As Oskar stepped out of the Naval Technical Committee building, the cold Berlin air hit him like a slap.
His breath fogged in front of him.
His pulse was still pounding in his ears.
Wow, he thought. I really told them to go to hell, didn't I…
For a mont, he almost laughed.
Oh man, I definitely offended those guys.
But… so what?
He rolled his shoulders, flexing his hand, still feeling the phantom impact of slamming his fist into the table.
He felt… powerful.
Confident.
I didn't punch anyone. I didn't pull a knife. I just hurt so pride. That's legal, he decided.
He wasn't Chinese anymore. He was a Prussian prince. A tall, muscular, rich, soon-to-be-industrial-tycoon prince.
And that changed everything.
He had money.
He had blueprints.
He had people.
Now he just needed to make them move.
His mind flicked through his people:
Hans Albrecht, forr coal miner, now CEO of Albrecht Sicherheitwerke – Albrecht Safety Works.
Three factories already running:
Helt Forge – churning out sturdy steel helts.
Boot & Glove Factory – workshop for strong boots and grip-enhancing gloves.
Safety Lamp & Tool Workshop – making lamps, safe picks, and tools for mines and factories.
Hans was becoming Germany's first real worker-safety pioneer, even if he still moved like a man expecting the floor to collapse.
Then there was Tanya.
Her company, Kleine Engel Werke – Little Angel Works, was still in its infancy:
one small factory producing baby cloth diapers, simple sanitary pads, baby bottles, basic shampoo, and household hygiene items,
enough capacity to stock her soon-to-open first shop in Potsdam, near the Neues Palais, Oskar's "ho base".
Small now—but he could already see it:
better hygiene → fewer sick babies → fewer dead babies → stronger Germany.
Then Karl.
Still splitting his ti between the German Welfare Lottery and his new pet side-project:
experintal cat sand,
grooming brushes,
early pet products.
One small factory was already in preparation.
In total, Oskar's Oskar Industrial Group now commanded:
3 factories under Hans,
1 under Tanya,
1 for Karl soon,
and more on the way.
Safety gear.
Hygiene goods.
Pets.
Gyms.
Soon: shipyards.
All pieces on a board.
The next phase wasn't just about factories.
It was about building the steel gardens that could birth his battleship.
Still, he couldn't help replaying the eting in his head.
He had gone in with a plan:
be calm,
read Tanya's notes,
answer questions clearly,
walk out having at least planted a seed in their minds.
Instead, he'd gone full "final boss confrontation" on the Naval Technical Committee.
He'd expected pushback.
He hadn't expected to nearly start a civil war between generations.
But even now, walking away from the building, he didn't regret it.
Better a sharp shock now than a slow death later.
Better to slap the dust off their faces.
If that woke even one old man up to the reality of future naval war, it would be worth it.
If not?
Well, he'd tried.
Germans, he thought. Stubborn devs of Earth 1.0.
Lost in thought, Oskar crossed the Academy courtyard.
Cadets and officers—most older than him, all shorter than him—instinctively got out of his way as he moved. He walked with the heavy stride of soone who'd already decided they were done asking for permission.
As he passed through the gates into the street, he caught stares.
Won turned to look, so whispering behind gloved hands.
He glanced their way and gave a polite, controlled nod—fighting the reflexive "my man" sitting on his tongue.
Several young won blushed and let out little excited gasps, clutching each other's arms like girls reacting to a stage idol. Sowhere, a fan club was being born.
n stared and whispered too.
"Is that… the Fifth Prince?"
"No, he's too tall."
"Look at the shoulders on him…"
"Isn't he the lottery prince?"
So of them held newspapers with pictures of the "old" Oskar:
lanky,
narrow-shouldered,
pale on horseback,
the image of a fragile, aristocratic spare.
Now that the Chinese gar soul was in the driver's seat, Prince Oskar didn't look like that at all.
This Oskar looked like soone who could pick up that old Oskar and use him as a dumbbell.
A dark rcedes rolled up in front of him with a purr of the engine.
The driver recognized him.
It was the sa man who, not long ago, had lived through Oskar and Karl wrestling in the backseat like deranged gorillas.
The driver visibly stiffened.
He stepped out, quickly adjusted his cap, and opened the rear door with careful neutrality, like a man inviting a tiger into a carriage.
Don't anger the prince. Don't provoke wrestling. Don't die.
Oskar smirked internally.
The rear door swung open.
"Oskar, get in," a voice called.
Prince Heinrich.
His uncle.
His ally—maybe.
Oskar straightened his back automatically.
"Yes, Your High—" he caught himself mid-phrase, "—Your Highness," he said. "I will step right in."
He almost said "my man."
Almost.
He slid into the backseat.
The car rocked violently under his weight. The springs groaned. The seat compressed.
No seatbelts. No airbags.
We must fix this later, he thought absently.
The door shut.
The rcedes pulled away from the Naval Office, carrying:
one naval commander,
one dangerous blueprint,
and one prince who had just declared war on the old order.
The next phase was about to begin.
Up close, Prince Heinrich looked every inch a man who had actually stood on a rolling deck in a storm. The lines on his face ca from sun and salt, not from office lamps. His blue eyes were clear; his jaw was strong. His uniform was crisp, but worn with the relaxed ease of soone who didn't have to prove anything.
He glanced at Oskar with an amused, appraising look.
"To be honest, Oskar," Heinrich said, "you surprised today."
He took a calm sip of wine from a cut-glass cup.
"Among all of my brother's sons, you were… not the one anyone expected much from." His lips curved faintly. "Always quiet. Always vanishing. No special favor from your father. If it weren't for the lottery, one might almost forget you were there."
Oskar snorted.
"Yeah," he said. "I rember. I was ghost prince. Good for stealth."
Heinrich chuckled.
"But now," he continued, "you create this German Welfare Lottery and turn it into a money machine that impresses even the finance minister… and then you walk into a room full of old shipbuilders and throw a new battleship at their heads." He shook his head in disbelief. "You've beco the talk of Berlin, you know."
Oskar stared at his hands for a mont.
"Your Highness is kind," he said quietly. "But the committee still rejected my design."
If they'd approved it, the entire next generation of capital ships could have been different. The German Navy might actually have been able to stand equal with the Royal Navy sooner. He could almost see phantom newspaper headlines that would now never be printed.
Heinrich waved a hand.
"So what if they rejected it?" he said. "Those n cling to doctrines that are already dying. I have thought for years that our navy is becoming too cautious. Your design is bold. I like bold."
He tapped Oskar's arm with two fingers.
"You have money. You have ideas. Build the ship yourself. Let them choke on their theories when they see it in the water."
Oskar looked up, genuinely surprised by the bluntness.
He nodded slowly.
"Yes," he said. "I… I was thinking the sa."
A slight frown creased his brow.
"But, Your Highness… even if I want to, no yard may agree. There are only a few shipyards that can build a battleship. All of them are tied closely to the Navy and the committee. After the scene I caused today, they may refuse even if I bring them a mountain of gold."
Heinrich's smile thinned into sothing more serious.
"That is a real concern," he admitted. "Shipyards live and die by naval contracts. They fear building a prince's 'crazy ship' will cost them future orders."
He studied Oskar for a long mont.
"But problems can be solved," Heinrich said at last. "Money helps. Imperial backing helps more. And you are still young. You have ti to fail once or twice and still succeed." He clapped a firm hand on Oskar's shoulder. "I have high hopes for you, Oskar. Don't let one room of old n break you."
Oskar felt the weight of that hand like an anchor—and like a promise.
It was the first ti soone from his father's generation, soone who mattered, had said that to him openly.
"Thank you, Your Highness," he said.
He ant it.
Heinrich's support didn't erase the slap from the committee. But it made the whole thing feel less like a dead end and more like… a difficult climb.
The rcedes glided towards the palace courtyard, lamps glowing on snowy stone.
"Today is Christmas," Heinrich said as the car slowed. "Spend it with your family. The sea will not vanish overnight."
The rcedes rolled to a smooth stop at the palace steps—though "smooth" was generous. With Oskar's weight shifting forward, the suspension dipped sharply, the springs groaning like an old man bending down to pray.
The driver, who had been rigid the entire ride, braced both hands on the wheel as if preparing for impact. His eyes flicked nervously to the rearview mirror, watching the silhouette of Oskar unfold inside the car like a giant preparing to stand.
Oskar reached for the door handle.
The driver winced.
When Oskar stepped out, the entire chassis lurched upward, relieved of half its burden. The car gave an audible tallic creak of gratitude. Snow on the roof slid off in a soft avalanche.
The driver exhaled—very slowly—then sagged in his seat as if surviving a dangerous mission.
Prince Heinrich leaned slightly forward, smirking.
"Try not to break the palace floor, Oskar," he said lightly.
Oskar gave him a tired but genuine smile.
He shut the door with a gentle thud—consciously gentle—because he was pretty sure slamming it would bend the hinges.
Heinrich gave him one final nod of approval before signaling the driver.
The rcedes, freed of its giant passenger, shot forward with surprising enthusiasm—almost leaping down the drive as if fleeing for its life.
And then Oskar was left alone on the palace steps, the freezing night biting at his cheeks, a blueprint tube under his arm…
…and a thousand new plans roaring in his head.
That evening, the royal family gathered for yet another Christmas dinner at the Neues Palais. This ti it was only a private family affair.
Oskar had co straight from sothing that felt very much not in the Christmas spirit: a nearly two-hour bath with Tanya that he absolutely hadn't wanted to end. She had drifted off asleep against his chest at the end, a dumb happy little smile on her face, and he'd almost let her stay like that. But duty was duty, and princes couldn't skip Christmas dinner to cuddle in bathtubs. Apparently.
He woke her gently, she helped him into his freshly pressed uniform, fussed over his collar, and now he was here.
Outside, the park lay under a thin crust of snow, the trees traced in white against a deep blue sky. Inside, the great dining hall blazed with light. Hundreds of candles flickered in crystal chandeliers; polished silver turned the glow into broken stars along the long table.
The table itself glittered:
White damask cloth.
Tall silver candelabra with beeswax candles.
Porcelain from the royal service—white with gold rims, the imperial eagle picked out in tiny detail.
Cutlery laid with military precision: silver knives and forks, fish forks, dessert spoons, and a small forest of glasses for water, white wine, red wine, champagne.
Roasted goose, venison, spiced red cabbage, chestnuts, and fresh bread scented the entire room.
Servants moved like a well-rehearsed ballet:
liveried footn with trays,
maids with gloved hands,
butlers whose eyes seed to notice everything.
Oskar arrived late. Again.
Waiting for him just outside the doors was a little blonde ambush.
"Hmm, late again?" Viktoria Luise sniffed, hands on her hips. "Well, co on, you big dummy, let's go eat."
She grabbed his hand and pulled. He didn't move at first. She stopped, looked up at him with a deep, outraged princess-pout.
He caved instantly.
Not wanting to anger the tiny dragon, he let himself be dragged into the hall. For once, he didn't feel completely out of place. He was clean. His hair was tad. His uniform fit like it had been painted on—tight across his shoulders and chest, but flexible. Tanya had looked very pleased about that.
He found his place at the long table: not too close to the head, not exiled to the far end.
Three seats down from the Crown Prince, between Prince August Wilhelm and—technically—an empty chair.
In practice, the "empty" chair was already occupied.
Mister Ice Bear, the small white toy polar bear, had been seated there with all the dignity of a furry ambassador.
A second later, Viktoria Luise plopped down beside Oskar, scooping Mister Ice Bear into her lap as if he were a shield. She was supposed to sit farther down the table; he could tell from the brief flicker in one of the butler's eyes that she had escaped her assigned place.
Oskar didn't mind at all.
In her pale blue dress with lace trim, the little diamond necklace he'd given her at the banquet, and that stubborn tilt to her chin, she looked very much the part of a tiny war princess. Milky fair skin, a slender, long-limbed build for a twelve-year-old—Hohenzollern genetics apparently ca with a height buff.
She caught him looking.
Her oval face, still soft with childlike roundness, turned up toward him. Big bright blue eyes narrowed in suspicion over a small tidy nose and a mouth that was already forming the question: What are you staring at?
He smiled.
She looked so delicate and so hilariously serious that he couldn't help it; he reached out and patted her head lightly, running his fingers once through that thick, light-blond hair.
For a heartbeat, she closed her eyes like a cat being scratched.
Then she opened them again and pouted at him, cheeks pink.
He chuckled. "Hah, Luise, don't pout too hard. You might lt my heart with your cuteness."
Her face went bright red. She inhaled sharply, clearly reaching for a devastating coback.
What ca out was: "Dumr Kopf."
Stupid head.
It was her new favorite na for him.
She huffed, turned away in a swirl of blue skirts, and tried to arrange her features into sothing dignified and royal. Mister Ice Bear helped, sitting upright on her lap as if guarding her honor.
Oskar just watched her and smiled to himself.
In his first life, he'd had no brothers or sisters. Here, at least, he had one little sister who wasn't awful. Loud, stubborn, funny, cute. Without really planning to, he felt his heart settling into a quiet promise:
Whatever happens, I'll make sure she has a good future.
Which, unfortunately, ant protecting Germany.
At the head of the table, Empress Auguste Viktoria sat in deep dark green silk, a diamond necklace glittering at her throat—the very one Oskar had given her at the banquet. A tiara caught the candlelight in her hair.
Above and around her, portraits watched from the walls: Friedrich III, Wilhelm I, and on a side table in a silver fra, Queen Victoria—"Grandmama", the Grandmother of Europe, whose descendants now sat on thrones in London, St. Petersburg, Athens, Oslo, Madrid… even Copenhagen, though here in Potsdam, Denmark was not a popular topic. The two awar over Schleswig still cast a long shadows over their relations.
Tonight, the royal houses of Europe had sent gifts, and most had been opened in the morning:
A gold-frad photograph of King Edward VII and Queen Alexandra from London, along with a picture of the Royal Navy—probably ant as a half-joke, half-flex. Look how many ships we have. Wilhelm II liked it anyway. He liked ships in any form.
A richly enaled icon from Tsar Nicholas II and Alexandra Feodorovna in Russia. Oskar suspected Alexandra, being Danish and not exactly fond of Germany, had not picked it personally. Still, it was a gesture.
A carved chalice from so minor Balkan cousin Oskar couldn't rember.
Soone had joked earlier that the Russian gift was early: "Their Christmas is in January; the Orthodox always co late."
They had sung Protestant hymns in the chapel earlier. The Hohenzollerns were proudly Lutheran, seeing themselves as sword and shield of German Protestantism. Oskar, who had grown up in a very different world, didn't mind. He was willing to sing along if needed. He'd sat through weirder things in his past life.
Now he simply sat and observed—and tried not to et the eyes of too many relatives. Several of them clearly disapproved of his late arrival, but no one said anything. He suspected they all quietly filed him under "special prince who fell down the stairs."
Around the table, the family sat roughly by rank and age:
The Empress at the head.
To her right, Crown Prince Wilhelm—neatly uniford, mustached, radiating the slightly over-the-top dignity of a man who knew everyone was watching his every move.
Then the brothers in order:
Eitel Friedrich,
Adalbert,
August Wilhelm,
Oskar,
and at the far side, young Prince Joachim.
On the Empress's left sat a couple of high-ranking guests, and an empty space for Wilhelm II, who would appear and vanish according to the rhythm of state duties and his own theatrical sense of timing.
Oskar stared at the arrangent, trying to quietly morize it.
He felt a poke on his arm.
Viktoria Luise gave him a aningful look, then flicked her eyes toward the table.
Right. Napkins. Table manners.
He quickly grabbed his napkin, watching her hands and copying every move. The cloth was unfolded and laid on the lap. Knife in the right hand, fork in the left. No elbows on the table. No hunching. Small bites.
So many rules just to eat, he thought.
We should print a little manual and sell it. "Royal Table Manners for Idiots – Volu One."
As he shifted on his chair, the old wood gave a protesting groan.
Several heads turned.
The Empress's eyes flicked toward him, lips thinning for a mont—and then toward her daughter, who was staring intently at Oskar's chair as if it might collapse under him at any second.
To the Empress, it was probably all a breach of decorum: fidgeting son, overattentive daughter, chair noise. Oskar tried a small apologetic smile.
Then Auguste Viktoria's shoulders eased.
Viktoria Luise had simply straightened in her seat, sitting properly erect now, Mister Ice Bear perched on her lap, one shoulder resting lightly against Oskar's arm. No fuss. No scene. As if she had always belonged in that place beside him.
For the first ti in a long while, Oskar realized:
Soone at this table was actually happy he was here.
Even if she called him stupid head.
The light chatter around the table began to fade as the first course arrived—clear consommé, steaming in shallow porcelain bowls.
Cutlery glead. Glasses chid softly as they were adjusted.
A soft hand placed a bowl in front of Oskar.
"Your Highness," ca a familiar cheerful voice, pitched just a fraction warr than it needed to be.
Viktoria Luise's head snapped up.
Standing between Oskar and the Princess's chair was a petite blonde maid. Neat bun under a cap, black-and-white uniform crisp and perfectly fitted, apron fresh and white.
Tanya.
She kept her eyes lowered as protocol demanded, but as she leaned in to set the bowl down, her fingers brushed his wrist for half a second longer than necessary.
A tiny, deliberate pressure.
A silent: I'm here. You look good.
He glanced sideways at her and couldn't help the small smile that pulled at his mouth.
In pure reflex, he let his hand fall from the edge of the table as she straightened and, in the shelter of the tablecloth and his broad body, briefly rested his hand at the small of her back—a light, playful squeeze over the fabric, nothing anyone could see.
"You look good as well," he murmured under his breath.
Tanya made a tiny, startled squeak—too quiet for most, but not for Lokomotive Luise right beside him. Then the maid's fingers lightly squeezed his shoulder in turn, a quick, scolding pat.
"Not here," she whispered so faintly only he and Luise could hear. "You're a bad boy."
Realizing what she'd just called a prince, her eyes widened; she snapped her mouth shut, face going bright pink. Then, rembering herself, she stepped back, dipped a neat curtsey, and retreated to her place against the wall with the other servants.
Her lips, however, betrayed her—just the slightest curve at the corner, a hint of a private smile in his direction.
Across the table, the Empress's gaze tracked from Tanya… to Oskar… to Viktoria Luise, who was now clutching Mister Ice Bear and staring at her brother with enormous eyes.
Then back to Tanya.
Then back to Oskar.
Oskar, feeling the stare, gave the most innocent shrug his big shoulders could manage.
For a mont, Auguste Viktoria actually pressed a hand to her chest as if her stays had suddenly tightened. Wilhelm II raised a concerned eyebrow.
She dragged her composure back into place, reached for her wineglass, and took a discreet sip.
Inwardly, her thoughts were anything but calm.
Has he already…? No. No, surely not. Not my Oskar. Not yet. That boy can barely speak in public—can he already be keeping a maid as a mistress?
Her brain wobbled between disbelief, maternal horror, and an unpleasant mory of certain youthful escapades her husband had once confessed to.
Across from them, Crown Prince Wilhelm's eyes narrowed slightly. He hadn't seen what happened—only the tiny exchange of looks and his mother's reaction.
He looked from the Empress, to Oskar, to Luise clinging to her brother's arm, then back again.
Is he… too familiar with her? With Luise?
For an awful heartbeat, the idea flashed across his mind.
Then Luise's gaze darted guiltily toward the line of servants along the wall. Wilhelm followed it, scanning the faces.
He saw nothing obvious—just maids, footn, a few older staff. One young male servant in particular stood out: clean-shaven, annoyingly pretty in a way that could be called handso or beautiful, depending on taste.
Aha, Wilhelm thought darkly. So it's like that, is it? Little Oskar likes the pretty manservant. Or maybe the older woman. No, too old. The young one? Hm. The shortest one is useless… but that man… very suspicious.
In reality, his imagination was simply doing what it always did when it ca to his strange younger brother: searching for the most scandalous explanation possible.
A narrative seed planted itself happily in the Crown Prince's mind, ready to grow into sothing dramatic and convenient if needed.
The rest of the dinner unfolded with practiced royal grace.
Soup, then fish, then goose and venison.
Red wine for the n, lighter white for the ladies, mineral water poured from green bottles.
Knives and forks moved in precise, chanical patterns. No one clinked glasses too loudly. No one reached across the table. No one dropped a fork. It was like watching a ritual that had been rehearsed for generations.
Oskar watched and copied:
cut small pieces,
chew quietly,
put the knife down when not in use,
don't empty the wineglass too fast, even if it's very good.
He couldn't help noticing a dozen little inefficiencies:
forks that slipped in greasy hands,
knives that dulled too quickly,
plates heavy enough to be used as shields,
soups arriving lukewarm after the long procession down the room.
We need better cutlery, he thought. Stainless steel. Lighter plates. Soup warrs. Maybe automatic coffee machines. Ketchup. Real mustard. Peanut butter. Nutella. One day even french fries and cheeseburgers…
He shook himself ntally.
Focus. Battleships first. Breakfast revolution later.
Soft conversations buzzed up and down the table.
Prince Adalbert and Prince Heinrich murmured about gunnery trials and Baltic maneuvers.
Ministers traded comnts about tariffs, railway expansions, and rumors from Paris and London.
Soone ntioned that Cousin Nicky in Russia had written about strikes in St. Petersburg again.
A Bavarian relation talked at length about hunting in the Alps.
Crown Prince Wilhelm, already in his twenties and still unmarried, although he had an fiance was quick to make a point—loud enough to carry—to ntion that he was soon to marry next year.
It sounded as much like a political announcent as anything romantic, but mostly just him boasting.
"You know, dear Mother," he said lightly, "it would be good for the Empire if we all settled down properly. Strong families, strong alliances."
The Empress smiled, calm and queenly. "Of course. We pray God will guide each of you to proper marriages."
Her gaze drifted—just for a mont—toward Oskar.
Unfortunately, at that exact mont, Viktoria Luise happened to glance up at her brother too, cheeks still pink from earlier. Their eyes t accidentally.
Auguste Viktoria very nearly had another heart episode on the spot.
She controlled her expression by sheer imperial training.
Oskar, who could feel the attention gathering around him like storm clouds, pretended to be deeply interested in cutting his venison into perfectly even squares.
Crown Prince Wilhelm turned his wine glass slowly between his fingers.
"And you, Oskar?" he asked suddenly, tone deceptively casual. "You are… what now, sixteen? Next year seventeen? Tall, not entirely unfortunate-looking, and—thanks to recent ventures—rich beyond reason. Surely, despite your tree-climbing and other… antics, so young lady has already caught your attention?"
The little barb about trees slid in smoothly. The real weapon was the question that followed.
The table quieted a fraction.
Even those who pretended not to listen were now listening.
Oskar almost choked.
Images slamd into his mind:
Tanya's lips.
Tanya laughing beneath him, her hands clutching at his shoulders.
The way she'd been forced to wrap a thin white scarf around her neck this evening to hide the marks he'd left in the heat of the mont.
He very nearly glanced back toward the wall of servants.
He stopped himself just in ti.
If he looked at her now, it was over. Even the slowest Hohenzollern would put two and two together and get scandal.
He swallowed hastily, feeling the piece of venison scrape down his throat.
He could feel the Empress's gaze.
He could feel Viktoria Luise tense at his side, Mister Ice Bear squeezed almost flat in her hands.
Luise leaned in, just enough that only he could hear her.
"Don't say sothing stupid, dumr Kopf…"
He forced his shoulders to loosen, forced his face into sothing that looked like a pleasant, princely smile.
"No, Your Highness," he said, choosing each word like it was a piece on a chessboard. "I have been busy with… work. Factories. Papers. Ships. I have not had much ti to search for a bride."
A few discreet chuckles. A few raised eyebrows.
Crown Prince Wilhelm made a thoughtful little noise and swirled his wine.
"Well, I understand so things can be… difficult to discuss," he said lightly. His gaze slid to the line of servants along the wall. "We all have our own tastes, after all. But when you are ready to speak more openly, little brother, do it before it turns into a scandal. The House of Hohenzollern needs strong branches, and the public is better not left speculating."
He took a sip of wine and, under lowered lashes, studied the staff again.
The young male servant he'd noticed earlier—clean-shaven, almost delicately good-looking—felt the stare and stiffened, confused and a little frightened. On Wilhelm's side of the table, one of the princes followed his gaze, saw the servant, and went pale enough that he nearly spat his drink back into his glass.
Tanya, standing against the wall with the other maids, kept her eyes dutifully lowered. But there was a small, unmistakable smile on her lips. Her hands rested lightly, almost protectively, just above her lower belly, fingers interlaced.
The Empress's expression was unreadable. She couldn't see what exactly her older sons were gawking at—it was clear they were all looking at sothing near the servants—but the near-chokes and sudden coughs were impossible to miss.
Oskar found his plate suddenly fascinating.
"Mm," he said. "Yes. I will be sure to… try and be open about my relationships."
The word felt like a grenade on his tongue.
"In our positions, one should be open-minded and willing to share their feelings with whover the heart desires," he continued, heat rising in his face. "Even if others do not fully approve of that relationship, what matters is that you love each other and feel at ease in that person's presence, no matter the differences that separate you."
There was a tiny clink sowhere down the table as soone's fork hit a plate.
For half a second, there was silence.
Then one of the princes on Wilhelm's side of the table actually sputtered his drink, then burst into startled, disbelieving laughter.
"No way," he blurted, before slapping a hand over his mouth.
Several others choked or coughed, trying to disguise it as clearing their throats. A few shoulders shook. Soone reached blindly for a water glass.
The Empress, already on edge, looked from son to son, then to Viktoria Luise.
The girl was blushing furiously, eyes glued to Mister Ice Bear as if the toy were the only safe thing to look at in the entire world.
No, Auguste Viktoria thought in growing panic. Surely not. Luise and Oskar—no. That cannot—no. Then what… who…
Around the room, tension twisted itself into a knot.
The servants looked increasingly uncomfortable, uncertain whether they were witnessing sothing terrible, hilarious, or both.
Tanya, however, was positively glowing now. She risked the smallest upward flick of her eyes in Oskar's direction, and her smile brightened as if he had just declared his eternal love from the pulpit.
Crown Prince Wilhelm, on the other hand, sat frozen, wineglass halfway to his lips.
In his head, the pieces rushed to fit together in the most dramatic way possible:
Strange speech about "open-minded love."
Mother's reaction.
Brothers choking.
The pretty manservant.
He just admitted it, Wilhelm thought, stunned. He actually stood up at Christmas dinner and confessed he's in love with the manservant. Incredible. Useless, but incredible.
Before the chaos could evolve further, a voice cut through the hall like a whip crack.
"Genug!"
Enough.
Wilhelm II hadn't raised his voice loudly, but it carried to every corner of the room.
Conversation died on the spot.
"I will not have this table turn into a theater," he said sharply. "There are manners. There is dignity. We are not gossip column characters."
He let the words hang for a mont, then shifted back into a slightly milder, more lecturing tone about behavior, responsibility, and how certain topics were not fit for loud speculation.
Plates did not fly.
No one stord out.
No one shouted back.
After that, the al limped on more quietly.
Oskar answered his mother's gentle questions as politely as he could. Viktoria Luise elbowed him once or twice when he mangled a case ending, and he corrected himself with a sheepish, "Ja, ja, I know," which made her roll her eyes and hide a faint smile behind Mister Ice Bear's head.
On the surface, it beca a normal dinner again.
Almost.
At the far end of the hall, a large clock chid the hour.
Wilhelm II dabbed his mouth with a napkin, laid it neatly beside his plate, and rose.
"I have business to attend to," he announced.
As always.
Chairs scraped back. Conversations stilled. Everyone half-rose in reflex.
But instead of heading straight for the door, he let his gaze travel down the length of the table—past princes, guests, and glittering plates—until it stopped on Oskar.
"Oskar," he said. "Co with to the study."
For a heartbeat, the hall was silent.
"Yes, Father," Oskar replied, standing.
Across the table, Crown Prince Wilhelm's smile stretched, thin and satisfied.
"Hmph. He offended the experts; now he'll get what he deserves," Wilhelm murmured, just loud enough for the Empress to hear.
She sighed softly and gave him a small look.
"Wilhelm," she said, "he is still your brother."
The Crown Prince took a long sip of wine and pretended he hadn't heard.
Under the table, Viktoria Luise's hand found Oskar's for a brief mont. She squeezed hard, then let go quickly before anyone could see.
"Don't die," she muttered. "I still need you to make more stupid toys."
He almost laughed at that. Almost.
Then he straightened his uniform, nodded once to his mother, and followed his father out of the hall—aware of Tanya's eyes on his back, the Crown Prince's stare like a knife between his shoulders, and the weight of battleships, budgets, and futures waiting behind the study door.
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