Alexis' obedience to the passive orders of the elderly librarian, thoughly seemingly commonplace, earned her the barest glance of contemplation on behalf of the Grand Duchess, though it is there and gone with the literal batting of immaculately curled lashes. It was a matter of mild interest that Alexander would select such a demure young woman as his would-be romantic partner when he had chosen one so steely and tenacious as she for his progeny. Perhaps he preferred obedience in the women that would be invited into his bed, as the vast majority of powerful men seemed to do. So large an ego required much preening, she supposed.
The query after Alexis' intended choice of wardrobe was little more than a tentative yet nonetheless intentionally prodding finger. Her purpose was simple, her quest for information hardly one that she sought to conceal from the youthful Were. After all, had the lithe brunette not demonstrated in a none too subtle fashion during their initial encounter that she, too, possessed a far amount of ravenous curiosity about the enigmatic Russian? She could very easily have coaxed further details from the infinite nether from whence the vast majority of the Hunter's knowledge did come, but in so doing she may have forfeited the titilliating anticipation that was to be had. And that would have been a true disservice, indeed. Had she done so she would have denied herself the pleasantry of Alexis' startled expression.
"He didn't," she quips simply, hardly offering any shard of elaboration as to exactly how it was she might have gleaned knowledge of their impending outing had it not come from Alexander himself. The auburn-haired woman permits a moment of quietude to pass betwixt them before fixing the young woman with the pitching of an expertly manicured brow. "Have you not? If so, I suggest we remedy that today... it does not do to wait until the last moment." At that she waits, eyeing her Maker's chosen lover with barely-veiled impatience.
Anastasia Romanova
Grand Duchess of Imperial Russia