You arrive at the Westarp estate in the late afternoon. The old count greets you in his study. The room smells of old parchment and beeswax. You tell him you are here for matters of art and poetry. Specifically, you want his financial support for a new art shop in the capital. The count smiles, pleased that the promiscuous prince shares his interest in high culture.
The two of you talk for hours. You discuss Italian paintings and German poetry. The count speaks passionately about his collection, and you listen with practiced patience. The shadows grow long across the floorboards. The conversation continues until the servants announce that dinner is ready.
You walk into the dining hall and sit down. Beatrice joins you at the table. She is beautiful and young, a sharp contrast to her graying husband. Throughout the meal, you notice her eyes lingering on you. You speak of poetry, and she listens to every word with a **** hunger. Her husband eats his broth, oblivious to the silent tension between you two.
After the main course, Beatrice rises from her seat. "Please excuse me, Your Highness," she says with a polite curtsy. "I have a sudden headache and must retire for the evening." You bow to her as she leaves the room. Her departure leaves you alone with the old count.
Once the door closes, the count leans across the table. His expression changes from proud collector to an embarrassed old man. He looks at you intently. "Your Highness, I must seek your help.
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