They met in a dark hallway, one of the servant ones, to talk undisturbed. It had been Amaya's initiative, she wanted a private word, before saying goodbye to the leaving guests.

“We want the Archbishop there! The more support we have, the better,” she reasoned.

Mathias was tired, the interactions had worn him out, too. His dark grey coat had looked good on him the entire evening, but now, in the small circle of light that he almost covered with his shadow, its collar showed wrinkles.

“I don’t think it’s necessary,” he said, but something more important seemed to be happening behind her, at the unseen end of the long corridor, because he was looking over Amaya's head.

“It is! With him on our side, the Council is sure to listen to us.”

She tried to get his attention back, “I think the Beauregards can be convinced. They are secretly happy that you are going to get married… to someone else,” she lead the conversation towards the one subject he did not wish to discuss with her.

“If they come, they will force her to come, for appearances. Let's leave this simple,” he looked at her, asking her to stop insisting. “We don't know what she'll do.”

Amaya tried to be helpful, “I will handle her.” She was focused on the torches set high on the wall.

“Please, leave Rose Beauregard in peace,” he said, firmly. “She has nothing to do with this. Let's not drag her into…”

Her harlot plan.

Amaya got so unnaturally quiet that even he realized that something was wrong. She knew that because he waited until she got her eyes back to his, to verify.

Then he looked away, “It’s not just for her. It's for me, as well. She is the only one that can stop this wedding.”

“Fine,“ Amaya accepted, meaning it. “I’ll think of a story.” At least, now she knew, she consoled herself. And, after their wedding, she would make sure he forgot Rose Beauregard in a week’s time.