Chapter 425: The Death of Dreams
Bruno was surprised to see, not a fortnight later, that the Kaiser had requested his presence at the royal palace in Berlin. Normally, a train ride from Innsbruck to the capital of the German Reich would have been a logistical nightmare—draining time, patience, and energy. But this was the dawn of a new era.
Sufficient numbers of Ju-52s had now been built not only for military use but also for the budding infrastructure of future commercial aviation. While the public airways had not yet opened fully, Bruno—as always—moved ahead of the curve. He simply hitched a ride aboard a Luftstreitkräfte transport bound for Berlin.
What once would have consumed the better part of a day became a brief, calculated maneuver. And so, within hours, Bruno stood in full military gala uniform in the Kaiser’s palace, flanked by the ornate banners of the Reich. Yet it was not the grandeur of the palace that caught his attention—but two familiar faces waiting within.
One of them, he did not expect to see again so soon.
Marie-Adélaïde, the Grand Duchess of Luxembourg, stood with a poise that betrayed the quiet storm beneath her eyes. Their last encounter had ended with tension, misjudged words, and wounded pride. Bruno had expected resentment, perhaps icy detachment—but instead, when her eyes met his, there was only a flicker of shame. Not defiance. Not anger. Shame.
The change in her demeanor struck him immediately. Gone was the flirtatious smirk, the romantic pretense, the indulgent air of a woman enamored with a dream. What remained was a sovereign stripped of illusions, standing before the very man who had once held her heart—and who would now hold her sovereignty.
Bruno bowed—short, precise, but unmistakably respectful.
"Your Royal Grace," he said, voice steady but low, "I must apologize for the sternness of my words the last time we met. In hindsight, I responded in a manner ill-suited to the emotions behind them. If I’ve caused you grievance, I ask your forgiveness."
Marie did not leap at the apology. She let it hang, studied him with a softened gaze, and waited until he rose. Then, with a voice stripped of flirtation and vanity, she answered.
"You have done nothing wrong, Your Royal Highness. It is I who must apologize. I behaved scandalously—chasing after a man already spoken for, consumed by naïve fantasies that I should have long outgrown."