Eva stood within the great hall of the Berlin Palace, the air heavy with polish and history, her gaze fixed on the paintings that lined the marble walls.
There, in one whose ink had aged nearly a decade, sat her own likeness, captured in all her elegance.
Her husband, Prince Wilhelm, held their eldest daughter in his arms, still an infant when the painting was commissioned, while in her lap sat their son, Bruno the Younger, nad for his grandfather, only five years old at the ti.
A single tear slipped down her cheek before she forced herself to breathe, reassembling the composure expected of her.
That little boy was now a young man, a junior officer who had fought in Paris during the opening stages of the war and earned dals for gallantry.
Now he was stationed in Sicily, preparing for the Allied invasion that everyone knew was coming.
Eva understood, at last, how her own mother had once felt when her father went to war.
She had been only a girl then, watching her mother stare blankly at the kitchen sink, washing the sa dish again and again.
Back then, she had not understood the emptiness behind those eyes, the way dread hollowed a woman’s heart until routine beca its only refuge.
Now, she did.
Eva had never known the fear of a husband marching off to war; Wilhelm’s duties were political, not martial.
But the fear of losing a son, that was sothing her mother had been spared. Different griefs, but of the sa blood.
It was a burden only won in their station could understand, to smile for the Empire while praying that the telegram never bore their family’s crest.
She drew in a steady breath, forcing the lancholy back into its box.
Tracing her finger gently across the boyish face in the painting, she whispered a silent plea for his safety, then turned toward the next room.
There she found her husband, Prince Wilhelm, standing beside his father, the Crown Prince, and his grandfather, Kaiser Wilhelm II himself.
he mont the old Emperor saw his granddaughter-in-law enter, his expression shifted from stern to radiant.
He stepped forward with a vigor that seed to shave years from his age.
"Eva, my beloved granddaughter! It is wonderful to see you. I was just telling my son and grandson about the news from the Pacific."
Eva looked quickly to the two n; both nodded subtly, their eyes carrying quiet reassurance.
Whatever the news was, it was not tragic. Her heart eased, and she managed a small smile.
"Grandfather, you really shouldn’t be moving about like this," she chided softly. "I’m sure whatever the news is, it doesn’t require you to pace the floor."
The Kaiser scoffed, stamping his cane on the carpet as if the notion of fragility insulted him.
"You sound just like your father! Always telling to slow down. A hypocrite, that man is! if not for , he’d still be charging machine gun nests like a damn soldat! I’ll have you know I’m as spry as a sixty-year-old!"
His bluster drew a genuine laugh from Eva.
She knew the truth of it, her father, Bruno, would still be leading assaults if the Kaiser hadn’t expressly forbidden it towards the end of the Great War.
But she also knew to steer the conversation back before he began a ranting about anecdotes from twenty years ago.
"Well, aren’t you going to tell the news from the East?" she prompted gently.
The Kaiser’s cheeks flushed as he rembered, clearing his throat with a theatrical cough to disguise his embarrassnt.
"Right... as I was saying. It appears the Aricans have begun to double down in the Pacific after your nephew’s battalion smashed the U.S. Third Armored Division in Luzon and forced the survivors back to Manila. Preparations in Algiers and Morocco have been delayed another three months. Which ans..."
He smiled broadly. "Which ans your son will likely be rotated out of the front lines for his yearly leave when the fighting begins!"
Eva’s hand flew to her mouth.
She turned instinctively toward her husband and father-in-law, seeking confirmation. Both nodded, and that was all it took.
The wall she had so carefully maintained cracked, and tears spilled freely.
Her husband caught her in his arms as the family watched in silence.
There was no sha in her display, only relief, the pure, wordless gratitude of a mother who knew how thin the line between duty and death could be.
The Kaiser chuckled softly, blinking moisture from his own eyes. "Ah, see? Even the gods of war sotis spare the worthy. Perhaps the boy has inherited his grandfather’s luck."
But Prince Wilhelm shook his head. "No, Grandfather. This isn’t luck. It’s schedule. Bruno would never allow exceptions for family."
The old man’s mirth faded into understanding.
For all his rank and power, Bruno von Zehntner had always held one law above all else: no favoritism.
Even the blood of emperors had to earn its place in the machine.
"He’s right," Eva whispered through her tears. "If my father had his way, our son would be the last to leave, not the first. Fate simply turned the wheel in our favor this ti."
The Kaiser exhaled, nodding solemnly.
"Then give thanks not for favoritism, but for providence. The Empire’s strength rests on n who serve because they must, not because they are chosen."
Eva pressed her head against her husband’s chest, her sobs softening to trembling breaths.
For the first ti in months, she allowed herself to hope, but even in that hope was guilt.
Sowhere, another mother was receiving the letter she had feared. Another family would not be as fortunate.
She wiped her eyes, straightened her dress, and managed a faint smile. "Then we’ll pray he returns ho quickly," she said. "Before fortune changes her mind again."
Her husband squeezed her hand. The old Kaiser looked toward the great windows of the palace, where twilight washed Berlin in gold and gray.
"War spares no one forever," he murmured. "But tonight, at least, let us be grateful that the blood of our house still flows."
For a fleeting mont, even the ghosts of history seed to stand still, listening to the laughter and relief that, however briefly, softened the steel heart of the Empire.
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