After the wedding itself had been concluded, Bruno’s family and their multitude of guests retired to his grand estate to engage in celebration. The bride and groom had begun their traditional waltz on the dance floor, as the attendees watched with varying and complicated expressions on their faces.
Bruno was a man who had come from a young noble house; through iron and blood, they had established their prominence over the course of the last century—born in steel and fire during the Napoleonic Wars and later cemented in the unification of the German Reich as masters of industry and military command.
Now, the current generation had risen to such heights that the house had earned the title of Counts. That was, of course, the primary branch, but Bruno’s cadet branch held even greater titles—Grand Princes in Transylvania and Princes in Russia. Because of this, the young boy who would become a man this night was of significant noble heritage, even if the age of his house was not as grand as its recent elevation in status.
Yet he was marrying an orphan girl from Russia—something that reflected a new and increasingly common tradition among the lower nobility, even as they ascended to the greatest heights. Morganatic marriages were becoming more prevalent, and to many of the old nobles from ancient houses, some of which predated even the mighty Kingdom of Prussia, this was a troubling development.
To Bruno, however, it was simply the natural evolution of the world, nothing to fear. In time, many people of lower birth would rise to nobility through their own merit. But to others who watched in silence, this was a sign that their power was waning.
Because of the complex and varied backgrounds of the gathered guests, their reactions were as diverse as the houses which they hailed from. But this was not a concern for the bride and groom.
Rather, for Erwin and Alya, there was no one else in the room but the two of them as they lovingly embraced and danced across the floor. Midway through the set, Alya placed a hand on her young groom’s head and balked in disbelief.
"Since when did you grow so tall? Last I remember, you were just an adorable little boy clinging to my skirt!"
Erwin could only chuckle, shaking his head as he leaned in, whispering intimately to the older woman he had just married. His words were both teasing and gentle, carried by the soft breeze that brushed against her delicate, pale ears.
"It’s not my fault you haven’t been paying attention..."
With that, he pulled away, executing a flourish perfectly in tune with the traditional melody playing in the background. His movements, effortless and refined, complemented his bride flawlessly, leaving her momentarily stunned—for she had never once suspected that he could dance.
Meanwhile, in the background, the boy’s father simply smiled and shook his head. It was as if, the very moment Erwin spoke his vows and kissed his bride, the boy he had known had vanished—replaced by a confident young man, ready to build his own house upon a foundation of Roman concrete.
There was no longer a need for a father’s constant vigilance. His son had outgrown it. And so, without a word, the father turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd to resume the business he had long conspired in the shadows.
Before he left, however, he gave a single, solid nod of approval—an unspoken exchange between father and son, shared in the briefest of moments.
No one else saw it, and no one else needed to.
Bruno having walked off to search for his target of the evening, found the man in question not far from the dancefloor, entertaining other guests whom Bruno had invited—figures of similar or near-equal prestige.
Yet the Tsar witnessed his host approach. He was quick to apologize to those who swarmed him, breaking away from their relentless pursuit. Instead, he immediately found Bruno, grasping him by the shoulder—almost desperate to escape their attention—while making a public display of camaraderie to show respect to the host of this grand celebration.
"Well, if it isn’t my greatest friend and the host of this wonderful evening, Prince von Zehntner, let me congratulate you on your eldest son’s marriage to his beautiful young bride!"
Immediately after saying this, the Tsar of Russia leaned in close and whispered something to Bruno in a voice so low only the two men could hear.
"Thank God you arrived just now. It would appear you are my savior yet again, my friend. If I had to spend another moment surrounded by those jackals, I would have been compelled to throw myself off your balcony—if not for the dreadful thought that such an affair would forever blight the beautiful union of your son and new daughter-in-law. Now, please, take me somewhere solitary with some vodka!"
The fact that Nicholas could speak so informally with Bruno was a sign of the extent to which he trusted the man. And while monarchs and dignitaries approached Bruno left and right in pursuit of his talents and wealth, he had always kept them at a respectful arm’s length.
But today was his son’s wedding, and Bruno had an important proposal to make to the Tsar. Thus, he welcomed the man’s gesture, proactively guiding him to a quiet place away from the glitz, glamour, and, of course, attention.
With an almost studious tone in his voice, Bruno slightly bowed before the Tsar, recognizing the man’s superior position, before leading him toward his private office—far from the noise and the "jackals."
"Of course, Your Majesty, your wish is my command. Please, follow me. I believe I know just the place you’re looking for."
Nicholas, perhaps a little too jovial and friendly, patted Bruno on the back thrice before following him away from the crowded festivities. There, in seclusion, the two men would silently broker an agreement that would shape the world for generations to come.
But no one outside that room would know of it.
Tonight was a night of celebration.