The French delegation had sohow managed to worm their way into the Arena of Victory, now watching from afar in a VIP booth where delegates of each major nation sat, admiring the processions following the opening ceremony.
But during this ti, they had been isolated. Everyone knew they held no legitimacy. No authority. They flew the banner of a dead republic while hiding in its more stable colonies—masquerading as the governing body of a nation in total anarchy. Existing in na only, and as an ideal. That was all.
So when they found no one approached them—no respect given, no deference paid—they turned to the bountiful free food and wine, engorging themselves beyond the point of intoxication. And as the wine flowed, so too did the complaints. They began to whine, sneer, and speak loudly of their supposed superiority over Germany.
Twice in fifty years France had fallen to its eastern neighbor. Both tis utterly humiliated. Dominated by a people they had long believed themselves superior to. But this defeat—this modern collapse—was unforgivable. The annexation of Elsass-Lothringen was permanent now. The lands once stolen by France had returned to German hands, and that could not be undone.
Bitterness consud them.
Their words, vulgar and petulant, drew no attention from others. At least not most. One young girl, not even legally an adult, gave them a sidelong glance—clearly understanding so French. But she said nothing.
Until her father turned.
A man with sharp features and ice-blue eyes. A man who calmly faced them and spoke in French so flawless, so Parisian in tone, that they felt ashad of their own heritage upon hearing it.
And what he said was true.
He had spared Paris. The outskirts had burned, yes—but only those districts of little cultural or historical value. The heart of the city had remained intact.
Bruno had warned the inhabitants ahead of ti, scattering fliers before the offensive. He had given them ti to flee or surrender. He had brought order.
It wasn't the Germans who destroyed Paris. It was those within it, after the army left.
"You dare have the gall to say you tried to preserve Paris? I would have liked to see you try to burn it to the ground, you filthy barbarian!" one of them shouted.
Bruno's expression didn't change. But a flicker of sadistic pleasure danced in his eyes. The bait had been taken.
"Do you know what I did when Paris fell?" he began, voice low.
"If mory serves, you lot saw the tides turning and looted the national treasury before fleeing to North Africa. Not because I investigated—no. Because had you stayed, the revolutionaries who burned your beloved Palace of Versailles would have lined you up and shot you first."
Silence fell.
"I didn't sack the Louvre. I didn't torch the Sorbonne. I didn't parade your won through the streets like war trophies. I brought order."
He set his glass down, never breaking eye contact.
"And when you demanded I leave—without a governnt, without a plan, without so much as a roadmap for what ca next—I honored your pride. I left you a city intact… and watched from a distance as you set fire to its soul.
Paris shouldn't have burned. Not like that. But you all wanted to kill your kings. You cheered as the guillotine took tradition and stability with it."
His voice dropped further.
"And this is how liberty ends. Always."
Then he turned the blade.
"You do not bear the torch of civilization—you lost that claim the mont you deposed the House of Bourbon. What trail you blaze is one of destruction, death, and eventually anarchy. As history has shown—
It is the fate shared by all who follow such hollow ideals built on the failures of relentless utopianism and a rejection of what makes us human, naively believing we could ever be as graceful as the angels in heaven above. We are not gods, and you least of all..."
He let the final cut co slow and rciless.
"You call a barbarian," Bruno said, his voice cool, "but you're the ones killing each other in the streets of a once-civilized nation over sothing as simple as bread."
He let the silence hang, then added with a soft, lethal edge:
"So tell —who here is the real savage? Because from where I stand, I see only you three... You are welco to remain for the duration of the Gas. After all, soone must represent the people of France… even if only symbolically."
Then, without raising his voice, he delivered the final line like a sentence passed:
"But any further outbursts like this—and you'll see just how quickly a nation of chivalry deals with disrespect… Especially when it is gracious enough to be hosting the party and paying the bill."
Then Bruno shot a glance toward the Arican diplomats, as if to say, You too are among the damned. You just don't know it yet.
With that, Bruno turned away from the sputtering Frenchn, calmly picking up another glass of chardonnay. He walked past his eldest daughter, Eva, and gave her shoulder a gentle pat before leaning in to whisper words only she could hear.
"And that, my sweet little girl… is how we put away the strays in our house."
Eva said nothing as her father passed her by, simply wearing a malevolent smile as she witnessed the Frenchn utterly ignored once more by those present the mont their disruption had been properly dealt with.
Bruno, however, continued onward, joining his wife Heidi, who was engaged in lively conversation with their daughter-in-law Alya, as well as the Kaiserin and the Tsarina. The royals were discussing the possibility of inducting Alya into one of their female chivalric orders, impressed by Heidi's glowing account of her charitable works—a feat, Heidi claid, impossible without the aid of the young Russian war orphan who had sohow married her eldest son.
By law, Alya was already a countess, adopted by Heinrich—the man who had led the charge that captured Paris. But this was the first ti she stood among such won of power.
When Bruno heard the suggestion, he spoke without hesitation.
"I think that's a wonderful idea! Alya may be my daughter by law, but she is also my goddaughter—and one of the most virtuous won I've had the honor to know. She would be a fitting da of any of your noble orders… that is, if you would allow the honor of offering my recomndation alongside that of my beloved wife."
The surrounding nobility murmured in surprise at his words, the tension from monts before already forgotten.
Back at the wine table, Eva sipped her glass and shook her head with a half-smile.
"Father truly is a master of the ga. And no one sees it… except mother."
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