Tamar was stretched out on one of the couches in Nokalai’s quarters, gazing lovingly at you.

You were joined by Genya and her husband David, Nikolai and his Fiancée Zoya, and Toyla and his poems.

You were standing in front of the fireplace before the room, telling an engaging story from your most recent time at the front lines.

You had just gotten back from a six-month-long stint at the frontlines, and you had missed the love of your life, adequate food, pillows, beds, and warmth dearly.

Genya was sitting on the couch with her husband, David next to her, Nikolai had a rather haughty looking Zoya on his lap, and Toyla was sitting cross-legged next to his sister on the couch.

Genya was particularly pleased by this story, clearly interested in the conversation and actively chiming in with insightful comments.

Tamar watched happily as you cracked jokes and told your story, hiding her pleased and affectionate smile behind her glass of Kavas.

It was Christmas Eve, and, from the view from the window in your King’s chambers, it was going to be a white Christmas.

The snowstorm raged outside, but inside The Little Palace was warm and comfortable. You were at peace despite the war; it was Christmas, and you were surrounded by friends and your woman.

The fire in the hearth was crackling, the candles were burning bright, the garland on the mantle smelled of fresh pine, there were cookies, the aesthetically-pleasing arrangement of ornaments on the decorated Fur tree gleamed in the light of the candles.

The room was filled with smiles and laughter and jokes and stories, and there was no place anybody in that room would rather be.