violence and, obviously, sex. 

English is not my first language, if you see any mistake, let me know!

Word Count: 2280

You jolted upwards on your bed, sweat soaking the silk linens and the black nightgown you wore.

Another nightmare. They were becoming quite common these days. 

You sighed, allowing your body to lie back down, the mattress springs squeaking annoyingly. With unnecessary roughness, you covered your mouth with your hand, trying to suppress your hopeless cries so they wouldn't wake Hannibal up. Even though he was in another room, the walls had ears. You knew he would hear you somehow. He always did. 

You took a deep breath, trying to calm down. God, how you missed Will. His touch and soft voice would be exactly what you needed to soothe you, his words of assurance guaranteeing you everything was alright and nothing would harm you, for he wouldn't allow it. 

But things ended up slipping out of his control, didn't they? You weren't with him anymore, under his golden protection. You were with Hannibal Lecter in a fancy house in Florence, Italy. Being held hostage, as much as he would disagree. Kept as a pet, an amusement. A consolation prize. Spoils of war. 

Without your control, your mind spiralled to the night Hannibal took you as advantage in his escape, disembowelling Will cowardly and threatening to kill him if you wouldn't come with him. His last fraction of torture, you remember thinking to yourself while you both rode the motorcycle under those heavy drops of rain that washed all your tears away.

You also remembered how kindly he wiped your tears without saying a word, for he knew nothing he would say would be enough. You were in that position because of him, after all. You had begged him to let you stay, to talk to Will, but he wouldn't have none of it. The flight to Italy was bittersweet, since you had never flown before, the sky being ignorantly astonishing to your pain. 

You still felt the ghost of Will's bloodied kiss before you left him. His breathless sobs still echoed in your ears, clenching your heart painfully. You never were religious, but you remember praying he would survive the wound, so you could be reunited again and forget all about the goddamn FBI, Jack Crawford and Hannibal Lecter. 

You both could live in a small cottage by the sea, fish, swim and sail all day long, raise a few babies of your own. Little boys and girls with dark hair and y/e/c eyes running around the beach, laughing joyfully with nothing to worry about. 

That reality seemed distant, however, at least at the moment. You would linger in the shadows of Lydia Fell, your new identity, until it was safe enough to come to light again.

Time travelled fast while you pretended to be the wife of the renowned Dr. Fell. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and you could feel the energy between you and Hannibal shift mysteriously. It was surprisingly easy to be Mrs. Fell, attending to parties, little soirees vanity allowed Hannibal to arrange. He would pamper you with pretty dresses, fancy food and barbiturates, making days easier to endure, afternoons fun and evenings interesting, filled with culture and knowledge you never got tired of soaking like a sponge. Whenever the memory of Will became too unbearable, you would pop a pill and drink a glass of Bâtard-Montrachet, dancing to old elegant tunes; your head feeling hazy and heavy until you finally gave up and went to bed. 

His bed, after a while. It was more convenient to pretend integrally to be Mrs. Fell. It wasn't so bad, after all, you hated sleeping all alone. Hannibal's presence made you feel safer, and he was ever most respectful towards you. It didn't take long for you to realize the longing stare to his hands when he cooked, or the way his back flexed when he sliced something thick. Started as innocent glances; until you finally acknowledged the lust rising at the bottom of your abdomen with the silliest of things, like when he played the piano, or talked about the paintings and sculptures of the house you were both staying in. 

You couldn't deny how appealing the man was, with his charms, intelligence and sophistication. How easy it was for him to entangle Will and you into his web of lies and sadistic games. You were a mere fly, trapped, waiting — and sometimes even longing — to be devoured.

"Hair up or down?" You inquired with a sly smile, grabbing a fist of your hair and pulling it up while you looked at the mirror, watching Hannibal fix his cufflinks. He directed his attention to you and your exposed neck, and you noticed how his eyes darkened, making your insides twist. 

In silence, he walked towards you, lowering the straps of your red dress a little bit to expose your shoulders, pulling out of his pocket a beautiful golden necklace with rubies the size of berries. You choked a gasp, covering your mouth while he tied the astonishing piece around your neck, allowing his fingers to gently caress the skin.

"Up. It will bring out your eyes even more with the necklace. Allow me." He took a few bobby pins and started to work on your hair with surprising skill, letting a few strands loose to shape your face perfectly. 

"Is there anything you don't know how to do?" You teased, chuckling slightly while you stared at yourself in the mirror. You looked beautiful, and at the same time an entire different person. 

"Yes." His eyes lingered on you with a subtle glow that didn't last long. "You're wearing the perfume I gave you."

"I am."

"It suits you."

"In what way, Hannibal?" You turned to face him with a capricious move, eying him from below. 

"It's elegant and discreet, yes. However, it possesses a hidden flame that only the most skilled men are able to capture."

"And you're one of those men, I suppose."

"Would you say so, Y/n?" 

You hesitated, chewing your lip with anticipation. 

"That was very psychiatrist of you, Dr. Lecter. Directing the thought to me."

"Old habits never die, I suppose. You are avoiding the question, Y/n." He stepped closer, lifting your chin with his index, caressing it with his thumb. "Would you say so?"

You licked your lips and he followed the movement with his eyes.

"Hannibal… I'm Will's. My heart will always belong to him." You tried to push away his hand but he held your chin harder, keeping you in place.

"I've given you every single opportunity to flee over the past few months, Y/n. And yet, you remain here with me. You should face the inevitable" he knelt in front of you, his hands traveling through your thighs, lifting your dress. "You enjoy being Mrs. Lecter more than you would like to acknowledge."

You sighed, allowing your head to drop back, longing to be touched. 

"Mrs. Fell." You corrected, eyes closed. "I am Mrs. Fell."

He lifted one of your legs, placing it over his shoulder while lifting your dress up, a guttural moan escaping his throat once he realized you were bare under it. The soft touch of his tongue in your core was enough to drive you mad, grabbing his locks while he delighted himself with your taste. You whimpered, moaning his name under your breath, biting your lip so hard you felt your front teeth penetrate the flesh, the copper taste of blood invading your tongue. 

Hannibal could smell it, lifting his eyes quickly like a predator, rising only to lick the small trickle that stained your chin. You were surprised with how much that aroused you; he hesitated, staring at your mouth with hungry eyes, and you wondered if he was asking for permission. You granted it with pulling him closer, kissing him with passion, tasting more parts of yourself on his tongue that you could fathom. He held you by your ass, lifting you up with ease while you wrapped your legs around his hips without breaking the kiss. You felt the soft touch of the mattress against your back and the silk linens, focusing on how good Hannibal's hands felt as they explored your body, rough and experienced touches that certainly would leave a few bruises tomorrow. 

He got slightly impatient, then, ripping your dress and exposing your breasts, your nipples hard with the stimulation. You gasped with the abrupt move, raising your arms to cover yourself instinctively, but he held your hands against the mattress with no avail. 

"I liked that dress!" You protested, trying to hide how nervous you were, the feeling of doing something wrong spreading adrenaline over your entire being. 

"Perhaps I should buy you another one, then" Hannibal said while starting to undress, throwing his vests on the ground. "I have the feeling you were never touched the way you truly desire, Y/n."

That single line caused you to paralyze like a doe on headlights, your wide eyes staring at him with disbelief. He was right; you hadn't been with many men in your life, and the longest relationship you had was with Will. He was never too much interested in sex, though, and on the times you actually did it, he touched you like one would handle a fine china. With care and tenderness, as if he feared to break you. It wasn't bad at all, he made love to you every single time, always so intense and intimate that you felt like you would break in tears sometimes. 

Hannibal was right. You were never fucked properly because you never had been with a man who cared about your true desires. Moreover, it wasn't Will's fault that you never showed him your dark inclinations, he had a twisted view of perfection when it came to you. The only light in his life, the only unchangeable good. Being held in that place was exhausting and you had never realized how full of it you were until Hannibal's statement. 

"Tell me what you want, Y/n." He commanded. You blinked away images of Will to the bottom of your conscience, embracing your desire and acting on it.

"I want you inside me," you pleaded, using your elbows to support you while you stared at his remarkable body. "Take me, Hannibal."

A convinced smirk illustrated his lips, his pupils so dilated his eyes were completely black. He crawled over you, nibbling on your neck and earlobe while his hips nested on yours, fitting in perfectly as if you both were built to the purpose by gods. He entered you without a warning, causing you to sink your nails into the skin of his back. He sighed, the feeling of your walls clenching to accommodate him being too good to be true. You spread your legs, allowing him to reach deeper, a state of bliss pouring over you. It was wrong, but it felt so right. You moved your hips in perfect synchrony, one of his hands grabbing your neck, keeping you in place without actually hurting. He used his thumb to caress your bottom lip and you took the opportunity to suck on his finger, the salty taste tickling the tip of your tongue. 

That caused him to fasten his movements without care, a light ache joining your pleasure. The wet sound of his thrusts, your moans and his groans echoed through the bedroom like an unholy symphony, the scent of sex and sweat starting to fill the air. The tip of his cock touched a critical point inside you repeatedly, and you could feel the tension start to build up at the bottom of your abdomen, arching your back while he grabbed your hair, pulling your head to the side to sink his teeth into the flesh of your shoulder, near your collarbone. That sent sparks along your spine, and you sucked the air through your teeth, your nails descending the skin of his back and drawing blood. 

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head while you felt pleasure wash over you, release becoming almost unbearable. It was as if Hannibal knew all your buttons, where to touch you, exactly what to do to bring you to the edge of the abyss. And you jumped without hesitation, his breath fastening till a moan escaped his lips and he filled you with his cum, his body trembling in silent ecstasy. 

He didn't leave you right away, enjoying the warm and wet feeling of your cunt for a few more moments before he finally pulled out, trying to stabilize his breathing. You stared at the ceiling with glassy eyes and ajar lips, feeling his cum dripping out of you. Without a word, Hannibal picked you up in his arms with a surprising tenderness, taking you to the bathroom and preparing a hot bath. 

Ah, Will. Forgive me. What have I done? Was the thought that echoed in your mind repeatedly, realization towering over you with an iced shadow. You tried to catch a glimpse of the sun under months of a lonely dark night, but ended up being severely burned. As Icarus flew too close and had his wings melted, you fell to your doom, beyond salvation, beyond forgiveness. You were stained for life; Will would never look at you the same way. 

"Y/n." Hannibal stared at you with his chocolate irises, proceeding to wash your hair, removing the bobby pins himself had placed over your locks earlier. You felt weirdly numb, dissociative, like your body wasn't your own anymore. 

"Lydia" you corrected in a tired whisper, a demented little smile playing in your lips. "My name is Lydia Fell."

[tonystark-official]

Would you happen to have any wine recommendations?

I've seen to have grown too used to mine, unfortunately.

~ @drstrangeofficial

This has been sitting in my inbox for far too long. Oops.

I quite enjoy Burgundies. If it's an option, I will always pick it. I have an aged "Chapelle de Blagney Puligney-Montrachet Premier Cru" (Semi-dry. Plus, you're not allergic to almonds, are you?) if you would like to stop by and have a few drinks. If you like it, you can take it home. I can always buy more.

[xeniums]

“due bottiglie di Bâtard-Montrachet e li tartufi bianchi, per favore” is my morning wish of the day

[avispatr]

" Cajun shrimp pasta, crab cakes, smoked salmon, olive spread with pita and fresh hummus, grape leaves, a bowl of greek olives stuffed with garlic, oysters, lobster, king crab, spicy tuna salad, with a greek salad with olive oil feta cheese and red wine vinegar all served with a whole bottle of Domaine Leflaive Montrachet Grand Cru."

[alfaangel]

"A table setting from the home of Dr Hannibal Lecter. The silverware is 19th-century Dutch from Christofle. The plate is Gien French china from Tiffany. The table linen is damask cotton. Also from Christofle. -You've got to hand it to the man, he has the most marvellous taste... I've discovered a pattern of purchases. An echo of the life he lived in Baltimore. -He likes music, he likes wine, he likes food and he likes you. How do you taste, Dr Bloom? Sweet, I bet. I'm sure you got a taste of him, too. Spitters are quitters, and you don't strike me as a quitter. The first step in the development of taste is to be willing to credit your own opinion. But in the areas of food and wine, I have to follow Hannibal's precedents. A receipt from a Florentine fine grocer, Vera Dal 1926, for two bottles of Bâtard Montrachet and some tartufi bianchi. And another, and another, and another. Once a week, for the last three months, a blonde woman has been making the exact same purchase. And she always pays cash.' She's shopping for Hannibal. Bravo."

[enibas22]

from IG  hanne_twfan 🌷 - 27th November 2022 

source for the screencap: IG story Tom Wlaschiha from the same day

Tom Wlaschiha and Carice van Houten in the series "Dangerous Liaisons" as Henri de Montrachet and Jacqueline de Montrachet.

[titleleaf]

On the flipside, fascinated by Will Graham’s car and all it signifies about him:

There’s a very different vibe between these vehicles even setting aside price point -- even the difference in reviews, where you're seeing stuff like "comfortable", "dependable", people talking about how good it is for doing your own repairs or for helping your friends move. Will is fully comfortable transporting stray dogs in this thing, he's using it to commute some ungodly distances so it's not a total beater, but he's not particularly interested in turning heads or in owning something that's fun to drive. I would wager Will's not this car's first owner and that he does most of his own maintenance, while Hannibal 1000% pays someone else very well to do that shit for him.

Overall show!Will's Volvo always reminds me of book!Will's real ambivalence around the Leeds' well-to-do acquisitiveness in Red Dragon.

Graham pursued Charles Leeds through the house. His hunting prints hung in the den. His set of the Great Books were all in a row. Sewanee annuals. H. Allen Smith and Perelman and Max Shulman on the bookshelves. Vonnegut and Evelyn Waugh. C. S. Forrester's Beat to Quarters was open on a table. In the den closet a good skeet gun, a Nikon camera, a Bolex Super Eight movie camera and projector. Graham, who owned almost nothing except basic fishing equipment, a third-hand Volkswagen, and two cases of Montrachet, felt a mild animosity toward the adult toys and wondered why. Who was Leeds? A successful tax attorney, a Sewanee footballer, a rangy man who liked to laugh, a man who got up and fought with his throat cut.

[olympic-paris]

Slowpoached Turbot Langoustine With Zucchini Eggplant Tomato

Pour accompagner un Turbot cuit à basse température accompagné d'un feuilleté d'aubergines et de courgettes et jus de Langoustine, je vous conseille un CHASSAGNE-MONTRACHET VILLAGE 2012 et avec moi, vous pouvez boire sans modération

[fischerfrey]

A Christmas Prince; The Royal Wedding

Chapter 2: Krampus

Summary: Dawn faces difficulties with his new wedding designer while tensions boil in Alderly. The family's Christmas get-together is interrupted by a surprising visitor...

Words: 2.5k

Characters:

Dawn Harvelle and Rosa Yaxley @potionboy3

Quincey, Olympia, and Isabella Alderly

Pandora Lovelace and Lainey Bell by @gcldensnitch

Rocky Weasley by @magicallymalted

Beginning | Next Chapter

Want to read the first fic in the series, A Christmas Prince? Click here!

Chapter 2: Krampus 

“We have many preparations to do and very little time,” Rosa Yaxley said, flipping a white board showing several sketches from flower bouquets to table settings, and photographs of what Dawn assumed, were traditional Alderlian wedding attire.  

“Uh…” Dawn started but was silenced by a stern look from Pince. 

“The Bavarian orchestra will start precisely at your entrance with the release of the Barbary doves.” Rosa explained, producing a pointer stick from somewhere and demonstrating all the items she mentioned. “South African wildflowers will adorn your path down the aisle.” 

“Oh…” Dawn uttered. When the queen had said that Dawn would have a say, he hadn’t realized she had meant that she and Miss Yaxley had already planned everything and that he would just have to sit here and nod dutifully. 

Rosa continued: “I mean, you won't, and I mean it, you won't be able to take a step without a Namaqualand daisy between the floor and your shoes.” 

Dawn was beginning to really see that she didn’t particularly want to be in this position. He wondered if the queen had made her, as a punishment for her transgressions last year. 

“Hmm…” he simply said. 

“There will be a roast pig from each of Alderly's seven provinces. Montrachet Grand Cru will be in every goblet,” Rosa went on. “But of greatest importance... Is your outfit.” 

“Is that what those are for?” Dawn asked, vaguely motioning towards the pictures of clothes. The designs looked like somewhere between a mix of Bavarian and Slovenian folk clothing with something distinctly… Christmassy about them. 

“Is it customary to wear traditional dress to weddings?” 

“Not for at least a hundred years but the queen felt that it was important to show how committed to our culture and traditions you are.” 

“The queen… look,” Dawn started, and went on despite Pince’s warning glances. “I am committed. I’ve never been this committed to a goddamn thing in my entire life, but I feel like this might not go over well with the… well you know, the public.” 

“Whyever not?” Pince chimed in. 

“Well, I am a foreigner and maybe they will want to see me actually participate in their culture before taking on its symbols?” Dawn posited it as a question, but it really wasn’t. “Especially when this is just a publicity stunt, and I didn’t even pick the outfit.” 

Rosa bit her lip but Pince went on: “Nonsense, of course you will wear the traditional costume.” 

“I was really hoping that I could wear something… simple, something that’s a little more me.” 

“What?” asked Pince. 

“I mean these outfits are beautiful,” Dawn continued. “But I don’t want to play a part for my own wedding. Maybe I could wear one of these a year from now to an event where they’re actually worn in still?” 

“I don’t think you understand the sort of situation we’re in,” Pince said. “Half the country is in an uproar because we haven’t seen this kind of financial hardships since the war, not to mention their monarch is pretty much going against every strong held value they’ve been instilled with since birth.” 

“I sympathize with the depression, not so much with the homophobia,” said Dawn and noticed Rosa just barely concealing a chuckle. Maybe Dawn stood a chance after all. 

~ 

“This protocol is driving me crazy. It's like Bridezilla in reverse,” Dawn complained later in a video call to Rocky and Pandora. 

“Forgive me if I don't ooze sympathy from the night security desk of Noodle Chalet's corporate office,” said Rocky. Ever since the downfall of Beat Now, Rocky had been a security guard at Noodle Chalet, and it wasn’t lost on Dawn how his problems might probably seem somewhat quaint. 

“Hey, at least you've got a job,” Pandora chimed in. “I've been living with my parents for the last three months.” 

“Well, that’s tragic,” said Rocky. 

“Yeah, ever since Now Beat shut down.” 

“Now Beat?” asked Dawn. “It was Beat Now.” 

Dawn was happy he was no longer working for Kerry Crouch, but he couldn’t help but miss having a normal job and normal problems. Especially with Irma Pince breathing down his neck at every turn. 

“Whatever,” said Pandora with a shrug. “It’s gone now.” 

“But Dawn, you’re having some royal pains?” asked Rocky. 

Dawn chuckled. It was a pain just to be one, it seemed. “Well yeah, but I mean…”  

“Have you talked to Quincey about any of this?” Pandora cut in. 

“I haven’t seen him today.” 

“They know how to keep a king busy,” Rocky said. 

Dawn knew things were going to be busy, but he truly felt alone in the castle. He wasn’t even allowed to spend time with Tess and his dad, or at least not as much as he would have preferred. He was a little bit worried that this was how the rest of his life was going to look. Just protocol and event after event with only small respites in-between to actually hang out with his husband-to-be. He’d next be seeing Quincey when they all headed to town for his speech, and he didn’t expect there to be a lot of time for chit-chat. 

“Just hurry up and get here already,” he said. 

“Counting down the seconds, mate,” Pandora said. 

~ 

Rosa had left Dawn with a folder full of designs for the wedding. Dawn flipped through it, examining the plans with growing dread. This whole ordeal didn’t feel at all like a wedding he would want for himself. Not that he had ever thought about getting married before this past year. He almost wished he and Quincey had just eloped. He’d rather have Elvis marry them in Vegas than whatever this was shaping up to be. Dawn slammed the folder shut and let it fall on the bed. He was going to have to complain to someone who would understand, or he’d end up committing arson. Or worse. 

~ 

When Dawn went looking for Olympia later, he found her in the middle of an argument with her mother, the queen. 

“You must understand that his whole thing is frivolous,” Isabella was saying. 

“Well mother, it’s important to me so I don’t particularly care.” 

“This is about the image we portray to the world,” Isabella tried. “A princess can’t be an actress.” 

“I was in many plays as a child.” 

“That was different.” 

“This is for a good cause.” 

“It doesn’t matter. You know what kind of situation we’re in with your past actions and your brother’s life choices.” 

“It’s not a life choice.” 

Isabella sighed. “You know what I meant.” 

“No, I don’t, and I’m also doing the play, I don’t care what you think.” 

“Don’t you speak to me with that tone, young lady.” 

Dawn, suddenly realizing he was quite rudely eavesdropping, stepped into the room, fully pretending as if he hadn’t been listening. “Oh, hello Your Majesty, Your Highness.” 

“Dawn, great timing, mother was just about to wring my neck,” said Olympia. 

“Olympia–,” the queen attempted. 

“I have to talk to you Dawn, if you don’t mind,” Olympia said and walked up to Dawn, grabbing his arm. “Preferably somewhere away from her…” 

“Alright…” said Dawn, casting an apologetic glance at Queen Isabella. They had their differences, but Dawn was determined to get along with his mother-in-law.  

~ 

Olympia led him to a smaller room, let go of his arm and dramatically fell into one of the priceless antique armchairs. 

“What was that about?” Dawn asked. 

“She thinks it’s common to do the play.” 

“Oh, of course she does.” 

“But I’m still going to do it,” Olympia continued. “I can’t wait for you to see it, it’s kind of like an arthouse reimagining.” 

“Oh, wow, alright,” said Dawn.  

“You could come see the dress rehearsal?” 

“If I can get away from my own dress rehearsals…”  

“Right, how’s that going, anyway?” Olympia asked and sat up straight. She had messed up her hair, slumping onto the chair. 

“Well… It’s going.” 

“You let me know if you need any help.” 

Dawn knew he needed all the help he could get, but after hearing the conversation between Olympia and the queen, he wasn’t sure it was the best idea to rope Olympia into it. 

“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you, O.” 

~ 

That afternoon, the royal retinue made its way to town. Quincey’s speech took place in front of Alderly’s House of Parliament and the square in front of it was packed. Aside from the adoring crowd, though, there was a smaller but no less attention-grabbing group of protesters behind them. Dawn, ever the journalist, kept an eye on them. They were holding signs proclaiming the bad financial situation in the country and demanding to be paid or get their jobs back. Miss Pince, standing next to Dawn, was glaring at the crowd with hostility, when Quincey took to the podium. While many cheered, waving Alderlian flags, the protesters booed. Dawn shifted his weight from one foot to another uncomfortably. 

“Behind me stands an enduring symbol of Alderly's historical strength. Before me, and all of us, lies our current revitalization project, a symbol of Alderly's shining future,” Quincey started. From Pince’s sudden shift in posture, Dawn deduced that the speech was written by her.  

“For crops to flourish, rain must fall. Likewise, today's temporary hardships will soon spur on a bountiful future for all.” 

Amongst the cheers, Dawn heard someone shout out: “What about our jobs?” 

“The country's going broke!” 

“Shame on the king!” 

Security had to step in to rein in the protesters. Quincey couldn’t have missed the incident, but he continued like he had, as Dawn was sure he had been instructed to do. 

“A new Alderlian chapter is about to begin. And I'm honoured and excited to share that journey with each and every one of you. I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a prosperous New Year.” 

~ 

After Quincey got off the stage, Lainey offered him a bottle of water. 

“Thank you.” 

“That went… alright,” she said. At least she was honest.

“I feel like a total fraud reading out that propaganda,” Quincey said with a sigh. 

“Your ideas make perfect sense,” said Lainey. “I just don't understand why they're not working.” 

“Neither do I.” 

Dawn, pained by Quincey’s tired and slightly pathetic expression and sick of not knowing the details of this initiative, piped in: “When numbers don't add up, there's usually a reason.” 

Quiney and Lainey turned to him, and Dawn continued: “I’m going to be prince consort, I want to contribute, that’s why I’m coming to the meeting tomorrow.”  

“The queen said you would be exceedingly busy with wedding preparations so you wouldn’t be able to make it,” said Lainey. 

Dawn and Quincey exchanged looks and said almost in unison: “What?” 

“We should be doing everything we can to help the kingdom, right?” Dawn asked. 

“Absolutely.” 

“Maybe there should be a revitalization effort to bring the royal family into the 21st century, too…” 

That’s when Pince came back, saying: “An excellent speech, Your Majesty. Now I need you to come meet the press with your most confident smiles…” 

~ 

After returning to the palace, Dawn, Quincey, and Olympia had tea with the queen. It was an exceedingly uncomfortable hour to top off an exceedingly uncomfortable event. 

“The press office assures me your speech today will do a world of good,” said Isabella from across the table. 

“Less than a year into my reign,” Quincey started. “I feel like I'm running the kingdom into the ground.” 

“Oh, you put much too much pressure on yourself.” 

“It's my initiative, mother.” 

“Quentin,” said the queen. “As you know, your father first proposed the need for such a program, but I oversaw the implementation, with the country’s full backing.” 

“Yes, but…” 

“Economic fluctuation is a fact of life,” Isabella stated and set her teacup back on its settee. 

“Yes, but I can't help but feel father would be disappointed.” 

“Oh, nonsense! You mustn't let this put a strain on the season. Or the wedding,” said Isabella and turned her attention to Dawn. “I hear the stress has been getting to you.” 

Olympia took a deep breath and said: “Can we not have a single conversation without it being observed and reported?” 

“Darling,” said the queen, laying a hand on her daughter's arm. Olympia withdrew, annoyed. “I just want all of you to be happy.” 

“Well, it would help if you stopped meddling into our business,” Olympia suggested, clearly running out of patience. “We’re all adults here, after all.” 

Isabella sighed. “I’ve decided to resume my active role in the governing of this country. In particular to help with the financial difficulties.” 

“What?” asked Olympia. Quincey didn’t say anything and had an unreadable expression on his face. Dawn still felt too out of the loop with the country’s goings-on to say anything. 

“But you seemed happy to retire?” argued Olympia. 

“Only because I found it too difficult to go on without your father,” Isabella explained. 

“Mother…” Quincey finally spoke up. “Thank you.” 

~ 

That evening, everyone gathered together to decorate Queen Isabella’s Christmas tree. Dawn and Quincey’s families all sitting together in the same room gave Dawn some kind of whiplash. He never imagined this would be his life. While Tess and Olympia chose matching baubles, Dawn sat next to Quincey on the couch closest to the fireplace and took his hand. Ever since the speech, he’d been in low spirits and Dawn couldn’t exactly blame him. 

“Hi,” he said. 

“Hi,” replied Quincey. “I feel like I should apologize.” 

“For what?” asked Dawn. 

“For making you feel left out.” 

“Am I feeling left out?” asked Dawn, incredulously. 

“Are you?” 

“Well, a little.” 

“The pressures I'm facing as king are no excuse. Can you forgive me?” 

“I really would like to help.” 

Quincey smiled and squeezed Dawn’s hand. “Mother’s help will come in handy; she has a few decades of experience on this front.” 

“Then I’m glad she’s decided to postpone her retirement.” 

Dawn wasn’t exactly sure if he was glad but if the queen’s involvement would help Quincey’s workload, then it wouldn’t be all bad. He wished he could be more of use and that he would have already started his studies in political science. He had applied immediately after realizing he was going to actually have to do some governing, but he’d been advised to postpone his enrollment by a year. He’d done a semester of it already in university during his second year, so he wasn’t a complete beginner but now he was determined to get a Master’s. He had had fun writing his blog this past year, but he wanted to do something that could do some actual good in the world. 

 Suddenly a palace aide entered the room, looking quite disheveled.  

“Your Majesties, you have a guest,” he said. 

“Whoever could it be?” wondered the queen out loud. Dawn thought it must be Krampus because who else would it be showing up to the palace and causing a ruckus at this hour.

“Oh? Send them in,” instructed Quincey and got up.

After a few moments, a man entered the room. A very familiar man whom Dawn had been looking forward to never seeing again.  

“Evander,” said Olympia venomously. “What are you doing here?”  

Krampus indeed. 

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