The Wake: Royal Palace, Intelligentsia.

Guests have been invited to attend The Royal Palace, Intelligentsia, for a full state banquet and reception to follow the state funeral for the Queen Matilda II and King-Consort Richard of McMasterdonia. Security is tight at the Royal Palace. Guests will be granted rooms to stay should they require it.


The Archbishop of Intelligentsia, led the Royal Family into the ballroom where the State Banquet was to be held. In true McMasterdonian style, the ballroom was covered from almost wall to wall with paintings of the current members of the royal family. Prominently at the head of the family, to the far end of the hall was the brilliant painting of King-Regent Albert and his wife, Princess-Consort Madeline.

On the northern wall were the paintings of the senior members of the Royal Family, King Louis XIV now deceased, and his wife Queen Meghan.







Guests are invited to begin to enter the ballroom. They may mingle with other guests and talk with members of the royal family who are present.

OOC: Present: King-Regent Albert, his wife Princess-Consort Madeline, his sister Princess Magdelina, his older sister and high priestess Princess Wilhelmina, his youngest brother Prince Alexander of Caspius. The Queen mother and the heir apparent are not attending.

Caesar entered the ballroom, followed closely by the Lictor-Magister.

Both their paces were as regal as always, unaffected by the moving speeches that had just taken place. In fact, the colour that Caesar had lost entering the church had already returned to his face. Some of it by relief, some of it by...meeting old friends.

Nevertheless, this was more familiar grounds. Gone were the trying speeches to the fallen, now the facade of a world untouched by death. The glorious atmosphere of the rich and powerful, buoyed by a nation on the brink's swansong.

Yes, there will be a rebirth. There always is. But for now, we celebrate the welcoming embrace of Death.

God damn it, funerals are depressing, even without the Lictor-Magister. The colour was gone again.

"Would you excuse me, sir? I've always had a soft spot for McMasterdonian art."

The Lictor-Magister, the man who depends on other people to make up for his alabaster cheeks with their own colour. He'd bleed them out if it meant he could add some depth to those dead goddamn eyes.

I need a drink.

Sera and Lycaon quietly entered the Ballroom, the acting Khan had been listening carefully during the service, she remembered her grandmother's funeral, she had been far too young, or at least that's what everyone had thought. She had to remind herself of how solemn this occasion was, indeed to her it seemed strange to feel such grief when Matilda had led a good and honourable life but, as her grandfather had warned, these were not their ways. She checked Lycaon briefly, he seemed to lean on his cane a little more these days but he was still strong. The old former Khan seemed to actually have a little more vitality, perhaps it was being useful again following his years of retirement.

Lycaon looked around, finding a good spot to stand and wait for the true mingling to begin.

Tozian entered. Intelligentsia's Royal Palace was far more extravagant than Rethel Palace. Like comparing a bungalow to a hotel.

Tozian walked slowly. His sister seemed excited enough. Her eyes dashed back and forth, looking around the palace at all the foreign leaders. Nara was never fond of affairs of state, but this occasion seemed interest her.

The king of Plembobria, however, was not as amiable. Albert had wanted to speak to him before the service began. He seemed very grave. Perhaps he knew about Peter and Carl's mission. But how could he? He had no communication with the two. Alexander was on their side. How could he possible know? Tozian's hands trembled. He approached his cousin, extended his hand and said, "Albert, I'm very happy to see you again. How are you coping?"

Beatrice adjusted her headscarf as her and the Gonfaloniere walked into the ballroom. He held her arm but released it not long after they entered the room.

"I have to use the men's room," he whispered in her ear.

"I'm getting a drink. Do you want anything?" she replied. She was normally a patient woman, but the funeral felt like it had gone on for weeks. Who could blame someone for being thirsty?

"Is it an open bar?"

Beatrice scrunched her eyebrows. "I don't think they're cheapskates."

"I'll have the usual." he said, walking away. She watched him look left to right, working out his bathroom finding sense, before setting off.

The bar was respectable, though a little bare in the Flemingovian tradition. It had the essentials, though, and a bartender who looked like he knew what he was doing. He had his hand in a glass, wiping it with a cloth as if this was a busy Saturday night.

"I'll take a margarita, and, ah - "

Beatrice's eyes widened. She forgot what Alessandro drank.

"um, ah - " she looked to the left and right. The Caesar was the only one standing there. "What are you drinking?"

Emperor and the Empress gently and slowly entered the ballroom, along with their twelve diplomatic officials.

"Well, the ballroom is very spacious. It is a blessing to be invited into such a luxurious place." Empress said.

Emperor replied, "Let us sit down somewhere to have some food and drink."
Diplomatic officials wait until they are both seated, and then sit down.

One diplomatic official politely asks the Emperor, "My liege, would you like one of us to bring some food and drinks?"

Emperor replied, "Yes, that would be great."

Prime Minister Isaac Oudinot stood near one corner of the ballroom. He scanned the room with a sharp eye. From here he could see everyone and every interaction, observing everything, missing nothing. He took a quick mental note of those he might join or speak to. For a second he paused and admired the architecture, elegant in all definitions of the word.

He had been Prime Minister Of The Lancerian Empire for quite a time now and at one point or another through the years had had brief or lengthy contact with a fair few of the people in the grand room. Though he closely followed world events, most of his attention was usually spent on the Empire and its close allies instead of those who surrounded it. As a result, there were many in the room he could call an acquaintance, but few he could call a friend.

The rest of his attention was on those who had been entering. He waited for the Queen-Empress. Normally strong, resolute, and composed, the Queen-Empress had been taking the death of Matilda hard. She had excused herself for a time after the funeral to make sure she was again put-together for the ballroom reception.

Almost instinctively the Prime Minister brushed his hand past a certain part of his jacket. For this rare occasion, it was empty. His facial expression did not change whatsoever, but on the inside he was ever-so-slightly less comfortable without the revolver normally hidden there. It was a relic of his younger days. Though the area of the Empire was rich with history, with the Empire's roots in the Old Kingdom of Lancers, the Empire was still young. It was forged by blood, bullet, and pen. When the Old Kingdom had been attacked in the 80s, he had answered the call. When King Henri and his strong daughter Amelia returned with McMasterdonian support in the 90s, he had answered the call. He had advised, danced through the art of diplomacy, and when all else failed, fought to bring the Empire together, but even then he was a middle-aged man. As an infant, the Empire had been tumultuous, and there were those who tried to overthrow the leaders. More than one attempt had been made on his own and the Queen-Empress' life and through all these events his pair of revolvers had always been ready. In peacetime he wore one, in wartime he wore the pair. Nowadays, he was an old Prime Minister whose biggest personal concern appeared to the uneducated eye to be whether to retire or run for another term. Not even the Queen-Empress was sure if he still kept them at hand. He preferred it that way.

After a few minutes the Queen-Empress finally entered. There were several who looked her way when she did, including the King-Regent. The Lancerian Empire was a close ally to McMasterdonia. There were those who wondered why they had been so silent during the ongoing Civil War. He noted those who had looked.

The Prime Minister's attention returned to his note of those to talk to and he quickly spotted the first on the list, Lord Alexander. Years ago they had met when the then diplomat had been sent on a diplomatic mission to McMasterdonia for a mildly important cause long forgotten by those not involved. Both had enjoyed the other's company. Since then, they had sporadically met during various political events between the two nations. Though both men were well-versed in the etiquette of the formal event, neither was particularly fond of them and it had been a cause for them to group together during occasions such as this. He crossed the room with a steady stride, unaffected by age, and joined Lord Alexander in idle conversation. Ever-watchful, he kept an eye on the room around him. An oppourtunity to observe so many of so great power interacting with others of their stature was rare. It was to be studied carefully.

President Mboto, wearing a full length blue Kaftan robe with gold trim, entered the ballroom deep in thought. He had been asked to deliver a eulogy during the service but had had to refuse, citing his personal grief at the loss of Matilda. In reality he didn't really know what to say, but he'd never admit that - and he did feel a sense of grief at having lost such a close ally against the Eastern menace. He had briefly considered using use eulogy as a rallying call against them, but dismissed the idea as inappropriate. There was more than one way to skin a cat, and offending all of the factions in the ongoing McMasterdonia political crisis would've been foolish.

The opulence of the Palace reminded him of his own beginnings as a young page in the court of the last High King of Naizerre. Tivok was long dead now, and his family ruled nothing but a collection of valleys claimed by his tribe. They were left alone as a matter of policy but Mboto was kept informed thanks to spies in their own palace, which was maintained by grants from his government. Unlike others he could mention, Mboto feared not the Turbi peoples. They no longer had a place on the national stage and their leaders knew that.

He glanced about the room, then made his way to a seat towards the sides, gesturing to an aide to bring him a drink. Water only, for now. But they'd see what the future would hold, as he engaged in deep conversation with another aide. There was much to do.

Kasbin and Demi entered the ballroom arm in arm. The arrangement was less a display of nuptial affection and more a necessary respite for Kasbin's creaking back and joints. The man's stance and three-piece suit projected the authority of his office, but the deeply lined and liverspotted features of his face betrayed the frailty of his advanced age. A bald crown was framed by an endangered hairline and a waterfall of carefully groomed, snowy whiskers which flowed as far as the first button of his waistcoat.

Demi was only a few years behind Kasbin, but had shaved off at least a decade from her stern face with a pricy mix of cosmetic procedures and products. The black suit-dress and pearl choker she wore had not come cheap either. As she gave the room and other guests a once-over, her eyes narrowed and her red-painted lips curled into a frown when they landed on the bar. A moment later Kasbin said what she'd reluctantly expected.

"That's more like it," he rasped with a limp smile. He glanced as Demi. "Do you want anything?".

"No, Kassy, not right now." She shook her head before fixing Kasbin with a meaningful look. "And I'm not sure you should have anything either. A repeat of the last time you overdid it would be unfortunate." Kasbin just let out a half-laugh, half-cough.

"If you'd let me drink before the funeral. I wouldn't have to drink so much now."

"Sun and Moon Kassy, it was a funeral. A queen's funeral."

"A queen I barely knew," protested Kasbin, a notch too loudly for Demi's comfort. "And being sober wasn't going to make her any less dead."

This got a hint of a smile from Demi. "No, it wasn't, but not everyone sees things the way you do." Demi sighed. She had been through this sort of argument enough times to know how stubborn Kasbin could be, and knew when she'd been defeated. "Just pace yourself. Will you be okay walking on your own?"

"Yeah, I can take it from here," he said, unlinking his arms from hers. "And no promises," he finished with a smile and tottered off towards the few figures already around the bar. Both a touch worried and bemused, Demi watched him go for a few more seconds before turning away to do some mingling of her own.

Sera looked to her grandfather "I think you could use something to drink... I know I do...""Come now my dear, I know that look, go on, I assure you I shall be fine. Until Sebt sits at his desk again you are Khan...attend to your duty." the old man smiled, reassuring he. Sera nodded, clearing her throat and heading for the bar, ordering a glass of wine.

Queen Leah and Chancellor Burns, relieved from the formality of the funeral, walked into the Wake. Leah had changed from a black dress, to a matching dark blue one. The lace birdcage also was missing from her face, but she kept the bun in her hair so the guests could see her face. The chancellor had changed into a dark red dress, as the Queen said her orange was too bright and distracting. Alicia had also ditched the stupid floppy hat and chose to wear her hair in a neat ponytail. "I wonder if Alec is here, I really want to see him," said Alicia, trying to scan the area for him. "You and Alec. Gee, he compliments you once at a NPTO meeting and suddenly you are head over heels in love with the man. What about you and Parker? He was a nice lad," commented Leah. "My ex? Leah, he broke up with me. He said diplomats and scientists couldn't be together. It would interfere in our lines of work. I guess he was right. Regardless, all he left was a wonderful farewell and a true love's kiss...," said Alicia. "I thought Alec was your true love?", joked Leah. "Oh, you know what I mean, he loved me," responded Alicia. The pair continued to walk, until Alicia looked around again. "Excuse me, I have to go to the restroom. Come with?", asked Alicia. "No, I think I'm going to get me a light spritzer. Want one?", asked Leah, locating the bar with her vision. "Uh, sure. Don't want anything too strong though, I get bad headaches when I have the strong ones," commented Alicia, walking off. Leah knew that it was probably for the best, Alicia was a really bad talker drunk. She could see it now.

Alicia sitting by Alec at the bar, her giving him the cutest little smile. "Did you know that metadata is the data of data?! I mean, it's really fascinating! It helps organize electronic resources, provide digital identification, and helps support archiving and preservation of the resource! Who knew that you could have so much fun with metadata?! And what's up with disulfide bridges?! Like, seriously, how is the sulfur binding with itself?! Magic!!!"

This was not something Leah wanted at a wake, therefore, she promptly went to the bar with confidence. "Two white wine spritzers please", she said, showing her ID. She was used to dealing with tight watch on her drink count. Akerman could get a little tipsy, or drunk. Most of the time the Cabinet would just leave her at the venue and pick her up in the morning. Leah thought a lot. She really needed to talk to someone. She glanced around hoping someone would talk to her and make her job more easier. Who knows, maybe Alec would pop up and talk to her. Make it easier on the chancellor.

Lycaon slowly crossed over smiling at Sera "I think I shall partake of a small whiskey before recognising Leah "Your majesty, it is a great pleasure to see you again, I trust you are well?"

"Prime Minister Isaac Oudinot! Lovely to see you again, as always" Lord Alexander called to the elderly gentlemen from the Lancerian Empire. Alexander was a strong supporter of Oudinot and his policies, and the pair had known each other for a long time.
"I am very sorry for your loss, Alex" Oudinot said with a bow "Your sister was a magnificent woman"
"Indeed" he shrugged slightly "an excellent woman, but I fear she knew that it would come to this eventually"

Oudinot and Alexander continued deep in discussion. They discussed the arts, Oudinot a fan of the McMasterdonian artist Palvani. Alexander had fancied himself a painter at a younger age, but had not actively pursued it - his father had forbidden it. He had since been able to amass a small collection of paintings in Caspius. "You ought to come visit" he said to Oudinot "Much has changed in Caspius since you were last there"

*****

Across the other side of the room, King Tozian approached the King-Regent Albert and extending his hand said " "Albert, I'm very happy to see you again. How are you coping?"
Albert did not extend his hand in return. "Is something the matter Albert?" Tozian asked clearly alarmed.
"You are not welcome here. Traitor." a thick-accented voice whispered into his ear.
It was Sharifa, the King's Guard. How had Tozian not seen her? Many here were familiar with Sharifa, few liked her, but many respected her loyalty to her master.
"What is the meaning of this Albert?"
"You must know Tozian."
"I do not know what you are accusing me of?"
"I have offered you the opportunity to be honest, but instead, you send your spies to attack my Kingdom while it is on it's knees, and you still come to the funeral of my sister and pretend to respect us"
"Albert - I..."
"Shut up, Tozian. You are a fool and I have caught you supporting espionage against my Kingdom. You have encouraged my brother to commit treason, an act, he will surely die for."
"You cannot be serious Albert, I am a foreign head of state and a member of your own family. What interest would I have in doing such a thing?
"Clearly you intend to overthrow me, and install my brother as King of the McMasterdonians."
"That is insane"
"But you are right, as a foreign head of state, and... as my dear sweet cousin, I offer you the opportunity to leave. Leave at once. Do not attend the caucus meeting later, and you shall be spared."
At that moment Tozian attempted to get closer to Albert to console him or to make him see sense, but Sharifa stepped between them.
"Be gone"
Tozian turned and immediately walked for the door, as he looked to his right he saw that Lord Alexander, his co-conspirator had been called away by Royal Security. Little could be done now.

******

Princess Wilhelmina, the High Priestess of Flemingovianism... at least in name, stood in a full length lilac dress, complete with a black and gold rimmed hijab. She saw Queen Leah Charles of Guslantis talking to Sera and Lycaon from Wolfsea.

"Good Afternoon" Wilhelmina said "Flemingovia be with you. What did you think of the service?"

Sera pondered for a moment "It was certainly touching, although I must admit the death rituals of other cultures are a little strange to us, but nevertheless I am sure her Majesty appreciated the kind words." she smiled, sipping from her glass. Lycaon nodded "Indeed, I hope the late Queen's kin are able to gather some comfort from them." the elderly Wolvesh nodded.

At this point, Rohit Kumar, Abishek Bedi, and Akshay Khan were all in the room where the Wake was to take place. They hadn't gone and said hello to anyone, however, mainly because of what their schedule had informed them. The Maharaja was supposed to arrive soon. And when he did, it was amazing. As it always was; of course; but this time they clearly tried harder. They came in the dozens; 36 green-uniformed Syrixian men bearing gold leaf-emblazoned trumpets. They trumpeted loudly and gallantly, so everyone would hear. Their fanfare was as majestic as it was awe-inspiring.

"Jai Maharaja!" They yelled. "Jai Maharaja! Jai Maharaja! Jai Maharaja! Jai ho! Jai ho! Jai ho!" They then bowed as he exited his golden chariot, ferried in the cargo hold of the Syrixian Star executive jumbo jet. The horses, clad in golden horse armor laced with green silk, were shipped to McMasterdonia on a boat a day before the funeral. Maharaja Rajesh III himself was resplendent in the green silk and gold leaf robes of the Syrixian Emperors.

As the Maharaja entered the room where the Wake was occurring with his Imperial Guards, the three Syrixian officials and their guards kneeled. "Welcome to the Wake of Queen Matilda II of McMasterdonia, Your Magnificence." Rohit said. Rajesh, never being one to talk, simply replied, "Thank you, my dear Mr. Kumar. Let's see who else is part of the welcoming party." Rajesh chuckled.

Alessandro, coming out of the restroom to the sight of the Syrixian's entrance, looked at a loss for words. Scrunching his eyebrows and buttoning his suit jacket, he walked over to the bar where Beatrice was standing, drinking her cocktail. As he walked, he kept one eye on the Maharaja's party.

"This is a wake," he whispered to Beatrice. "and yet these peacocks strut and fan their tails before us? Who are they trying to impress besides themselves?"

Beatrice took a long drink and set her glass on the bar.

"I think I'll need to be drunk in order to truly enjoy this, Alessandro."

Leah smiled at Sera. "Long time no see. How's Khan Sebt and his baby girl? I assume they are both doing well. Anything fun happening over in Wolfsea lately, I absolutely love your science work, maybe your scientists and Andrea could talk about some potentially partnerships," said Leah, receiving the two glasses of white wine.

When the McMasterdonian approached, Leah smiled. "It was very nice to see the impact of Matilda on the lives of so many world leaders on a personal level instead of on a political level. I think Matilda wouldn't have wanted it any other way," she responded. She hated that Alicia was missing the fun, but continued to chat regardless.

When Alicia got back from the bathroom, the Syrixian delegation entered the ballroom. "What in the world?", she asked putting on her glasses. Never in her life had she seen such an entrance as contradictory to the mood such as this, and she had been to both Pigletville Balls. "Well, I better find Leah, the ballroom is going to get even more crowded from here," she noted, power-walking toward the bar.

Sera smiled "Sebt, Andrea and the baby are doing fine, she's yet to have her naming ceremony but they've settled on Serena, one of our family's more commonly-used names." sipping her drink slowly "As for science we're very close to perfecting our latest Bioreactor design, we're hoping it'll get an additional 5% out of any fuel, naturally we would like to offer one to your space program, after all the best thing about these reactors is they make excellent waste-disposals." but then her and Lycaon both noticed the arrival of the Syrixians, the old man in particular raising his eyebrow "And people say we Wolvesh lack subtlety..." he shrugged. sera gave him a look then turned back to Leah "Your Majesty, you remember my Grandfather, Elder Lycaon? He led the delegation attending your coronation..." "And you look as radiant today as you did then your Majesty." the old man smiled "Lycaon IX, former Khan of Wolfsea and now Elder of the Crescentmaw peoples." offering his hand, his deep voice adding to his considerable charm.

With Tozian now well out of the way, the King had the ability to easily converse with the other quests. To pay the odd tribute to his sister, and to pretend her reign was anything other than a complete shambles. He noticed the loud noise of the Syrixian Delegation and the entrance of the Emperor. Very peculiar entrance for a wake.. Do they not know that this is meant to be a sombre occasion? The peacock style behaviour was a well known character flaw of the Maharaja.

Albert recalled the stories his Grandmother would tell them of the Empire days. When the Emperor would afford local 'rulers' who were little more than puppets a great deal of pageantry and respect - essentially making them believe they hold power and authority, when in reality, they did not. It was an effective measure for placating the leaders and keeping them under the control of the Empire. He wondered if that was why the Prime Minister showed that ridiculous level of sycophancy towards the Emperor - did he simply wish to make the Emperor feel powerful? He would need to keep an eye on the balance of power in Syrixia, to be sure.

Albert noticed Queen Leah, and waved to her politely as he walked towards her.

President Randal Q. Hacker III of Norvalkin had arrived in-country with relatively little fanfare, traveling via Royal McMasterdonian Airlines. Serving as the President's wingman for the event (and traveling in his capacity as senior diplomat) was Secretary of State Matthew Sanders. Given the nature of the event, both men came dressed in tailor-made formal-wear. President Hacker came not only as a visiting head of state, but as a member of the family. Before fully engaging any of the other guests (he would, of course, acknowledge them), President Hacker made a point of greeting and offering condolences to the McMasterdonian delegation.

The Caesar was being uncharacteristically stoic, today. Given the magnitude of the event, it had been natural to be something of a recluse. And so he had brushed off Beatrice's question with a curt "just water, today."

But it was always curious to see the inane fanfare of some less secure monarchs. Not like Imperium. Anyone with any value in Imperium is content in the shadows. Things don't get done by the people who talk about them. That's what the Lictors are for.

Your Lictors speak for you, fight for you, die for you. Caesar is low key. He wears a simple suit, gives polite eulogies, and doesn't demand the first spot on research papers.

No, it is the Lictors who get fanfare. The Lictors who announce, loudly, that some matter of importance is taking place. Lictors do not make room for their charges - they make room for themselves. In Imperium, the powerful do not need to sully themselves with the doings of the commoners, unless they want to.

Machiavelli, for his part, was more than happy to play his part. After so many years of working together, if you could call it that, the two had their agreements, and their concessions. They knew when to fall in step and part ways.

And just for the moment, Machiavelli knew he was to fall in step. He was a bodyguard, first and foremost. A crowd appears, and he takes his place. A crowd disappates, and he does too.

If a fuss is made, he too makes a fuss.

With a nod from Caesar, Machiavelli smiled. Leaping onto the bar, he spun neatly around, both feet locked together. Parallel with his shoulders, hands neatly behind the waist, one clasped in the other. Impeccable dress posture. After all, he'd spent the better part of thirty years practicing for days like this - since he was 13.

No, you never train for ceremonies. Never for the predictable. The predictable is peaceful - the realm of Pax, of God, of fate. These things come naturally to an educated Augustan. No, what sets an Augustan apart from their peers is the unpredictable. The realm of Caesar - of War. Only the unpredictable rise through the ranks - to become the perfect parent, the perfect teacher, the perfect soldier, leading squads that can make their own way even with only the most abstract commands, leading students that can make their own way even with only the most abstract theory, leading children that can make their own way even with only the most abstract nation.

Caesar leaned into the closest bartender, surreptitiously passing them a small monetary compensation for the embarassment.

The Lictor-Magister barked with all the command of his four years as a full-time staff trainer for one of the most maligned secret police agencies in the world. One that did not dole out justice to the population, but to its government. One that brought the self-assuredly powerful to their knees, as a full-time job. Speaking of power does not guarantee it.

"My comrades, I wish to propose a toast.

I propose a toast to the circumstances we are in today.

A toast to the life, and the death, of Queen Matilda II. We stand here not to celebrate her passing, but to commemorate her, as equals. As peers. As comrades, navigating the world of life and death, as she has. Today, we toast a woman who shall guide us into the afterlife, as she guided us through life.

A woman who passed with grace, and dignity. Without fanfare, or ostentatiousness. This was not a woman who died in the embrace of her family, and her friends, with the peaceful lull of trumpets and music. This was a woman who died at the hands of a foe - a spiritual stranger. Her stoic silence is our stoic silence.

We are silent not because it is expected of us, but because we would want the same. We would want our own funerals to be silent. Not because we bemoan that peaceful lull of trumpets, and music, but because those things shall come in the future, and in our past.

It would be remiss of us to seek to die at peace, for we are leaders - some of us of nations, all of us on behalf of nations. We shall die doing what we must for our countries. And we shall pass into the peaceful night as a warrior does. In stoic silence.

Fanfare is for the dead, for they have earned it."

Produced from nowhere, the Lictor-Magister raised a scotch on the rocks in his left hand, pointing it towards heaven.

Caesar wiped some of the condensation from the scotch glass on his handkerchief, so that he could take a better grip of his glass of water.

As he took the glass to his lips, the faintest hint of a smile took hold. He turned back to Beatrice, and the now-present Alessandro.

"My deepest apologies, I fear I have been improper, madam. It is always a pleasure to meet other Latins on state affairs, Beatrice d'Avelocci."

The Prime Minister, his Deputy, and the Foreign Minister had each raised their glass to the Augustan Caesar's toast, and then gone out again to talk to other delegates, with Kumar and Khan walking towards the McMasterdonians, and, Bedi walking towards the Guslants and Wolvesh. Rajesh himself looked around, trying to find some delegation to talk to. He eventually decided the best delegation to talk to was, obviously, that of the Augustans. They highly regarded monarchy, and even though Rajesh liked democracy a little bit, he still thought the Augustans and Floregasques, with their empire and their oligarchy, would suit more for a conversation with another Emperor. And so, the Maharaja began to walk toward the Caesar, and when he arrived, politely introduced himself so as to not rudely interrupt anything already going on between the two parties.

The King Regent had approached a microphone at the front of the ballroom.

"I would like to thank you all for coming to McMasterdonia.. I know how far some of you have traveled, and I do wish to tell you how much it means to the Royal Family and to the People of McMasterdonia to see such a diverse diaspora of individuals here demonstrating their support for our Government and their love for the deceased. Unfortunately, I must now go attend to matters of state. You are all welcome to continue to talk here, to enjoy the food, and to explore the open parts of the Royal palace. When you are ready to leave, the Royal Security Force will escort you to Intelligentsia International Airport. Thank you."

The King-Regent took his wife's hand and walked towards the south entrance of the ballroom, members of the Royal Security, and of course, Sharifa followed closely behind. To the rear were Princess Wilhelmina and Princess Magdalena. The door closed behind them, and three members of the security forces moved to stand in front of the door.

It was time for a meeting of the royal caucus.

Tozian turned around in anger. He grabbed the Princess by the arm, and walked out of the palace. Security followed them. Several reporters were waiting outside for the event to end. As they saw the Plembobrian delegation leave, they began photographing madly. They began rushing at the King and Princess shouting questions like "What happened inside there?" and "did you and your cousin fall out?" They were ignored. They entered their vehicle and drove away.

Back inside Alec Durand, ambassador to NPTO, was relaxing at the open bar. The ambassador to McMasterdonia, Riley Peterson, approached him and said, "Mr. Durand. Albert ordered His Majesty to leave and threatened him with arrest. I need you to come back to the embassy. I'll be temporarily recalled."

And with that, they started towards the exit.

Prime Minister Isaac Oudinot missed nothing. When his conversation with Lord Alexander had been interrupted by the Royal Security he had been concerned. When he saw the exchange between Tozian and Albert moments later, he had an idea of what was happening.

As soon as Albert had finished his speech he calmly crossed the room and found Queen-Empress Amelia. She was just excusing herself from her conversation with minor, somewhat distant relatives of the McMasterdonian royal family when he arrived. Without having to say a word they knew what that the other was suggesting a prompt exit. They made their way to the rear of the room and notified the Royal Security of their desires to leave.

After a few minutes the same emerald green SUV marked "LANCERIAN EMBASSY" pulled up to the front of the building. The two entered the vehicle and with the Royal Security escort left for Intelligentsia International Airport.

Later, On board a Lancerian Royal Jet.

By the time they had boarded their small private jet, the caucus meeting had begun. The Queen-Empress, the Prime Minister, and a couple aides watched the television in the jet closely.

Neither flinched at the shots. Oudinot briefly looked away.

A few minutes later they received word of the McMasterdonian Declaration of War on Plembobria.

The two sat in silence the rest of the flight.