Berlin lay under a heavy cloak of early autumn, the air dense with the scent of coal smoke, iron shavings, and cold rain waiting to fall.
To lesser men, it might have seemed oppressive; a sprawling industrial colossus grinding its own bones.
But to Bruno, it was the living lung of an empire, breathing in raw ore and ambition, exhaling steel and soldiers.
The armored train from Innsbruck rolled into the Hauptbahnhof under the watchful eyes of security detachments and feldgendarmerie.
Eva and Prince Wilhelm disembarked just ahead of him, their own children fussing in the crisp air, tended by nurses and footmen draped in Hohenzollern liveries.
Eva moved with practiced elegance, her ivory-gloved hand resting lightly on Wilhelm's arm, a sovereign calm in the set of her chin that no petty court intrigue could breach.
