Claire had never eaten in a palace before.
She had grown up in a wealthy family in the French countryside that had survived over a hundred years of wars.
Her family had gained the privilege of nobility in France around the sa ti as Bruno’s had.
During the Napoleonic Wars, the foundation of House von Zehntner was laid down with victories over the French at Leipzig and Waterloo.
While Claire’s house had been founded a decade earlier at Austerlitz. Yet by her lifeti, that privilege had thinned to little more than land and mory.
But after the fall of the Second Empire they had mostly kept to themselves and stayed out of the chaotic affairs of the Republics that followed.
To say this was her first ti witnessing the grandeur and splendor of a royal palace was an understatent. And the one in Tyrol was about as exquisite as such an estate could be.
The dining hall was large, yes, but it was lived-in. It had existed for only a few decades, and yet it gave the impression that it had stood proudly for centuries.
What unsettled her most, however, was not the room.
It was the people in it.
Maria and Theresa had disappeared briefly after returning ho, only to reappear with their sleeves rolled up, hair pinned back, and aprons tied neatly at the waist.
They moved with familiarity through the kitchen adjoining the hall, assisting the cooks without ceremony. One stirred a pot while the other carried bread to the table.
Claire watched in silence, uncertain whether she was misunderstanding sothing fundantal.
Around her, other mbers of the household did the sa. Younger boys helped clear the dishes. Older girls set the places and poured the water.
In the courtyard beyond the windows, she could see several n, clearly of noble bearing, working alongside groundskeepers, trimming hedges and repairing a section of fencing.
No one barked orders.
No one stood idle.
When Bruno entered the hall, the room shifted, not in fear, but in recognition. He wore no uniform, only a plain jacket and shirt, his sleeves already dusted with sawdust.
He greeted his grandchildren with easy warmth, kissed Heidi’s cheek, and took his seat as though this were the most ordinary thing in the world.
Claire waited until the al had begun before she spoke, hesitant but unable to contain her confusion.
"Pardon ," she said softly, her French accent more pronounced when she was nervous. "May I ask sothing?"
Bruno looked up from his plate and smiled, not the smile of a statesman, but of a grandfather indulging curiosity.
"Of course."
She gestured subtly around the hall.
"Why... do you all do this?" she asked. "You could hire more servants. Many more. Most families of your standing would never—"
She stopped, afraid she’d gone too far.
Bruno did not seem offended.
Instead, he leaned back slightly, studying her with thoughtful eyes.
"I was born the ninth son of a Junker household," he said calmly. "My inheritance was an aging Fachwerk manor in Berlin’s old town, and nothing more. Given to the night Heidi, and I were wed. I earned a junior officer’s salary at the ti, and she was a housewife. We could not afford cooks, or maids, or gardeners."
He glanced around the table, eting the eyes of his children and grandchildren.
"So we learned to do everything ourselves."
Claire listened, transfixed.
"Things have changed since then," Bruno continued. "My sons and I helped build this vey palace with our own two hands when they were available for support. This is our house, and a house demands daily attention, whether that ans fixing floorboards, cleaning toilets, cutting hedges, or cooking als."
He paused.
"We do not forsake maintenance," he said quietly. "And we do not compel others to act where we would not."
No one spoke.
Maria returned to her seat, hands still faintly dusted with flour, and t Claire’s gaze with a small, knowing smile.
Claire looked down at her plate, suddenly embarrassed, not by poverty or labor, but by the assumptions she had carried with her.
This was not decadence; this was discipline.
She continued to eat the rest of her al in silence. Listening to the conversations the family had at the dinner table.
Generations of von Zehntners gathered in the dining hall, sharing als, drinks, and personal stories. There was no infusion of the politics of the land, or passive-aggressive remarks about competition.
Even the distant cousins related to Bruno’s older brothers seed to hold no grudges, despite the youngest of their patriarch’s generation inheriting the family line.
It was shocking to Claire, whose own family’s dining hall, which she now realized was so humble by comparison. Was mostly filled with debate, competition, and false pretenses.
She thought back to the words that Maria and Theresa had spoken earlier in their class that day. That their family was candid and blunt, preferring such straightforwardness over superficial tactfulness.
And now, she finally understood... The man that her people had quite literally depicted as the grim reaper during warti propaganda, who had been blad for France’s misfortunes over the course of the last few decades. Had fostered a dynasty that was stronger than any other because they focused on raising their children in an environnt that didn’t flaunt their privilege but grounded them in the world around them.
By the ti she returned to her dorm that night, which was located just down the road from the Grand Palace of Tyrol, Claire went to bed wondering if everything she had ever been taught about Germany, and about the infamous Reichsmarschall had been nothing but falsehoods.
Or if a man who seed so gentle, so kind, so caring about his own family and their future. Could also sohow be a monster responsible for millions of deaths and the suffering of millions more.
Ultimately, she chose to believe her eyes and ears. Not the rumors of people who had never even t the man.
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