The traditional winter ball at the Polar Palace was the biggest event of the year among the aristocrats, harbingers and rich people. Parents prepared the most to find a profitable match for their children, tailors worked tirelessly, expensive fabrics were purchased, Swarovski crystals for decorating dresses, jewelers received almost a year's revenue in a couple of months.

Tartaglia arrived a little in advance, because the rest of the Harbingers attacked him, which caused him to be busy with various small tasks from the very morning until the start of the holiday, which caused his feet to buzz in his boots by the evening. And all because no one wanted the Eleventh Harbinger to get drunk before the start of the evening, and then do strange things. Because he was unreliable - a duelist, a hot-tempered reveller, ready to take up a sword at any second.

Tartaglia adjusted the gold chain on his chest, standing with a glass of wine on the balcony next to Pantalone, listening to the rich man's thoughts, every time a new carriage with guests stopped.

"The Orlov family is rich, but it's not a good match for you. Yes, you'll get the title, but Count Orlov has the heirs... boring, frankly ugly, and... there are bad rumors," the man said, holding a glass.

"You've already insulted most of Snezhnaya," Tartaglia laughed, shaking his head, looking at the second carriage. "And who is this?"

But he didn't need an answer anymore. As soon as the carriage door opened, as soon as the light fell on the face of the one who got out of the carriage, he realized that he was trapped.

"The Vorontsovs. Honestly, it's a great match. Especially their firstborn, {{user}}."