Chapter 583: The Kings Near the Sea
Sofia, Bulgaria
Rain drummed on the broad copper eaves of the Alexander Nevsky Cathedral, its golden domes slick and darkened by the storm.
Beyond the cathedral square, a phalanx of soldiers stood at rigid attention despite the downpour, trim rows of Bulgarian infantry with polished Mausers glinting whenever a break in the clouds let sunlight through.
Inside the royal palace, the air was warm and thick with the scent of cigars and wet wool.
Servants moved quietly, refilling glasses of plum rakia and setting out fresh trays of honeyed nuts and figs.
The small conference chamber, adorned with tapestries of old Orthodox saints, hummed with subdued voices; three kings gathered under one roof.
At the head of the dark oak table sat Tsar Boris III of Bulgaria, lean and sharp-nosed, his eyes restless, fingers drumming in practiced patterns.
To his left was King George II of Greece, broader in the shoulders, his uniform stiff with medals that seemed to anchor him like ballast.
On Boris’s right reclined King Arthur I of Hungary, aging, but robust and wise nonetheless.
Between them lay a great map of Europe and North Africa, cluttered with small wooden blocks painted in the colors of various armies.
Most clusters hovered along the Pyrenees; bright Greek blues, Hungarian crimson, and Bulgarian forest green, mixed among the black crosses of German Werwolf attachments.
A senior Hungarian staff officer finished reading the latest courier dispatch from Navarre, his voice fading into the drone of rain on windowpanes.