Belgrade, Saturday, 30 April 1949
Mikhail Ivanovich Fyodorov watched the innumerable attendees mingling throughout the wedding reception. Both he and Chairman Sergetov had accomplished quite a bit of politicking during this trip, the likes of which might have taken several months had the occasion not arisen. Given the bride's Russian heritage (although Fyodorov believed she'd never before set foot in Russia), the Russian Federation was quite well-represented... not only in terms of attendees, but also in other, more subtle fashions. Fyodorov had been responsible for carrying the couple's wedding present: a formal state crown for the new Queen Xenia, made by the world-famous House of Fabergé... with jewels that had been surrendered thirty years earlier by the departing Romanovs.
History, Fyodorov decided, has an entertaining sense of irony.
Fyodorov had one further diplomatic task to carry out before returning to Petrograd, and it was a completely unscheduled one. Turning to his aide, he spoke quietly. "I think it's about time to find him."
"He's over there, sir," the aide replied. "I've kept track of him for you. I believe he's speaking with the Irish ambassador."
"Very good." Fyodorov crossed the room slipping between knots of intermingling guests. His aide ran interference, subtly warning away those who might wish to corner the Russian president for their own purposes, until Fyodorov found the man he was looking for.
The Irish ambassador caught the new arrival out of the corner of his eye, did a double-take, and lapsed into an abrupt, possibly stunned silence as President Fyodorov stepped in to corner the former Emperor and Autocrat of All the Russias Nikolai Romanov.
"My congratulations on the marriage of your granddaughter, Mister Romanov," Fyodorov said in quiet, meticulously polite Russian. In spite of his bulldog political reputation, he could be rather charming. He offered his hand.
"President Fyodorov," Nikolai said slowly. He was an old man, increasingly frail and wrinkled, with bitter eyes. He'd clearly been taken by surprise, but retained a civil tone and slowly, almost reluctantly, shook Fyodorov's hand. "Thank you for your kind words."
"I understand that you have petitioned to visit Russia again," Fyodorov said, not immediately releasing his grip on the former tsar's hand.
"I've received no answer," Nikolai replied, with a bit of frost in his voice.
"There has been debate, and opposition, of course," Fyodorov said. "Ultimately, the decision fell to me. I have... extended an official invitation." Fyodorov's aide produced an envelope which he handed to the president, who finally released Nikolai's hand and gave him the letter. "There are some minor stipulations - to avoid potential security issues, both for us and you - but I do not believe they should pose a problem. That letter has all of the details you will need."
"I... see," Nikolai said slowly. "I will review it carefully. Thank you."
"Of course," Fyodorov said. He turned to leave, inclining his head in a polite nod. "Have a good evening, Mister Romanov."