From the corridor, nothing could be heard above the steady thrum of Nassau's engines.
Inside the locked cabin, however, the only sounds were the wet rhythm of flesh striking flesh, the broken moans of two women and the rough breathing of an increasingly enthusiastic prince.
Patricia leaned across the small writing desk while Oskar drove into her from behind, each heavy thrust forcing another cry from her lips. Her breasts swung beneath her until his hands closed around them, gathering their warm weight into his palms while his thumbs teased the hardened pink nipples.
She moaned louder.
Oskar bent over her and claimed her mouth, swallowing the sound in a deep, demanding kiss without slowing the movement of his hips. Her body had begun to adjust to his size, though every stroke still stretched her almost beyond reason. Whenever he buried himself fully inside her, the faint outline of him pressed visibly against her lower stomach.
When the kiss finally broke, Patricia had barely drawn breath before Oskar drove himself deep inside her once more.
Pleasure tore through her like lightning.
Her back arched sharply over the desk, her legs trembling as the climax seized her. A sudden rush of wetness spilled around the thick length buried inside her, running down her thighs while her inner walls clenched around him in desperate, pulsing contractions—as though her body intended to trap him there.
That final convulsion destroyed what remained of Oskar's restraint.
He released with a harsh grunt, his hands tightening around her hips as one heavy pulse after another emptied deep inside her. Patricia shuddered beneath him, her expression softening into dazed satisfaction as the spreading heat filled her.
Only when the last contraction had passed did Oskar loosen his grip.
He gave her bare backside a playful slap.
Patricia answered with a weak, breathless moan.
Then he withdrew slowly, forcing her to feel every inch of his still-hard cock dragging along her swollen, sensitive walls. She trembled through the entire retreat until he finally slipped free with a wet sound, leaving her sprawled across the writing desk.
Patricia remained there with her legs shaking and her chest heaving, far too exhausted to move. All she could manage was a faint, thoroughly satisfied smile against the polished wood.
Behind him, Elise remained on the cabin floor with her knees drawn beneath her and her rounded backside raised toward him, still glistening with the thick seed left from their earlier coupling. When Oskar turned, she glanced back over one shoulder, cheeks flushed and pale eyes heavy with renewed hunger.
"Master," she whispered.
The word brought him back to full hardness almost instantly.
Oskar crossed the cabin and closed both hands around her hips. He pressed his heated length between her slick folds, dragging the swollen head across them once and drawing a helpless shudder from her body.
Elise moaned and pushed backward instinctively, her flesh opening around him as though trying to pull him inside.
Oskar did not keep her waiting.
With one hard, controlled thrust, he buried himself deep from behind, stretching her around him until her cry rang through the cabin. Her fingers clawed at the floor, but instead of retreating, she eagerly pressed herself farther back against him.
"Master…" she gasped. "Please…"
Oskar smiled, tightened his grip upon her hips and resumed his conquest.
Time passed far more quickly than he realised. He did not leave his private quarters once during the entire crossing from Britain to Germany.
Only when Nassau's horn bellowed—long, deep and triumphant—did he finally understand that they were approaching Wilhelmshaven.
The sound rolled through the hull and reluctantly dragged him back toward reality.
Germany and home awaited.
And around him was a cabin that looked as though it had survived an exceptionally indecent battle.
The air remained thick with heat, sweat and sex. Clothing lay crushed beneath careless feet. Damp sheets hung halfway from the bed, while white stains marked the floor, the desk and several other places Oskar preferred not to inspect too closely. His discarded uniform was tangled with the women's clothing, much of it damp from the disorder of the crossing.
He surveyed the wreckage.
"Damn."
There was neither time nor reason to restore the room properly.
Oskar rinsed himself as best he could, wrapped a white towel low around his waist and opened the cabin door. His pale hair remained damp and disordered. Kisses, faint scratches and the occasional mark of teeth decorated his shoulders and chest, while his relaxed posture belonged unmistakably to a man who had been thoroughly satisfied.
Fortunately, someone had placed his travel chest outside the door. Which under the circumstances was extremely useful.
Oskar dragged it inside and discovered a spare uniform among the remaining belongings. He dressed without ceremony, pulling on the first trousers, shirt and coat his hands found.
He didn't concern himself with the mirror or his appearance. Instead, when he had finished, he turned toward the women.
Patricia remained folded across the writing desk, her limbs slack and her light-brown hair spread over the polished wood. Thick traces of his seed continued leaking between her thighs, yet a peaceful, thoroughly satisfied smile rested upon her sleeping face.
Elise had somehow reached the bed. She lay upon her back with her legs still parted, one knee raised as though her exhausted body had simply forgotten to close itself. She bore the same unmistakable evidence of what had occurred, though her expression was equally serene.
Both women slept deeply. Utterly spent, dishevelled, and unmistakably happy.
Oskar breathed in the heavy scent of the room and regarded them with mild satisfaction.
Then he remembered that he still had to remove them from the ship without anyone identifying them.
His satisfaction faded.
Without ceremony, he gathered Patricia from the desk and carried her toward the open travel chest. He lowered her inside, arranged her limbs with practical care and then returned for Elise.
The smaller woman fitted naturally beside the princess. Oskar wrapped their borrowed coats around them, checked that the ventilation holes remained clear and lowered the lid.
The latch fell.
The lock clicked.
Done.
He hoisted the chest beneath one arm, left the ruined cabin behind and stepped onto the deck as though carrying nothing more consequential than personal papers.
The morning air struck him immediately—cold, sharp and mercifully clean.
Ahead lay Germany: grey water, steel docks and the reassuring order of home.
Oskar set the chest upon the deck and sat on its lid, resting his elbows upon his knees while Wilhelmshaven slowly came into view.
Nearby, the Eternal Guard stood at ease.
Captain Carter stared straight ahead, his expression carefully neutral and his jaw locked as though carved from the same steel beneath their boots.
Alfred von Kiderlen-Waechter proved less successful at concealing his curiosity.
The State Secretary allowed himself one brief glance at Oskar, then another at the travel chest beneath him. His eyes lingered upon it for a moment before discipline forced them away.
He hesitated.
"Your Imperial Highness," he began at last, choosing each word with surgical care, "have you placed those maids inside your travelling chest again?"
Oskar shrugged with absurd casualness.
"Yes. They didn't feel like walking."
The diplomat stared at him for a heartbeat longer than etiquette permitted.
"I see."
He plainly did not.
Oskar noticed the concern tightening his expression and dismissed it with a lazy flick of one hand.
"Relax. They will not be remaining with me, and I have no intention of asking too many questions about who they truly are."
A faint grimace crossed his face.
"I realised far too late that they had played me. They never required my help escaping Britain. What they wanted was adventure, scandal and enough of a prince's gold to finance some grand journey around the world."
He leaned back slightly, fixing his attention upon the grey line of the German coast.
"And before you ask—nothing happened between me and either of them."
Kiderlen's gaze moved briefly across the marks upon Oskar's neck.
Oskar continued before the man could respond.
"To my considerable surprise, they appeared far more interested in one another. Intimately so. Apparently, I have accidentally rescued a particularly troublesome pair of British female lovers."
For a fraction of a second, Kiderlen's composure cracked. His eyes widened before years of diplomatic training restored his expression.
"I see," he repeated stiffly. "As usual, Your Highness appears incapable of escaping the attention of women."
He said nothing more.
Privately, however, Kiderlen believed almost none of it.
He was nearly certain that he had seen one of the women somewhere before, though the oversized coat, disordered hair and brief glimpse of her face denied him certainty. He had no desire to investigate the suspicion more closely. Some truths were dangerous merely to uncover.
More urgently, he hoped Oskar had not done what every sign suggested he had done. The affair was already strange enough without becoming an international scandal.
Kiderlen was devout and conservative in both faith and temperament. He had never been entirely comfortable with Oskar's plural marriages or the unconventional domestic order surrounding him. Until now, he had tolerated them as an exception belonging to one extraordinary prince—something private, contained and not intended as a model for the nation.
The rise of the Church of the New Dawn had complicated that reassurance.
Marriage, religion and social custom were changing around Oskar more rapidly than Kiderlen had expected. What had begun as one prince's unusual household was becoming doctrine, law and public example. Occasionally, Kiderlen wondered whether anyone still possessed the courage to oppose the enormous young man driving those changes.
He certainly did not intend to attempt it while Oskar sat upon a chest containing two unidentified British women.
Besides, whatever discomfort Oskar caused, his influence upon Germany was undeniably beneficial. The country was wealthier, healthier, more disciplined and more powerful because of him.
That made his scandals easier to endure. Although it did not make them less alarming.
Captain Carter said nothing.
The muscles along his jaw tightened as he turned his gaze toward the approaching harbour, his eyes hard with restrained frustration. He required no confession from Oskar. The prince's relaxed posture, the marks upon his body and the two women hidden inside the chest allowed Carter to reconstruct enough of the truth.
If the Eternal Guard had not been barred from Buckingham Palace, none of this would have happened.
Carter would have guarded Oskar's door. And he would have stopped the entire absurd disaster before it began.
His prince possessed many strengths, but where beautiful women were concerned, Oskar remained dangerously susceptible—too willing to trust tears, apparent helplessness and impulse over judgment.
Carter swore that he would have protected him from that weakness.
Ahead, Wilhelmshaven drew steadily closer. Orders travelled across the deck as sailors moved to their stations and mooring lines were prepared.
Then Rear Admiral Reinhard Scheer's voice carried through Nassau's internal speaking system, firm and controlled above the hum of the machinery.
"Officers and crew, prepare for arrival at Wilhelmshaven. Our voyage has been completed successfully. You have represented the Imperial Navy and the German Empire with discipline and distinction."
A brief pause followed.
"Welcome home."
Across the deck, sailors straightened with visible pride.
Oskar looked toward the German flags flying above the harbour, then down at the chest beneath him.
Something shifted faintly inside.
He struck the lid once with his knuckles.
The movement stopped.
Germany had received its Crown Prince back safely. Yet it had also, without yet realising it, received two exceptionally dangerous British souvenirs.
From Wilhelmshaven onward, everything moved quickly.
A waiting Muscle Motors A-Class carried Oskar away from the docks beneath heavy escort, its engine purring with restrained power. Car became platform, platform became train, and within minutes the confusion of Britain had been replaced by the ordered efficiency of Germany.
Before boarding, Oskar made a brief detour through the station.
Two female railway attendants stood beside a service corridor, their dark uniforms immaculate and their caps perfectly straight. Both stiffened when the enormous Crown Prince approached, torn between surprise and professional discipline.
Oskar did not waste time explaining.
"I require two spare uniforms."
He was already reaching into his coat. Money changed hands before either woman fully understood what was happening. Oskar collected two neatly folded sets from a nearby locker, offered a brief nod of thanks and departed while they were still staring after him.
Once inside his private railway carriage, he locked the door and opened the travel chest.
Patricia and Elise were awake.
They blinked against the lamplight, drowsy, sore and thoroughly disoriented after being carried from ship to car and then from car to train.
Oskar knelt beside them without embarrassment.
"Up," he said. "Slowly."
He helped them climb out, handling them with the practical care one might offer injured passengers rather than honoured guests. He gave each woman water, followed by bread, meat and a bowl of something warm.
"Eat. You will feel better."
They obeyed.
Once they could stand without swaying, Oskar turned his back and placed the borrowed uniforms upon the seat.
"Get dressed. Quickly."
The women changed with quiet complaints, more irritated than frightened. As the train began moving, Patricia glanced through the window at the orderly platforms slipping past.
"So this is Germany," she murmured.
Oskar did not turn around.
"No. This is a train."
Elise laughed. Patricia looked disappointed.
When they had finished dressing, Oskar handed them coats and pointed toward the chest.
Patricia stared at it.
"Again?"
"Yes."
"We would like to see Germany properly."
"Later," Oskar replied. "Much later. Possibly never. That depends upon how well you behave."
Both women scowled, but neither resisted.
They climbed inside.
The lid closed.
The lock clicked.
The train gathered speed.
At last, Oskar lowered himself into the seat and dragged one hand down his face. Outside the window, the German countryside passed in muted greens and greys: carefully divided fields, quiet villages and familiar railway stations.
Yet his thoughts returned to the ship. What lingered was not affection, nor even desire. It was anger. Cold, bitter anger at the realisation that he had been manipulated.
The tears, the pleading and the helplessness had all been theatre. Patricia had not merely wanted rescue. She had wanted drama, permanence and a bond Oskar would find difficult to break. Elise had willingly helped her.
They had understood his weakness better than he had.
One letter returned to Britain could ruin him. One accusation, however distorted, might destroy his reputation and hand Germany's enemies the political weapon they had been searching for.
A British princess seduced, abducted or abandoned by the German Crown Prince.
The facts would hardly matter once newspapers discovered the story.
Oskar had been cornered not through strength, but through vulnerability.
He had removed them from London, prevented an immediate scandal and gained time. Now he needed to make the problem disappear quietly and permanently. Possibly to a distant country, with new identities, and enough money to ensure their independence.
Freedom—provided it remained far from him. That would be the price of ending the matter cleanly.
Berlin arrived sooner than expected.
The train slowed beneath the midday sun, and Oskar disembarked without ceremony before continuing directly to Potsdam. His family could wait. His ministers could wait.
Cecilie could not.
He found her quickly and pulled her into a private room before she could begin asking questions. His arms closed around her with such urgency that the embrace startled them both.
Oskar kissed her.
It felt more like an apology than affection.
"I need your help," he said quietly. "And I need you to trust me."
Cecilie searched his face.
"Help with what?"
"No questions. Not yet. Please."
She hesitated, then nodded.
That was enough.
Within the hour, Cecilie was driving Oskar's A-Class herself. Two unmarked trucks followed at a discreet distance, each guarded by members of the Eternal Guard dressed in plain coats.
Between the trucks lay two million Marks in gold, removed from Oskar's private vault, divided into reinforced cases and concealed beneath ordinary cargo.
The convoy avoided major roads.
For nearly an hour, no one spoke.
Then, along a quiet stretch bordered by dense trees, a dull thumping began from the rear of Cecilie's car.
She tightened her grip on the wheel.
The noise came again.
Cecilie slowed and pulled onto the roadside. Both trucks stopped behind her with perfect precision. Eternal Guards emerged immediately, hands moving beneath their coats.
"It is fine," Cecilie said.
"Your Highness, we should inspect it first."
"I said it is fine."
She stepped from the car and opened the boot herself.
The travel chest lay inside.
The thumping stopped.
Cecilie stared at it for a moment before releasing the latch and lifting the lid.
Everyone froze.
Two young women dressed in borrowed railway uniforms shielded their eyes from the sudden sunlight. Their hair was disordered, their faces tired and their expressions more annoyed than frightened.
One of the guards cleared his throat.
"His Imperial Highness said Switzerland," he ventured carefully. "He did not explain who we were transporting."
Cecilie could not answer.
The taller woman stirred, stretched stiffly and pushed herself upright. She squinted at the daylight before focusing upon Cecilie.
Then, in precise German carrying an unmistakably British accent, she said:
"Oh. Good morning. How are you today, my good German friend?"
Cecilie knew that face.
Princess Patricia of Connaught.
For several seconds, she neither moved nor spoke.
Then years of royal discipline took control.
This was not the moment for outrage. It was not the moment for questions or accusations.
It was a moment for speed, silence and absolute control.
"Help them out," she ordered.
The guards obeyed.
Patricia and Elise were transferred into the rear of the A-Class, and Cecilie resumed driving without offering either woman an explanation. The trucks followed as the convoy accelerated southward toward Switzerland's neutrality, plus privacy, and the increasingly fragile hope that this disaster could be buried beyond the easy reach of empires there.
Cecilie kept her eyes fixed upon the road.
The situation could still be contained.
But only if no one lost his nerve.
She escorted the convoy across the border and no farther than the first quiet road beyond the customs post.
The guards had recognised the A-Class immediately. Its polished bodywork and distinctive engine attracted far more attention than its passengers, and the officials waved the vehicle through after only a cursory inspection. The trucks followed without incident.
At the first secluded turning on the Swiss side, Cecilie stopped.
She opened the rear door.
"This is where I leave you," she said. "You will continue in the trucks."
Patricia and Elise climbed out with remarkable ease. They appeared less like fugitives entering exile than two young women beginning an elaborate holiday.
Two members of the Eternal Guard's Third Company waited beside the vehicles.
They had expected their duties to involve protecting the Crown Prince.
Instead, they had been ordered to shepherd two mysterious British women through Switzerland while guarding a fortune in gold.
Cecilie addressed them quietly.
"You will arrange temporary identities, secure a residence and place the gold somewhere discreet. No public names. No German uniforms. No unnecessary contact with the authorities."
One guard glanced toward Patricia.
"And afterward?"
"You remain with them until His Imperial Highness gives further instructions."
Both men looked as though they had just been sentenced.
Switzerland was nearly perfect for the task: neutral, wealthy, discreet and thoroughly accustomed to foreigners arriving with large fortunes and larger secrets. With care, every visible connection between Germany and Patricia might disappear there.
Cecilie returned to the A-Class.
As she turned the car back toward Germany, she caught one final glimpse in the mirror.
The two guards stood rigidly beside the trucks.
Patricia and Elise were already speaking excitedly, arguing over where they would live, what they would purchase first and what, precisely, their relationship with Oskar now meant.
God help those men, Cecilie thought as she drove away.
Oskar returned to Potsdam.
And as for the Acting Crown Prince of Germany, he did not remain hidden for long.
His father summoned him almost immediately.
The confrontation was private but severe. Britain had begun making inquiries. The British Ambassador arrived soon afterward, outwardly courteous and inwardly furious, requesting clarification regarding the disappearance of Princess Patricia and her maid.
Oskar knew nothing.
He performed ignorance perfectly. He expressed concern, denied involvement and offered every form of cooperation that revealed nothing. His words were measured, his expression faintly offended by the accusation and his manner just bored enough to appear genuine.
The Ambassador departed angry.
Under the circumstances, anger was preferable to certainty.
For the moment, the matter remained confined to private diplomatic channels.
But the pressure continued.
Courtiers whispered. Officials exchanged glances whenever Oskar entered a room. His wives watched him with steadily increasing suspicion.
Cecilie returned from her drive subdued and distant, her silence more accusing than any confession.
Oskar had attempted to keep the affair contained. Yet lies were like paper left in the rain. They held until they did not.
Near the end of May, the tension finally broke, as a report arrived from the British mission in Switzerland.
The situation had apparently resolved itself.
Princess Patricia and Elise had presented themselves openly before British officials and announced, without shame or hesitation, that they would not return to Britain.
Patricia declared that she was in love with Elise, intended to live with her and desired no further contact with her family.
The officials were stunned. They were also profoundly relieved.
The women did not remain long enough to be detained or argued with. Within hours, they had acquired two Muscle Motors motorcycles and departed into the Swiss countryside, roaring away like lunatics while diplomacy and propriety choked upon their dust.
Britain quietly closed the matter.
Oskar breathed freely again, but his relief did not last long.
June 1910 arrived bearing consequences.
Within days of one another, the governments of Britain, France and Russia declared the People's Welfare Lottery immoral, exploitative and illegal within their territories.
Its offices were closed. Its accounts were frozen. Funds awaiting transfer were seized. Employees and branch managers were arrested for questioning.
The attack was coordinated, legal in appearance and devastating in effect.
Britain and France alone had generated nearly a third of the lottery's profits. With Russia added, almost half its foreign income vanished overnight.
This was no mere wound, nor even the loss of a limb.
The People's Welfare Lottery had been seized by three governments, laid across a table and cut cleanly in half at the waist. One half remained in Germany, staring in horror at the empty space where its legs had once been, while Britain, France and Russia calmly argued over who got the boots.
Oskar had also spent two million Marks in gold ensuring Patricia and Elise vanished quietly.
Only when he sat alone and examined the figures did bitter understanding settle over him.
This was the lesson wealthy men whispered to one another over cigars and wine—the warning he had once dismissed as the resentment of old fools.
Some women did not seek love. Nor marriage. Nor even companionship.
They sought leverage, a child, an obligation. A bond through which money, protection and influence might flow indefinitely.
Oskar understood that Patricia and Elise might someday return. Perhaps not with threats or accusations, but simply with expectations. By then, refusing them might reopen a scandal everyone preferred buried.
He had paid dearly for one careless night.
From that moment onward, Oskar understood something essential about the relationship between power and desire.
A rich man could afford almost anything.
What he could not afford was carelessness in intimacy. Not again, not in this life. Not if he wished to avoid becoming the man whose appetites accidentally helped set Europe on fire.
But on the positive side of things, at least Patricia and Elise were free. Truly free, in the only form of freedom that rarely depended upon anyone's goodwill.
They had money.
Switzerland would protect that money far more reliably than royal titles ever had.
Britain would hardly publicise that one of its princesses had fled abroad with her maid and declared them lovers. The humiliation would fall upon the Royal Family itself.
Patricia would be exiled quietly. Her allowance would disappear. Her name would gradually vanish from polite conversation.
But two million Marks could purchase an exceptionally comfortable disappearance.
A lakeside villa might cost fifty thousand Marks annually. Another fifty thousand would cover staff, travel and every eccentric luxury they could reasonably demand. Even living extravagantly, the fortune could sustain them for decades. Long enough, Oskar hoped, that they would never need him again.
Back at the Royal Palace in Potsdam, Oskar found himself formally banished from the family bedrooms.
His three wives had stood before him with their arms crossed and matching expressions of disbelief, while Cecilie watched from beside them in cold, accusing silence. Oskar had insisted repeatedly that he had not smuggled a British princess out of England inside a travel chest.
No one believed him.
Even the children had joined in. Most were far too young to understand what their father had supposedly done, but they understood that their mothers were angry. Within moments, several tiny arms had folded across equally tiny chests as solemn little faces attempted to imitate the women around them.
One of the youngest had even pointed toward the door.
Oskar had taken the hint.
Thus, well past midnight, the Acting Crown Prince wandered alone into the palace gymnasium. No guards, officers or family members were training at such an hour. The room was silent, the adjoining pool undisturbed, and the emptiness suited him perfectly.
He changed into his training clothes and went to work.
Pull-ups came first, followed by squats, rows, presses and heavy curls. He loaded the reinforced bars with enough iron to bend an ordinary frame and moved through each exercise with slow, punishing control, trying to crush embarrassment and frustration into muscle.
Sweat soon ran down his back and soaked through his clothes. His breathing settled into a steady rhythm, while the familiar strain of iron gradually pushed Britain, Patricia and the accusing faces of his family into the distance.
There was comfort in weights.
Iron did not lie, scheme or climb willingly into travel chests. It simply resisted until strength overcame it.
For a time, Oskar almost felt at peace.
Then the gymnasium door burst open.
Karl hurried inside with his coat half-fastened and his face drained of colour.
"Oskar, what are we going to do?"
Oskar lowered the bar onto its supports and straightened.
Karl crossed the room quickly.
"Our branch directors in Britain, France and Russia have been arrested. The lottery offices have been closed, the accounts frozen and all funds awaiting transfer seized."
Oskar stood motionless.
The People's Welfare Lottery had once seemed like an endless river of money, flowing steadily into the Oskar Industrial Group with little effort.
Now three governments had dammed it almost overnight.
"How bad?" he asked.
Karl swallowed.
"Nearly half the lottery's total annual income. Britain and France were the foundation of the foreign operation, and losing Russia makes the damage even worse."
Oskar reached for a towel and wiped the sweat from his face.
"I understand."
The speed of the attack still surprised him. He had expected resistance eventually—hostile newspapers, new regulations, sabotage and prolonged legal pressure.
He had not expected such sudden coordination.
"Did any of the branches violate local tax laws?"
"No," Karl answered immediately. "We kept every operation clean precisely because we expected something like this. Some of the local managers were unpleasant men, but the accounts were spotless. Every licence was obtained, every tax paid and every transfer properly recorded."
Oskar threw the towel onto a nearby bench.
"Then they are not enforcing the law. They are targeting me directly."
He had always known Britain, France and Russia would eventually resist a German lottery drawing money from their citizens and using the profits to strengthen German industry and naval construction.
He had simply underestimated how quickly they would move once they possessed a useful pretext.
And he had handed them one.
If only I had not slept with that damned princess and her pretty little maid.
The thought left a bitter taste.
Karl studied him for a moment before stepping closer and placing one hand upon his shoulder.
"There, there, my friend," he said quietly. "This was always going to happen eventually. You knew it, and we planned for it."
Oskar looked toward him.
"As for London," Karl continued, "bury it deeply. Nothing good will come from opening that grave again."
He hesitated, then offered a crooked smile in a clumsy attempt to lighten the mood.
"And perhaps this will provide some consolation: you appear to have demonstrated your remarkable fertility once again."
Oskar stared at him.
"Thank you, Karl."
"You are welcome."
"Truly comforting."
"I do what I can."
Despite himself, Oskar gave a quiet snort.
Karl glanced toward the weights.
"Do you mind if I join you?"
Oskar stepped aside.
"Please."
Karl removed his coat, rolled up his sleeves and began preparing another bar. Soon the gymnasium was filled with the controlled clatter of iron, the scrape of boots and the steady breathing of two men who had trained beside one another for years.
They spoke only when necessary.
Karl relayed what little information had reached him, while Oskar asked short questions between sets. Neither pretended the situation was less serious than it was.
Outside the palace, markets were closing, enemies were coordinating and diplomatic smiles were beginning to conceal sharpened knives.
But for one brief hour, there was only iron, sweat and the quiet comfort of familiarity.
Tomorrow, Oskar would study the losses and begin preparing his counterattack.
Tonight, he trained beside his oldest friend and endured the consequences of his own carelessness.