Matteo

It's tough to be a god

Anasatia's near melodic voice filled that contended space with ease as she commented upon the nature of politicians and her very belief that they surely deserved worse than to be kept waiting by Matteo himself. A crime for which Gregory seemed content to hold his master to account and one in which Matteo, much like his niece, saw little harm in committing upon a basis far more frequent then Gregory deemed acceptable. His niece's lips, however, seemed to tug upwards a little more, a singular brow rising in unspoken good humor before she queried whether or not he had won. Ah- but how readily he should have anticipated she might well know exactly where he had been, or indeed, that she might have some idea in the least of just why he had been late to parliament. After all, she was his very niece. Surely she had learned some method of deduction from himself over the many years they had kept one another company. An easy simper found his own lips then, his silver gaze meeting her own with undisputed warmth.

"Ah Mon Cherie, I always win. I let the children keep the marbles though. I am a merciful victor."

That warm grin so hardly faltered from his lips as the near-ancient Fae continued to work upon that board of delightful delicacies. That favored Russian fruit treat was quick to catch Anasatia's eye- just as he had anticipated it might. The Duchess waited only so long as it took him to place that perfected treat upon the board before she reached forward to pluck a desired morsel from the pile. Placing it between her lips with an appreciative hum as Matteo worked to add that selection of cheeses and hams. It was an entirely foolish notion, perhaps, and yet- the Frenchman could hardly deny the very....pleasure he took in preparing food for his own family. Alexander's efforts, all those years ago, to craft him into a chef had been laughable at first. Matteo had shown little enthusiasm and even less talent for the task and yet how quickly that had changed. The Frenchman had developed something of a passion for cooking. One crafted into a veritable art over a thousand years of life. An art he took distinct pleasure in sharing with those select few left upon this earth that he adored. Anastasia's soft insistence that he spoiled her was met with a chuckle, along with her assurance Alexander would not approve.

"I think if one is not spoiled sometimes, one becomes far too, how you say, bitter. Besides, there is very little Alexander does not approve of. Oui, I think the reason he has lived so long is because he simply disapproves of dying so very much."

Another chuckle easily parted the Frenchman's lips, his wine lifted smoothly to them then before he inquired after his nieces work in Russia and the very reason for her extended stay back within her home country. The war between Russia and Ukraine had only intensified in the passing months. The world at large seemed ill inclined to act beyond imposing sanctions. A brand of punishment the Duchess deemed unsuitable. Matteo wholly inclined to agree. His own president, in turn, was ill-inclined to listen to his consoul on the matter. Anastasia, however, was capable of what he was not, in this regard. Moving within the Russian bureaucracy with seamless ease. Her gaze, this time, entirely knowing as she met his own with that uttered insistence that the mortar had begun to crumble. She needed only time. Matteo's own head nodded, another sip drawn from his glass.

"You are Alexander's daughter indeed."

Even if the age-old Hunter was sure to find displeasure in being excluded from such plans- it could hardly be denied that Anastasia had taken after her father. Both had an indisputable flair for leadership. For establishing governance where it lacked. Perhaps, had they survived, Alexander's other children might have proven equally ambitious. Anastasia's adopted siblings long since lost to time and history. A notion Matteo rarely cared to consider beyond the rarest of occasion. The manner of a secret, however, had been readily promised. Matteo, once more, relishing in being that very center of his niece's attention as he sought to regale her with a tale. One she might readily be able to use agianst her beloved father should she find herself in need of ammunition. After all, Alexander was likely to chastise her for one thing or another. Such was the Hunters method of parenting. With such information at her disposal, however, Anastasia might yet tip those scales of argument in her very favor. A notion that amused Matteo endlessly- even if Alexander was sure to berate him in turn.

The Frenchman was in no hurry, however, to offer that story. Indeed, those pregnant pauses were added with studious care- the Russian woman forced to hang upon his every word before he finally informed her of her Father's last journey. A ludicrous one at that. Half a year spent in Mongolia. Searching for a mythical creature. A unicorn. One his horse had believed he had seen. The very disbelief of Ana's was distinctly clear, the woman seemingly paused entirely before that inevitable question parted her lips- one that dissolved only moments later into laughter. A genuine laughter. One truly rare from the composed woman, its musical sounding enveloping the kitchen before Matteo's far deeper laughter rose to join her. Surely not, she insisted. Alexander so having been left to his own devices far too long. Another ready chuckle hummed within the Frenchmans throat, the grin upon his features so hardly wavering.
"Ah, Mon Cherie, you do not laugh nearly enough. It is a pleasing sound but oui, this story is entirely true. This I promise. You are right though, perhaps he has finally given in to madness. Do you know what is most alarming about this tale though?"

Matteo reached for a slice of ham, the Frenchman enjoying its rich, fresh taste as he regarded his niece once more.

"That he partook of such a quest because his horse asked it of him. How many times have you or I asked him for something only to be denied, eh? But the horse asks..."

That amusement so hardly faltered from the Frenchmans features, his head shaking in good humor. Alexander's affections for all things equine, after all, was distinctly well known by the world at large.

"Our mistake, dear Ana, was not being born horses. We might have had far more luck with him then."

What remained of that wine was lifted easily to his lips then, the Frenchman reaching for that bottle only to fill his glass once more, his attention returned briefly toward another morsel of cheese before his silver eyes met Anastasia's once more.

"Will you stay here tonight, Mademoiselle? Shall I have your room made up?'