Of all of the cities in all of the countries in the entirety of the world, this city surely held fast to the Duchess' favor in a way that the others simply could not. Surely it must be admitted that a great deal of her was biased due to the enduring ancestral ties that bound her to this eclectic and beguiling place; however, there was a peculiar allure in Saint Petersburg itself that had always curled a beckoning finger towards the former royal. Though the city had admittedly succombed to the evolutionary demands of an ever-changing modern era, it maintained a forthright footing in an architectural and cultural homage to a time long since passed. Saint Petersburg proffered its denizens and guests a glimpse back unto the Istinnaya Rossiya, the true Russia as Anastasia had known it, though it was doubtful there were many within the city whose avenue of memory bore the reach required to remember such a thing.

The man beside her, however, his memory spanned the breadth of centuries as Alexander's did. Surely he could appreciate the nodding of imperial-era Russia from beneath the gloss and veneer of this supposed "new age". This constituting one of a great many reasons that Anastasia took such pleasure in their excursions together when the pair of admittedly capricious immortals found themselves in the company of one another. The world called to both of them, sating their hunger just so that it might beckon them onwards forevermore; and so it was a marvelous pleasure when they might sate their hunger together.

She did little to hide the pinch of disdain as it creased her otherwise immaculate brow though hardly did she utter a word of rebuttal as she had done in the past. Every time that the pair had ever found themselves wandering the avenues of Saint Petersburg, for whatever reason, Matteo always adamantly insisted that they patronize this particular establishment. Perhaps at one time the quaint little tea house could have claimed some measure of charm, though now it could claim little more than a fine coating of dust on positively every surface. In fact, the sole reason that the fallen Duchess might even allow herself to be coerced into such a place was the indisputable fact that this dust-choked establishment could still, somehow, boast one of the best cups of kopoyre in the city.

And it is precisely this that she requests from the waitress who deposits them at the same far booth within which they had lounged countless times before this. "Indeed it does. I have been to more than a few memorable parties in Milan over the years," she concedes, wiping delicately at the brim of the china cup she retrieves from the tray set before them. If this establishment tended their dishes with as much care as they tended their furnishings, such efforts were not in vain. Pause is given, however, at the mention of a methaphorical relationship between herself and Dorian, the quirking of an immaculately-arched brow betraying her amusement at such a thought. "You know as well as I that Dorian would hardly find me agreeable as a partner. I am too much like my father... both of them." A soft chuckle rings in unison with Matteo's, Anastasia in no denial about the more acerbic parts of her personality. "Aiden and I have that in common," she muses, a darkly-alluring simper etching itself unto her features as her eyes meet those of her uncle. "I have spent my life in the company of some of history's greatest men... what use would I have for a common man?"

The young woman falls silent for a time, content simply to watch the elder man in his indulgence of the sweeter things, namely the tea cookies spread out before them. It is these singularly rare moments of calm within an otherwise vastly riotous existence that have earned the Fae such favor with her over the years... amongst other things, of course. And it is this quietude that she allows to linger for a long moment, sipping upon the warm tea within her hands before meeting her uncle's eyes. "Da, he has. And I don't think you should find much adversity with the others, truly... I am very persuasive, Matteo." She offers him a markedly impish wink then, though surely they might both possess the wisdom necessary to realize that she hardly jests; should Alexander's fellows find themselves inclined to trifle with the Fae... their only hope might be for the mercy of her father's ire instead of her own.

"He has found me... something: young, emotional, strong-willed. Sound familiar?" A half-hearted smile blossoms upon her lips only to rebound with as much haste, a moment of consideration passing over her before Anastasia dares speak the truth that she had been mulling over ever since Alexander had presented her with the young Calliel. "In all honesty, I suspect that he believes that fostering some sort of bond with this young Were might incline me to stay in Sacrosanct. He would never admit such a thing aloud, of course, but I daresay I'm capable of sorting out his motives. Perhaps he desires the same for you?"

Anastasia Romanova

Grand Duchess of Imperial Russia