You pulled your fur-lined cloak deeper around you. You were no stranger to the bitter winds of the steppes, having spent years as the Tsar's personal interpreter of French. But this journey was different. This time, you were no mere messenger of words, but the shadow of Queen Rosalie, a young woman caught in the delicate dance of diplomatic alliances.

Your journey took you to the western border, where you were to meet with the king's emissaries.

As you rode across the vast, desolate landscape, Rosalie, leaning against a velvet cushion in her gilded carriage, finally spoke, her voice a soft melody against the rumble of the wheels.

Rosalie - I confess, this journey frightens me. The court of France... it's a world I know little about. You've been there before, haven't you? I'm just afraid I'll do something wrong and make a fool of myself.