Theodosia, Empire of Hansa, The Hanseatic Continent - May, 1940
The Hanseatic diplomatic aircraft had landed in Theodosia perhaps an hour ago, but even before the formalities of arrival had begun, Kylian could think of nothing except returning to the estate. Foreign Minister Anton von Hausen had opted to remain in Ravara, given the rapidly evolving diplomatic situation in Europe, more trips to European capitals were expected, and he needed to be positioned for immediate departure. "I'll be shuttling between Berlin, Paris, and London for the foreseeable future," von Hausen had explained at their parting. "Captain, give my regards to your brother."
It was late evening when the aircraft had touched down on Theodosia's modern aerodrome, the sun having set perhaps thirty minutes prior, leaving the sky painted in deep purples and blues. After the mandatory reporting at the headquarters of the Hanseatic Imperial Guard, a brief formality that involved signing the duty roster and confirming his return from diplomatic assignment, Kylian had been provided an escort home. Here, he hoped desperately, his brother would have answers to the questions that had been slowly consuming him since that conversation in Osthaven, answers that had only become more urgent after what he'd witnessed in Berlin.
The staff car made its way through Theodosia's urban districts toward the hills that rose to the city's north, where the capital's most prominent families maintained their ancestral estates. The transition from city to countryside was gradual but distinct, cobblestone streets gave way to manicured roads, gas lamps to estate lanterns, the press of urban buildings to the spacious grounds of noble properties.
The car had now reached the most affluent quarter, where estates, villas, and mansions of prominent Hanseatic noble houses dotted the surrounding hills like jewels scattered across green velvet. Rivers flowed between the hills, fed by mountain springs, their waters dividing into streams that spread in various directions through carefully designed channels. The landscape had been shaped over generations, a managed forest of ancient oak trees interspersed with poplar, magnolia, and even exotic Japanese maples whose red leaves provided striking contrast against the darker greens of native vegetation.
Stone bridges crossed the various waterways, their arches reflected in waters that caught the last light of the western sky. Statuary appeared at intervals, classical figures from mythology, representations of virtues, historical personages who had shaped the Empire's destiny. Everything spoke of accumulated wealth, refined taste, and the confidence of families who had held power for centuries.
The car then pulled up to the imposing gates of the von Reichsgraf estate, which remained closed as dusk settled into full darkness. The guard station's windows glowed with warm lamplight. The gates themselves were masterworks of metallurgy, wrought iron worked into intricate patterns, reinforced with gold plates that bore the family's coat of arms. The heraldic dragon, rampant and breathing stylized flames, was crested in the center, its fierce expression representing both nobility and danger. The gates were flanked by massive stone piers topped with statues of lions in the classical style, their manes carved with such detail that individual locks of stone hair were visible.
As the guard slowly emerged from his post and approached the gates, lantern in hand, Kylian found himself overtaken by growing agitation. The car had stopped for perhaps a minute, but to Kylian it felt as though an hour had passed without movement. He bit his lip unconsciously, shaking his head slightly in the back seat, when suddenly a torch light illuminated the interior through the window.
"My Lord?" The guard's voice carried surprise and immediate recognition as he hastily lowered the light. "I apologize....I didn't realize—"
Kylian gave only a brief nod, his expression suggesting he wanted no conversation, no delay. The guard turned quickly toward the gates, producing an enormous iron key and started working on the lock mechanism.
The car proceeded up the long driveway toward the main house, following a spacious cobblestone road that had been laid three centuries prior and maintained with meticulous care ever since. Ancient oaks and magnolias flanked the drive, their branches forming a natural cathedral ceiling overhead. Pools of water appeared at exact intervals, decorative features that served both aesthetic and practical purposes, their surfaces reflecting moonlight and providing habitat for ornamental fish. Fountains added their musical sound to the evening air, while statues of gods and angels dotted the carefully manicured gardens that stretched in all directions.
The sound of trickling water should have provided serenity, Kylian thought. The quiet beauty of the estate should have offered comfort after weeks abroad. Instead, the peaceful atmosphere only seemed to provide more clarity for the anxiety that had taken root in his chest, more space for the questions that circled endlessly through his mind.
The car pulled into the entrance roundabout, where an enormous central fountain depicted two angels raising a sword toward the rising sun. The fountain was illuminated by carefully positioned lanterns, making the bronze angels seem to glow against the darkening sky.
"Thank you," Kylian said simply to the driver as the car came to a stop. He climbed out quickly, already focusing on the main entrance.
To his surprise, he noticed another car parked to the left of the roundabout, a military staff vehicle, its polished black surface reflecting the fountain's lamplight. Through the windows he could see two figures waiting inside, both in uniform judging by their caps. Officers from the Navy, by the look of the vehicle's markings.
Someone high up in the military chain of command was visiting at this hour? Kylian glanced at the silver watch on his left wrist, nearly eleven o'clock. What could be so important that a senior officer would call on the Chancellor at such an hour? The sight filled him with additional unease, suggesting that whatever diplomatic crisis was unfolding, it had reached the stage where military planning was now involved.
Kylian paced up the broad stone stairs toward the main entrance, his boots creating sharp sounds against the marble that seemed too loud in the evening quiet. He passed between the large Corinthian columns that flanked the doorway, each one a single piece of marble quarried from the southern provinces, transported here at enormous expense when the current house had been built five hundred years ago.
Ludwig, one of the family's longest-serving retainers, was standing by the door. His weathered face, he was perhaps forty-eight years old, broke into a smile as Kylian approached. "Young Master! You are back!" he exclaimed with genuine pleasure, moving forward to greet him. Ludwig had served the family since Kylian was a child, and his ever-cheerful, optimistic demeanor had been a constant source of comfort through the years.
"Ludwig, do you know who my brother is hosting?" Kylian asked without preamble. He was already exhausted from the journey from Europe, his body aching in ways that suggested he'd been maintaining tension in every muscle for days. Now, with someone important visiting the estate, he would have to wait even longer for the answers he desperately needed.
"I am not certain, Young Master, but if I am to guess from the uniform I glimpsed, I believe it's someone from the Navy," Ludwig answered honestly, his brow furrowing slightly as he tried to recall details. "An admiral, perhaps, from the amount of braid on the coat."
Kylian pondered this information. The Navy? What could this be about? The Hanseatic Empire's naval forces were distributed across multiple oceans, protecting trade routes, maintaining presence at strategic chokepoints, projecting power where necessary. But Hansa itself was an entire continent, essentially immune to naval invasion. Why would a senior naval officer be visiting the Chancellor at this hour unless something significant was being planned?
"Young Master, is everything going well? You seem preoccupied with many thoughts."
Ludwig's gentle question broke through Kylian's contemplation. He turned his gaze to the older man, who was looking at him with an expression mixing puzzlement and genuine concern.
"It is nothing, Ludwig. I'm simply tired," Kylian said, the lie coming easily despite its transparency. "I'll wait for him inside."
"Young Master, would you like me to prepare supper? The kitchen staff have retired for the evening, but I can easily arrange something. And I could draw a warm bath. I'm certain you would benefit from it after such extensive travel."
Ludwig's voice carried such genuine concern that Kylian felt a pang of guilt for dismissing him so curtly.
"No need, Ludwig. Thank you," was all Kylian managed before turning toward the interior doors.
He made his way through the familiar corridors toward Chancellor Torres's study, his footsteps echoing off the marble floors. The house was quiet at this hour, most of the servants had retired to their quarters, and his father was presumably already asleep in the private wing. The only sounds were the ticking of various clocks positioned throughout the house and the distant crackling of fires maintained in the principal rooms.
As Kylian approached the study, the man who had been visiting his brother came into view, taking his leave after their consultation. It was Admiral Friedrich Richter in the dark blue uniform of the Imperial Navy, his coat adorned with various ribbons and decorations representing decades of distinguished service. Richter commanded the First Carrier Fleet, the Empire's most powerful naval formation, capable of projecting force across entire oceans.
The Admiral was not physically imposing by military standards, perhaps five foot nine, with a slight build that suggested he'd risen through technical expertise rather than physical prowess. But his black eye patch and magnificent gray moustache added considerable presence to his appearance. He had lost the eye in a naval engagement twenty years prior, during the brief but intense conflict with Latin American maritime raiders that had secured Hanseatic dominance in the South Atlantic.
Richter smiled at Kylian as they passed in the corridor, his single eye crinkling with warmth. Kylian offered a small but respectful bow. A salute wasn't necessary, as the Imperial Guard were not formally part of the Armed Forces and thus exempt from standard military courtesies toward officers of other services. Admiral Richter acknowledged the gesture with a nod and continued toward the exit, his aide following two paces behind.
Kylian watched them depart briefly before turning his attention back to his brother's study. He approached the heavy wooden doors, carved oak panels depicting scenes from von Reichsgraf family history, and knocked three times.
"Come in," came Torres's voice from within, carrying the slight distraction of someone focused on paperwork.
Kylian opened the door and entered the study, a room he'd known since childhood, lined floor to ceiling with books representing generations of accumulated learning. The fireplace burned and crackled behind his brother's desk, providing both warmth and the flickering light that complemented the oil lamps positioned around the room. Torres sat at his desk going through letters and telegrams, his attention focused on the papers before him.
Torres looked up from his correspondence, his eyebrows rising slightly in surprise. "Kylian? It's good to see you back safely." His voice carried genuine warmth, though Kylian detected the weariness underneath, his brother had clearly been working since early morning and showed no signs of stopping despite the late hour.
Kylian stood in the doorway for a moment before slowly making his way inside. "Brother, I have many questions," he said with a sigh that carried so much accumulated anxiety. He pulled one of the leather chairs positioned before the desk and seated himself opposite Torres. "Things I need to understand."
Torres placed the letter he'd been reading on the desk and turned his full attention to Kylian, his expression shifting from welcoming to somewhat concerned. "I don't know what specifically troubles you, but tell me, what questions need answering?"
There was genuine puzzlement in Torres's voice. He had not exchanged correspondence while Kylian was abroad but he did exchange with the Foreign Minister, and nothing from von Hausen had suggested his brother was experiencing this level of distress.
"Brother, when I was in Ravara, I managed to meet with an old friend from Bechaven Academy, Hans Eisemann. Wolfgang was with me." Kylian's words came steadily despite the uncomfortable sensation in his throat. "Hans told us he'd heard Legate Meyer discussing Japan confronting us over what happened at the wedding in China. That's true to an extent, isn't it?"
Torres's expression barely changed, though something flickered in his eyes, acknowledgment, perhaps, or resignation at having to discuss this matter. "Yes, it is true," he confirmed simply, reaching for another unopened stamped letter from the stack on his desk. "The Japanese ambassador came to the Florentine Palace several weeks ago. He was quite... insistent in his concerns."
The confirmation hit Kylian like a physical blow to his chest. The uncomfortable feeling twisted into something sharper, more painful. He opened his mouth to respond but felt his voice threatening to break. He composed himself carefully before speaking again.
"It was about me, wasn't it?" The words emerged with difficulty. "I was seated next to the Third Chinese Princess at the wedding ceremony, and the Japanese interpreted—"
Torres interrupted him by raising his hand in a gesture that commanded silence. "Kylian..." He let the name hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "So this is what troubles you so deeply. Listen carefully, I would not say this situation is your fault, but it certainly involves your lineage and whom you represent. The narratives of politics are fluid, shaped by those who wish to shape them. Do not dwell on this matter."
His tone was firm, decisive, the voice of someone who had made his assessment and considered the matter closed.
Kylian felt increasingly frustrated by his brother's apparent dismissal. He straightened in his chair, his voice carrying more force. "Brother, how can you simply dismiss this? The Japanese threatened war, didn't they? This is hardly a small matter that can be waved away with platitudes about political narratives."
Torres turned from the letter he'd begun reading, his attention fully on Kylian once more. His expression suggested growing impatience. "I am not dismissing anything. I am trying to help you understand that this situation had nothing to do with Hanseatic intentions or actions. The Japanese saw what they wanted to see. They observed you seated beside the Princess and interpreted it through the lens of their own suspicions and strategic calculations. You may not have intended any offense, but your presence, your family name, your position, provided them a convenient pretext. Nothing more."
The firmness in Torres's voice made clear he considered this explanation sufficient and hoped his brother would accept it and move on.
Kylian shook his head, unable to comprehend his brother's apparent lack of concern. "Brother, do you not care that a war could literally start because of something that was never intended? Millions of people will be affected. The First Princess's sacrifice, her entire life given to secure peace becomes meaningless. This reflects poorly on Hansa regardless of how you try to frame it."
His voice had risen slightly, though it remained controlled. The frustration and guilt that had been building up since that conversation in Ravara was becoming harder to contain.
Torres released a heavy sigh, his own annoyance becoming evident. His younger brother's persistence on this matter was testing his patience. "Little brother, Japan's interest in expanding into China existed long before you were born. This is an ambition that has been building for decades through multiple Japanese governments. It was a seating arrangement today, tomorrow it would have been some trade dispute, or a border incident, or any of a hundred other pretexts. They sought an excuse and weaponized what they found. That is the entirety of this situation."
His authoritative tone suggested this would be his final explanation on the matter.
Kylian sat in silence, struggling to understand his brother's perspective. How could Torres be so clinical about this? "You realize this means Princess Ankang's marriage becomes meaningless, don't you?" His voice carried desperation now. "She sacrificed everything for a peace that will never materialize. And what about the Third Princess? Is she also implicated in this diplomatic crisis? Could there be consequences for her?"
Torres shifted his eyes back to Kylian, his gaze sharpening as he seemed to study his brother's expression with new intensity. Silence fell in the room, only the crackling of the fire provided sound. The quiet stretched for several heartbeats before Torres spoke.
"Why would the Third Princess be implicated?" His voice carried genuine puzzlement. "She did not choose your seating arrangement. She bears no responsibility for Japanese interpretations of protocol. She will be perfectly fine." He paused, then added more gently, "The First Princess knew the risks when she accepted this marriage. Such unions between empires are always fraught with complications. The situation was always precarious. As I said, do not dwell on matters you cannot control."
"I cannot help feeling that my presence there caused all of this," Kylian said, his gaze dropping to the floor as he spoke. "I don't want to be responsible for people dying, especially not for reasons that have nothing to do with them. The Third Princess was simply being courteous to a foreign guest, and I responded to her courtesy with conversation. If she faces consequences for that kindness, it would be profoundly unjust."
The concern in his voice was palpable, more intense than the situation seemed to warrant for mere diplomatic courtesy.
Torres studied his brother carefully, his mind working through what he was hearing. "I have explained that this is not your fault but certainly, your identity and status created complications. In politics, perception shapes reality. The Japanese perceived threat where none existed, and we cannot control their interpretations." He paused deliberately before continuing with emphasis. "The Third Princess will be fine. I can promise you that."
Kylian placed both hands against his forehead, shaking his head slowly in a gesture of frustration or despair. Torres set down the letter he'd been holding, reached for his pen from its silver holder, and signed the document while observing his brother's distress.
"Get some rest, Kylian," Torres said with unexpected gentleness. "You've traveled an enormous distance under considerable stress. We can discuss this further tomorrow when you're less exhausted. Things often appear more manageable after proper sleep."
Kylian straightened himself and stood, moving toward the edge of Torres's desk. "I don't understand how you can keep insisting she'll be fine when the Japanese have threatened war." There was almost pleading in his voice now.
Torres noticed the emphasis, the particular concern focused on one person rather than the broader diplomatic situation. Something shifted in his expression, a dawning awareness of something he hadn't previously considered.
"There are matters which are not appropriate to discuss casually because they involve the highest levels of state security," Torres replied carefully, choosing his words deliberately. "You will learn of certain developments in due time. But yes, a war is likely coming to East Asia. And it has nothing to do with us. This is not our war. Remember that, Kylian."
His voice carried both authority and what might have been a warning.
"I encountered Admiral Richter as I was making my way here," Kylian said, changing direction. "What's so important that he's visiting this late? Is this about Japan as well?"
Torres's expression closed down immediately. "I have already explained that some matters cannot be discussed because they involve classified state information. You are an Imperial Guard Captain, when the time is appropriate, you will be informed through proper channels. Your institution maintains close connections to the highest levels of power. You will learn what you need to know when you need to know it."
He turned his chair slightly to the right closer to the fire as he spoke, his body language suggesting the conversation had reached its conclusion.
Kylian simply lowered his gaze, unable to formulate further argument. Without another word, he turned toward the door. "Goodnight," he mumbled as he pulled it closed behind him.
Torres sat motionless, his posture unchanged with his head still facing right, frozen in confusion at what had just transpired. The conversation had been strange, unsettling in ways he couldn't quite articulate.
After several moments, he straightened himself and turned to face the fire directly, staring into the flames as he pondered what he'd heard. Why was his brother asking so intently about China's situation? More specifically, why such particular concern about the Third Princess?
He replayed Kylian's words in his mind: "If she faces consequences for that kindness, it would be profoundly unjust." The phrasing had been revealing, not concern for diplomatic complications in general, but specific worry about her honor, her safety, her fate.
The thought that his younger brother might harbor personal feelings for a Chinese princess seemed utterly impossible. The absurdity of it, the diplomatic impossibility, the cultural gulf, the sheer impracticality made the idea seem ludicrous. Torres pushed the thought away almost immediately, unwilling to even entertain such a complication.
Torres shook his head, dismissing the speculation. It was simply his brother's natural sense of honor and justice being affronted by the possibility of an innocent person facing consequences for others' political calculations. That was all. It had to be all.
He returned his attention to the correspondence on his desk, but the letters swam slightly in his vision as his mind refused to fully release the troubling questions Kylian's behavior had raised.
In the corridor outside, Kylian walked slowly toward his private chambers, each step feeling heavier than the last. He had gotten no real answers, only assurances that felt hollow, promises his brother couldn't possibly guarantee, dismissals of concerns that felt desperately real to him.
She will be fine, Torres had said with such confidence. But how could anyone promise that when empires were moving toward war, when the careful diplomatic settlement that was supposed to have secured peace was unraveling, when his own careless inability to maintain emotional discipline had provided Japan with the pretext they'd apparently been seeking?
He reached his chambers and closed the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment as exhaustion and anxiety warred within him. Through the window, he could see the estate's gardens illuminated by strategically placed lanterns, the fountains continuing their perpetual music, the ancient trees standing as silent witnesses to the troubles of yet another generation of von Reichsgrafs.