The palace windows looked out over the gardens, but King Carol II saw none of the tulips or clipped hedges.
He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, the faint ticking of the tall clock marking the silence in the room.
Ever since the ink had dried on the Tyrol accords, the peace with Hungary had been less a treaty and more a powder keg with a lid weighted down by Bruno von Zehntner’s shadow.
For years, both kingdoms had minded their borders, wary of inviting the Reich’s wrath.
Now Hungary was being seen in Berlin’s parlors, speaking warmly with Wilhelm and worse, Bruno himself.
Every scrap of intelligence suggested they were angling for a seat at the table of the new Central Powers.
And if they got it, the balance would tip.
The next time Budapest wanted something from Bucharest, they wouldn’t need to negotiate, they’d simply point north, and the Germans would do the rest.
Carol exhaled slowly. He had avoided the Great War, heeding the warnings Bruno had quietly passed along, warnings that had saved his crown and spared Romania from ruin.
But in doing so, he had also made himself dependent on the goodwill of a man whose loyalties were bound to the Reich above all else.
His chief minister, Argetoianu, cleared his throat. "Majesty, our position grows precarious. If Hungary enters the alliance, it will press old claims. And Berlin will be less inclined to restrain them."
Carol’s eyes narrowed. "Unless Berlin has cause to see Romania as something more than a buffer state."
"You mean to court them," the minister said, though it was not a question.
Carol turned from the window. "The Hohenzollerns are not strangers to each other. Wilhelm is of the senior line; I, of a cadet branch. Blood is blood, even if it runs thin over generations. If Bulgaria can leverage marriages and sentiment, so can we."
Argetoianu frowned. "And if the Kaiser remembers our neutrality in the last war as cowardice?"
Carol’s mouth curved into a thin smile.
"Then I will remind him that cowardice kept German troops free to fight elsewhere. A favor unacknowledged is a favor unpaid. And Wilhelm strikes me as a man who prefers debts settled."
He looked back at the gardens; the tulips swaying in the breeze like lines of soldiers.
"Prepare the correspondence. Berlin will hear from their kin in Bucharest before the month is out."
Berlin, Three Weeks Later
The afternoon light slanted through the tall windows of the Kaiser’s study, pooling across the polished table where a cream-colored envelope lay torn open.
Wilhelm set down the letter with a faint grunt and slid it toward Bruno.
"From Carol," he said. "Our ’dear cousin’ in Bucharest."
Bruno picked it up, scanned the flowing script, and let out a quiet, humorless sigh.
"He dresses it well, family ties, mutual respect, shared Hohenzollern heritage, but the smell of desperation comes through all the same." Follow current novels on NovєlFіre.net
Wilhelm leaned back, steepling his fingers. "He’s not wrong to be concerned. Hungary is circling closer, and he’s afraid of being isolated."
Bruno poured himself a measure from the decanter, the glass catching the amber light. "Afraid, and with good reason. Hungary, for all its bluster, could pull its own weight if we brought them in. They’ve got industry, manpower, and—"
he took a sip—"the kind of stubborn pride that makes for a dangerous ally, but a more dangerous enemy."
Wilhelm’s eyebrow lifted. "And Romania?"
Bruno snorted softly. "They’d be deadweight. An ally in name only, draining resources while giving us another front to defend. And worse... if we tied ourselves to them, we’d all but guarantee that Budapest would see it as an insult and throw themselves at the Allies."
He set the glass down with a muted thud. "If Arz feels cornered, he’ll go all-in. All or nothing. And Arthur Arz von Straußenburg is not the sort of man to relinquish a claim, especially not to the land of his birth. He’d gamble his entire kingdom before giving up an inch."
Wilhelm tapped the table thoughtfully. "So if we embrace Carol, we risk losing Hungary. And if we take Hungary, Carol sees his fears confirmed."
Bruno’s gaze stayed on the map pinned to the far wall, the Balkans marked in careful ink.
"One of them will have to be disappointed, Wilhelm. And I know which one has the greater value to us in a war."
The Kaiser was silent for a long moment, then pushed the letter aside as though it were already forgotten.
"Then Romania waits. Family ties or not."
Bruno reached for his glass again, his tone flat. "Blood forges alliances that ideally last centuries. But those alliances only last when both parties renew their ties every generation or two. Romania has not done such a thing, and now they will come to realize Hungary’s steel means more than their thin blood."
The Spring light through the palace windows was thin and colorless, turning the marble floors into cold sheets of glass.
King Carol II sat behind his desk, the telegram from Berlin still unfolded in his hands.
Its language was courteous, even warm in places, assurances of friendship, mutual respect, the "enduring value of Romania’s role in European stability."
And yet, between every line was the same truth: No promises. No guarantees.
He set the paper down with deliberate care. In the silence of his study, the crackle of the fireplace sounded like mockery.
"They’re leaving the door open for Hungary," he said finally, not looking up.
Foreign Minister Istrate shifted uncomfortably. "Majesty, the wording does not—"
Carol cut him off with a glance sharp enough to still the man mid-sentence. "I know what it says. I also know what it doesn’t say. Berlin will not risk offending Budapest. Not now."
He leaned back, fingers steepled.
"As long as Bruno von Zehntner breathes, he is the shadow on every border I hold. He will not hesitate to let Hungary press its claims if it serves his game."
Istrate hesitated. "Then we must consider—"
"—how to keep him from seeing us as expendable," Carol finished.
His eyes drifted to a framed portrait on the far wall: a younger Wilhelm II, taken long before the war, a reminder of the distant Hohenzollern tie he had once believed unbreakable.
"Family," Carol said quietly, almost to himself, "only matters until it doesn’t."
For a long moment, he sat in silence; the telegram lying like a verdict on the desk before him.
Outside, the wind rattled the shutters, carrying with it the sense that the next storm was already on its way.