Iron Blooded

"excellent! I'll introduce mysel and the podcast, then you introduce yourselves. Say something about yourself too! And don't forget, you're on camera~"

"I am Herr Gilbert Beilschmidt," he said, "or Prussia, for those of you who can't pronounce a basic German name. And this is my daughter, Dr. Liliane Beilschmidt, or Berlin."

Beneath the layers of bureaucracy and stiffness, my mind has always been a battlefield of ideas. From the foundation of the seven liberal arts and German Mysticism to the Reformation; from the lofty heights of German Idealism to the gritty critiques of the Frankfurt School, the question of ‘why’ has always been present. I learned to hone my tongue as a weapon for it was all I had at my disposal. Back when I was a collection of fragmented states living under Gilbert’s roof, words were the only way to resist. He had tried to censor me, tried to crack my skull open and pull out any revolutionary thought that questioned his order, but he never quite succeeded.

I turned my attention to Herr Beilschmidt as he spoke. His answer shouldn't have surprised me, and yet, something almost warm spread in my chest. No matter the universe, it seemed that for a Prussia, Germany would always be the crowning achievement of his existence.

Would I have chosen a different path to unification? One that didn't involve such obscene, systematic violence? Yes. Every single time. But history had dragged me through the mud and the blood for better or worse, and hearing him say it made me feel that the suffering hadn't been in vain. It was the answer I had always known, yet one I had never heard from my own brother with such humble clarity.

Then I looked at Lily. She was fidgeting, her eyes darting between us like a trapped animal. I realized then that I’d pushed her into a corner, forcing her to justify her existence between her father and me. She was ‘just’ Berlin, the city that the other Länder made the butt of their jokes. I pulled a brief apologetic face as she struggled to find an answer that was both true and safe.

When Herr Beilschmidt turned his authoritarian gaze back on me, demanding my own tally of success, I set my wine glass down. “The car, of course,” I said in complete seriousness. Then, seeing the look on his face, I let a small, dry smile break through. “Jokes aside.”

I leaned back, my expression darkening. “Finding some scrap of humanity left in me after twelve years of hate, fear, and genocide. But my greatest achievement wasn’t even my doing, really. It was the fact that others, for some reason, chose to accept me. Not forgive, perhaps, but allow me to exist. I still work for that acceptance. I likely always will.”

As I spoke, I reached up and tugged at my tie, loosening the knot just a fraction. I could still feel it sometimes—the phantom pressure of the noose tightening around my neck when they dragged me toward the gallows after the war. For the first time in my long life, I hadn't been sure I would wake up. I would have understood if the world had simply decided I deserved to stay dead. Who would have believed in such a miserable piece of shit? But I survived, too.

I turned to Lily, my voice softening. “Survival is nothing to be ashamed of. It is the ultimate testament to adaptability. Think of the city you represent. A swamp village that became a royal residence. A center of arts and thoughts and science that became an industrial powerhouse. Bombed to the core, broken, and rebuilt twice, only to stand again as the capital of...” I gestured toward her father, “...his greatest achievement.”

"So you exist because others allow you to? Is that really an accomplishment? That's hardly an existence at all. Where's the fight? The glory? Everyone wants me gone, yet here I am, still breathing in the air of another day. I defy their desires, their wishes. I am proudly living my life in spite of them."

As he drank some wine, his eyes darted between his daughter and Ludwig. And he wondered if he couldn't just nudge a wedge between them. Carefully, of course. No need to drive the sledgehammer down just yet.

"I take it your brother lives in much the same way I do, does he not? Surviving against the greatest odds, proving his worth. Well, it's no wonder my sweet, young child chose him over you in the end."

Liliane's fork dropped to her plate with a clatter. She hastily picked it back up again, avoiding anyone's eyes. Her gut was clenching, but she forced herself to eat calmly, to not betray a hint of emotion.

Francis usually set out drinks, snacks, alcoholic drinks, blankets, the works every time he invited someone over to be a guest on his podcast. Today, he skipped most of that. His little darlings had been set up with frozen treats on their beds and he had a large case of beer available for his guests.

Liliane nodded to Francis. "Yes, I think we're ready. Right, Papa?"

I offered Lily a brief, appreciative nod for the compliment. “Thank you. And yes, I suppose I could play. It is no big deal,” I said, keeping my tone as level as possible. I hadn’t made a point of performing for her, but Lily was no stranger to the sight of me at a piano. My preference had always been for those solitary grand pianos that haunted the marble lobbies of international hotels. For me, it offered a legitimate excuse to bypass the aimless, suffocating small talk and the hollow restlessness of waiting. It was a useful barrier, an excellent excuse to look occupied. People were far less likely to bother you with idiotic questions if you appeared to be busy executing a complex sonata.

I raised a brow at the mention of Old Fritz. Honestly, the man before me should be sending daily thank-you notes to history for that particular king. Without Friedrich’s flute and a few well-placed French philosophers, the world would have remembered Prussia as nothing more than a glorified thug with a very efficient filing system. It was a spectacular bit of historical PR that gave him a varnish of culture. Though, his grandfather already stood out as a connoisseur of the arts, lying the foundation of Berlin as a capital.

“In the right hands, the humble flute becomes a great instrument for sure,” I said, watching Herr Beilschmidt try to swallow a compliment directed at me. It was almost as delightful as this dinner.

Then Lily spoke, her voice thick with a romanticism that made my skin crawl. A good dream? Where nothing foul or cruel can touch you? I had to lower my head, focusing intently on a piece of pheasant to hide the roll of my eyes. Gosh, Lily, fuck the flute, will you. I washed down the meat with a sip of wine.

“Ähm, yes. Sure,” I responded at her eagerness to play together. I already cataloged my mental library for a piece that could accommodate a piano, violin and the flute. Something slow. Something that wouldn't require us to look at each other too closely. Schubert, perhaps. Or one of the Russians, if we wanted to be particularly brooding.

I set my glass down and reached for the bottle of mineral water. I had to drive back to my own reality eventually; sadly, I couldn't afford to get drunk.

Herr Beilschmidt looked at Ludwig, studying him, knowing full well that this question was some kind of trap. Still, as he chewed his food slowly, he contemplated an answer. When he swallowed, he sipped some wine before answering. "My legacy of raising a torn nation out of nothingness and putting her on the global scene. If it weren't for me, many of us would still be speaking French. I don't claim that I defeated Napoleon on my own, of course. But Germany would not be here as she is if I hadn't acted and united us under a common banner."

His attention then turned to his daughter, who was now picking despondently at her plate. When she didn't look up or say anything, he said, "What about you, child?"

Liliane shifted in her seat and shook her head. "Oh, I don't know," she mumbled, "I don't think I have anything."

His expression darkened. "Liliane," he said, his voice now taking on that of a general about to give marching orders. She looked up at him immediately, her eyes wide, her body tense. He stared at her.

"You are the capital of a great nation. You always have been. Do you mean to tell me that you truly do not have a single accomplishment to your name? Are you suggesting that I raised a failure?"

She swallowed. "N-no, sir," she said in a timid voice.

"Precisely. So, I ask you again. What is your greatest accomplishment?"

Liliane put her shaking hands into her lap. Her eyes darted between her father and Ludwig, as though one might offer help to appease the other. But no help came. So she was forced to find some kind of answer. "I-I don't know. I suppose...surviving? Even after everything we've been through. E-even though no one but you wanted me around."

Something in Prussia's expression changed, though it was hard to tell if he had softened or hardened right now. But he did relax, somewhat. "You have more to your name than just survival, child," he said, the edge now gone from his voice. "I want you to think about it more and tell me before you leave."

She nodded. "Yes, Papa."

As we crossed the threshold back into the house, I allowed my hand to brush his shoulder for the fraction of a second. The gesture so brief it might have been an accident.

“When I’ve figured it out myself,” I murmured, just loud enough for him to hear, “I’ll be sure to let you know.”

Inside the house, Lily greeted us at once, her expression cycling through exhaustion and relief before landing on heartfelt gratitude that we had returned from the garden alive, intact and—miraculously—without any visible injuries. Before I could prepare myself, she pulled me into a hug. I froze for a heartbeat, my arms hovering awkwardly before I gave her a singular, stiff pat on the back.

“We’re fine,” I said, forcing a smile. “He was just showing me some of his plants. We had a brief... discussion about breeding and the merits of different fertilizers.”

I could practically feel the Prussian’s frown deepening behind me, but I didn't linger. I retrieved the gift bag from where it had been sidelined and handed the bottle of red wine to Frau Wagner with a polite nod.

The dining room was a pantomime of bourgeoise domesticity. The long table, the silver trays, the scent of roast pheasant. It was all too familiar. I ran a hand down my tie to give my hands something to do before unbuttoning my suit jacket. With a quick move, I took my seat to Herr Beilschmidt’s right. It was a position I had occupied for centuries in various halls of power; I knew the weight of it, the expectations it carried, and exactly how much I would have preferred to be sitting anywhere else.

I offered a clipped ‘Danke’ as the pheasant was served and a small nod to the housekeeper as she poured the wine. I watched the exchange between father and daughter with a detached interest until the subject of music arose.

I had to suppress a crooked smile. If my brother were here, he’d likely growl that if one was going to indulge in such a frivolous pastime, one had better at least play Bach. For all his barbarian posturing, Gilbert had always shown a certain interest in the finer arts. Berlin wasn’t Vienna, but the Hohenzollerns had never lacked a sense of rhythm. Be it with a baton or cane.

Then came the question about my own skill with an instrument, and I nearly choked on my wine, the liquid going down the wrong way as I tried to process the sheer irony of someone seriously asking whether I had any sense for classical music—as if Germany hadn’t unleashed Bach, Beethoven, Brahms, and half the Western canon upon the world.

“Do I?” I repeated, setting my glass down with a faint clink and reaching for my napkin. “Piano, certainly. Cello as well. I spent my summers studying music with Roderich before…” I paused, lips thinning. “Before Gilbert decided that marching songs and gunfire made better accompaniment than Mendelssohn ever could.”

"So, you play piano and cello. Those are fine instruments to play," he said, trying to not choke on the compliment he was giving to him.

"Oh he plays piano so well, Papa," said Liliane. "You should ask him to play after dinner too."

Herr Beilschmidt looked at her with an expression that said he was hiding his annoyance at the thought of such a proposal. "Only if he wants to," he finally said. "It would be rude to expect a guest to provide entertainment." Then, he turned back to Ludwig. "I have valued music for a long time, although it was not until Frederick the Great that I learned anything about it myself. I picked up the flute, much like him. It takes discipline and mastery over oneself to learn and keep up with an instrument, and that is what I value."

"I've always loved listening to you play, Papa. It feels like being in a dream. A good dream. Where nothing foul or cruel can touch you." She thought about the nights when she was a child and he had played for her until she fell asleep. He always claimed it was about broadening her mind and teaching her an appreciation for good music. But she sometimes wondered if it wasn't also his way of showing affection back then. Not that she would voice the thought out loud though, and certainly not in front of Ludwig.

"Perhaps we should all play for each other tonight," she continued, as she cut into the pheasant on her plate. "That could be nice."

Prussia's eyebrows rose and then creased as he chewed his food and thought about her idea. He couldn't think of a reason to not do it, other than that he felt his talents would be wasted on the ears of the brute next to him. That would hardly suffice as an answer though, when he was trying to play nice.

"I suppose we might. If that is what our guest wants." He looked at Ludwig with little emotion on his face as he waited for an answer.

“I’m a nation of many centers. Berlin doesn’t hold the same sentimental value it holds for you. Yes, Berlin is my current capital, but my heart beats in Munich and Hamburg and Frankfurt all the same, it beats in the Black Forest, the Ruhr Valley, the Ore Mountains and the Frisian Wadden Sea.”

I glanced at him beside me, weighing his intentions. He was Prussia after all, and Prussia doesn’t do small talk. Every word came with a hook, and I’d be damned if I opened my mouth too wide and let him catch and drag me onto dry land.

“I’m more than a Wessi, and you are certainly more than an Ossi, Preußen. Let’s not insult each other’s intelligence with clinging to such a short period of our histories.” My gaze swept over him; these human labels felt thin and brittle, much like the frost crunching under our leather shoes.

He was still searching for the secret ingredient, wasn't he? Wondering why she’d look twice at a man like me. It was amusing, watching a Prussia try to navigate the messy terrain of ‘caring’. He’d traded his authority for affection and was now shocked to find his influence waning. That’s the problem with finding a heart. It’s an organ made of muscle and blood, not stone. It’s wet. It’s slippery. The more he tried to cuddle his daughter into staying, the more likely she was to slip out of his grasp.

“She is your daughter, after all. You know her better than I do. She can be quite… persistent. A trait I assume she inherited from the side of the family that doesn't know when to quit. Be assured, our relationship was hardly blessed under a lucky star at first. But eventually, we adapted to one another. Call it the magic of friendship, I suppose.”

I let out a breathy chuckle and adjusted my suit jacket, the expensive wool barely keeping me warm against the biting Berlin air.

“Look. For the better part of my adolescence, I was raised by a man of exceptional charm and legendary warmheartedness,” I said, the irony in my voice thick enough to choke on. I didn't need to name Gilbert for the ghost of his grin to hang between us. “Apparently, some of those gentle lessons stuck, and she found the result appealing. Or, more likely, she is simply your daughter—a bullhead of the highest order who treats a ‘no’ as a personal challenge. When she stumbled across me, I suspect I became less of a person and more of a long-term project. She wanted to crack the code, peel back the armor, and see if there was actually a pulse beneath the cold, calculating machinery of Big Bad West Germany.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, a short, sharp scoff escaping my lips. I was well aware of the caricature I occupied in the East German mind: the Nazi monster, the soulless capitalist pig, Uncle Sam pulling the strings... I highly doubted Lily’s upbringing had featured many bedtime stories about my supposed virtues.

A light scoff escaped his lips. "You cannot fool me into believing this was entirely her own doing. You had some role in this too. These things don't happen only one way. But knowing your nature...how long will it be until you inevitably hurt and break her for your own selfish desires?"

As they entered the house, the warm air enveloped them, but Prussia took no pleasure from it. His mind was still outside in the cold, with the consideration of their garden conversation leaving a deeper frown than usual etched on his features. He was still wearing it as they rejoined Liliane in the living room.

The girl was perched on the edge of the sofa, still tense even as she scrolled through her phone. When she heard footsteps approaching, she looked up, and a smile instantly graced her features as she stood. Even so, her eyes were searching them for some sign of a fight. When she could find none, she walked over to them.

"Papa," she said as she hugged him first, causing his frown to falter. "Ludwig," she said as she hugged him second. "I'm so glad you're both back. You're so cold. You shouldn't have gone out without coats on. But never mind that. Frau Wagner told me that the dinner is ready now. That should warm you up."

"Quite so," said Herr Beilschmidt, more to himself than to either of them. "Come. This way then." He led them to the dining room. As they entered, the warm smells of hearty foods greeted them. Upon the table were placed bowls of vegetables and potatoes and bread. Good wine sat in bottles. And in the center, a golden-brown roast pheasant sat on a silver tray.

Herr Beilschmidt pulled out Liliane's chair for her and pushed it in as she sat. He then took his place at the head of the table. Ludwig, as the guest of honor (a term Herr Beilschmidt found ironic with him) was placed to his right, with Liliane to his left.

After they had served themselves and were eating, Prussia slowly cut his pheasant on his plate. "Tell me, my child, have you ever played your violin for this man here?"

Liliane shook her head. "No, I don't think I have."

"Ah. Then this will be a new experience for you," he said as he looked at Ludwig. "She'll play for us after we eat."

Liliane smiled awkwardly and looked down at her plate as heat rose to her cheeks.

"Don't be so shy, my dear," he said, "You play well, if you've been practicing. You have been practicing, haven't you?"

"Yes, Papa, of course."

I saw that same ‘demon’ now, but this one was wearing a father’s grief above all. He claimed her, with the same passion Gilbert had claimed me, wormed himself into my mind until I couldn’t tell the difference between our realities.

“She’s yours. I’m not disrupting that,” I said, my voice sounding thin against the biting Berlin wind. I looked back toward the house, my gaze lingering on the window of her father’s living room where I imagined Lily was still sitting, waiting, hoping we wouldn't kill each other.

A sigh left me when he mentioned her feelings for me—past or present, none but her could tell. I was aware of them, of course. I had seen the way she looked at me, her expression gradually shifting from fear to disgust to tolerance and eventually longing in the course of the past decades. I might have been all to her; the man her father warned her about, the nation she wished to hold her, the human so utterly broken that he couldn’t hold himself. But I couldn't offer her a home when I didn't even know how to inhabit my own skin. If I couldn't find the strength to take responsibility for my own happiness, how was I supposed to be the anchor for hers?

Perhaps that was why she was back here, playing the part of the perfect, submissive daughter. If I wouldn't have her, she had no choice but to crawl back into the shadow of the only other power that claimed her. I had rejected her, and in doing so, I’d driven her right back into the arms of a man who was like poison to her. The irony was almost too much to stomach.

I turned back to Herr Beilschmidt and looked at the hand he held out. His terms were simple: don't steal his heart, don't break his daughter.

“You have my word,” I said, my voice regaining its steady, professional clip. I reached out and took his hand, my grip firm and cold. “I have no intention of taking her away. I have enough crises to manage in my own timeline; I have no desire to annex yours. If she finds some modicum of happiness in my company, I won’t deny her that. But rest assured, I am not looking to play the hero in this story.”

I released his hand, the tension in my shoulders finally beginning to ebb, replaced by a dull, familiar ache of the burden I carried daily.

“I’m glad you two have worked it out,” I added, the corner of my mouth twitching with a trace of my half-smile. “A truly happy, functional family. It’s a lovely sentiment. Though, we both know the German temperament doesn't lend itself to ‘happily ever after’ for very long. Eventually, the pain returns. It’s a family tradition, after all.”

I began walking back toward the house, not waiting to see if he followed. The cold was starting to seep through my suit, and the honesty of the garden was becoming more than I wanted to handle.

"Hmph. 'Und wenn sie nicht gestorben sind, dann leben sie noch heute.' I know. But Berlin is mine and always will be. I know that she will always come home to me, regardless of what befalls us beforehand." In his mind's eye, he recalled a certain trip to her dacha only a few month's prior to this day. How she had shown him all the memories she'd saved of him. How, even when she had learned the truth of his role in that boy's fate, she had forgiven him and stayed by him. If she could forgive that, she could forgive anything he'd ever done or might do.

He started walking and was soon beside the German. He would not let him lead him back to his own house. As they crossed the garden though, a question nagged at his mind.

When her father stood and commanded me to follow, I caught Lily’s eye. She looked stern, her expression a silent reminder of the promise I’d made to be on my best behavior. I offered her a mute, apologetic look as I stood.

I reached for the back of my neck, scratching lightly as if I could peel the tension away, then caught myself and let my hand fall to her shoulder instead, squeezing once—firm, meant to reassure both of us.

I knew exactly what was expected of me. Don’t cause a scene, smile and play along through the most perfect Christmas dinner anyone has ever seen. I just had to convince myself to believe the lie first.

Growling softly, I followed her father into the garden. The shift from the warm, rustic interior to the garden hit like a slap. I suppressed a hiss and bowed my head to avoid the piercing gust of wind.

“So, are we going hunting now?”

I meant it as a joke, but the words fell flat. His look cut through me, sharper than the cold. For a moment, I was just something in his way—a particular annoying insect he might crush underfoot or ignore until it stopped buzzing. My gaze dropped to his cane, , tracing the polished wood and ornamented handle. I knew about the blade hidden inside it. And I knew if I vanished here, no one would even ask where I’d gone.

But as he began to speak, the immediate threat of violence seemed to simmer down into something more emotional. He had dropped his facade, so I allowed mine to slip as well. What caught me off guard, however, was the genuine flicker of protectiveness in his tone. He actually cared for her—or, at the very least, he feared losing his grip on her. There was a grim irony in it: that my mere presence had been the catalyst for his sudden devotion to fatherhood these past months. Apparently, even in an alternate universe, I have a knack for provoking a reformation through the most inconvenient means possible.

“She kept nagging me about giving you a second chance,” I said finally, shoving my hands deep into my pockets to shield them from the cold. “Your sudden change of heart—after stabbing your own daughter to death, no less—convinced her that you’re a reformed man. Whether your feelings are genuine or out of self-interest is your business, not mine.”

I kicked at the frozen earth, my breath ghosting in the air between us.

“I’m here because she asked me to be. And damn me, perhaps it was the 'spirit of Christmas' or perhaps I'm just a fool, but I eventually agreed. That is the only reason I am standing in your garden instead of being halfway back to my own world.”

I looked him dead in the eye, mirroring his own intensity.

"I've had many children in my lifetime. Boys who became mighty generals. Girls who married lords and ran noble houses. But they were all only human. They died, as humans do, and without any heirs. My last wife was able to gift me not one, but two, immortal children. But one of them was snatched from me, and now seems determined to enrage me at every chance he gets. But the other..." He gestured towards the house.

"She's always wanted my approval. Even when she was hardly five years old and saw me for the first time in prison. They both hid behind the Russian's coat at first. But then, she walked forward, while her brother stayed behind. She was the one who came to me, and put her small hand in mine and called me, 'Father.' And for the first time in my long life, that word carried more weight than it ever had before."

His thumb rubbed the head of his cane. "Berlin has always been my heart. But now she was truly mine. No one could or can take that from me." His eyes came back to Ludwig. "I didn't allow radicals or the West to snatch her away. I have always kept her safe, even when it meant playing the villain in everyone else's eyes. I did not let that boy steal her away. I will not let you do it either. I know, you do not have the feelings for her that she has or did have for you. But you still bring her some form of happiness. I am not blind to it."

I took a slow sip of water, listening to his justifications. Whatever role he played in this universe was his business; I had no desire to have a say in it., I told myself mantra-like. One Prussia was more than enough for any man’s lifetime. Yet, as much as I cursed Gilbert and his unorthodox, often maddening methods, he was effective. Even though a cold knot formed in my gut every time he headed toward the Bendlerblock, a part of me still trusted him to want the best for Germany—for us. He might be a relic, an anachronism with his name erased from the map, but his spirit still resonated in every marching order and every bureaucratic stamp hammered onto a form. And perhaps he was right, and I would have fallen apart at the seams if it weren’t for him.

My gaze flicked from my glass to Lily. She responded like a well-trained parrot, echoing whatever truth her father had fed her. If that fantasy helped her sleep at night, I wasn't going to be the one to crush it. Not again. If I wanted to fight demons, I had plenty waiting for me at home; there was no need to bloody my hands on foreign soil, battling ghosts that didn’t belong to me—no matter how unsettling it was to have those crimson eyes staring me down.

I met his grin with a stiff, formal smile of my own when he mentioned Bavaria, giving a sharp nod of confirmation.

“He’s going through what I would generously call a mid-life crisis,” I said. “Though he isn’t alone. Half the family is acting… anxious. It’s a familiar sentiment that, unfortunately, tends to rub off on me. I feel like we all need a break to get our priorities straight.”

The smile turned wary. In the back of my mind, I could hear my brother’s voice screaming that nations don’t get breaks. We adapt, we endure, we move. There is no stop button, no reset. We simply play the same games over and over until the board is cleared.

“Hunting as a hobby? No,” I replied to his question. “Not unless I have to.”

I’d endured plenty of occasions where men who called themselves ‘family entrepreneurs’—the wealthiest five percent of the country—had wrapped an arm around my shoulders and dragged me into the woods to prove their 'manhood' through the theater of killing.

“As a boy that was different, though. I used to be a very good hunter. And an excellent sharpshooter.” I emptied the glass, trying to wash down the phantom, stale taste of gunpowder and rot that always seemed to linger when the subject came up. “I simply lost the appetite for it after the war, if you know what I mean. I prefer watching Biathlon these days. It’s… less savage.”

Prussia seemed pleased by both her answer, and her little frown at their guest. So, there was some trouble in paradise between them. Or there could be at least. But he would save that card for later.

"You say you lost your appetite for it after the war. I have found it to be the opposite for myself," he said. "I was made for the hunt, for conquering. In lieu of lacking a proper battlefield for that, I find the woods will suffice for now."

There was a moment when he drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair and considered a thought. Then, he stood up.

"Speaking of woods, I would like you come with me. A little brisk, pre-dinner walk."

Liliane rose with Ludwig, but her father shook his head and patted her shoulder.

"No, no. Not you, dear. Just him. I think we need to speak man-to-man, as it were. Just stay here."

Liliane looked both disappointed and concerned. But she wouldn't argue with him. "Oh. Yes, Papa. Of course." She waited until the men left to sit back down though.

Prussia led his guest through the house towards the back without a word. He offered no commentary on the decor or well polished wood that they passed by. Instead, they went straight out the back door and into the currently barren garden outside. All the plants had fallen asleep in the cold, and frost touched the bare branches that remained. He didn't stop upon the patio, but kept walking further, towards a clump of trees further away. Once they were among the trunks and branches, he turned to fully face the German behind him.

Alex never called me back, though. A pity. The amount of chaos we could have unleashed together, just to see the look on his father's—

No, Ludwig. Stop. I reigned in the thought immediately. I wasn't fourteen anymore, and I had promised Lily I would behave like a functioning, responsible adult.

“Die Jugend von heute...,” I murmured with a practiced, vague nod, as if I were commiserating with Herr Beilschmidt’s disappointment. I ran a hand down my tie—a gold silk with a subtle herringbone pattern—which I’d carefully paired with a navy suit and matching brown leather shoes and belt. Realizing I was fidgeting, I forced my hands to go still, folding them in my lap in an exact mimicry of Lily’s posture.

We must have looked like two children summoned before the patriarch to be told we were being written out of the will. It was a miserable, familiar feeling.

“My brother?” I blinked, the question dragging me out of my internal monologue. A dry, bitter laugh nearly escaped me. The last time my brother had truly ‘hosted’ a family dinner was Christmas 1914. While entire generations were being ground into the mud of the trenches, he had insisted we endure the ‘temporary’ hardships for the sake of the inevitable win. Back then, I couldn’t swallow the roast and pudding fast enough to keep up with the lies he was feeding me.

“No, we rotate the responsibility between the representatives of the existing regions—,” I paused, biting my lip as I realized how that sounded to a man who represented a state that no longer officially existed. “In my world, that is. By no means do I wish to imply that your own position is... obsolete.”

I offered another stiff, forced smile and a clipped “Danke” as Frau Wagner set down the water. Lily served us with a quiet, diligent grace that felt almost out of place in a room this tense.

“It was Max’s turn this year. Bavaria,” I continued, taking a sip of the sparkling water. “It was... a delightful dinner.”

That was a lie. It had been an administrative nightmare. Max had enforced a strict 'no-veggie crap' rule that had sent Berlin into a fury. Between the two of them hurling insults and bratwurst across the table, and Saxony choosing that exact moment to start a screaming match with the Ruhr Valley over industrial subsidies, it was a miracle no one left with a black eye. Compared to them, Gilbert had been a saint that evening. I was surprised he even came; usually, he avoided Bavaria like the plague.

Herr Beilschmidt sipped his water slowly, his eyes never leaving Ludwig. He seemed to be weighing options of remarks to say. Then, he set the glass to the side.

"I know what you think of me. I know what the majority of my so-called family thinks of me as well. That I am some kind of relic, an antique meant for display only. A museum piece. But that's wrong, and I think you know that as well as I. My influence cannot and will not be forgotten or escaped from. I live on, despite everyone's best efforts at the opposite. If I were truly without purpose anymore, I would have ceased to exist, like so many before us. So, I play my role, even when it calls for being everyone's favorite villain. I will not let what I've built fall apart again."

Liliane had kept her gaze down on her water, but when he finished speaking, she looked up and over at him. "Papa," she said in a soft voice, "I don't see you as a villain."

As he met her eyes, there was the faintest of smiles tugging at Prussia's lips. "You...have often been an exception to many things, my dear."

Liliane blinked and felt warmth rising in her cheeks. Before she could say anything though, he had returned his attention to Ludwig. This time, a slight grin had come upon his face.

"So. What I'm hearing from you then is, even in another universe, Bavaria is insufferable? Ha. How fitting. I do not envy you of that dinner then. And you," he said, turning back to Liliane, "had better not bring that Bavaria here. God knows the one we have is more than enough."

The Berliner smiled, encouraged by the rare joke from her father. "Oh, Papa, I would never. I know better than to ever do that. I don't have a death wish."

I pulled my Benz into the nearest parking lot, rolled the window down, and took a deep breath. Hooking a finger between my tie and collar, I loosened the silk just enough to breathe before resting my forehead against the steering wheel, silently cursing every single second of this journey.

The Holy Spirit of Christmas, my ass.

Once I was sure my lunch would stay down, I pulled back onto the street and followed the address Lily had given me. Another half hour later, I parked in front of a pleasant house in Pankow-Schönhausen, not far from the palace. Compared to the suffocating, nature of the countryside estates I grew up in, this place almost managed a cozy atmosphere. Judging by its architecture, it was originally built for a well-to-do bourgeois family, only to be flipped for millions on the modern real estate market as a so-called Stadtvilla with atmosphere and developmental potential. I’ll spare everyone the commentary on double standards for now; obviously, if you’re going to hire a professional chef, you’d better have a kitchen that matches the portfolio.

At five minutes to one, a heavy door creaked open to reveal a sturdy older woman. Her outfit was a stylistic choice—somewhere between the BDM and the NVA. She scrutinized me as if I were some wayward youth intent on kidnapping the daughter of the house for a scandalous night out. It made my skin prickle. Perhaps it was because her eyes reminded me far too much of Maria’s; the unspoken question—'Are you about to cause trouble, boy?’—hung thick in the air.

“Just Ludwig,” I countered when she attempted to greet me by my full surname and academic titles. I forced a smile and stepped inside, finding the interior surprisingly more rustic than the façade suggested. “I heard the owner of this estate is a passionate hunter,” I remarked, shedding my coat while my gaze drifted over the walls.

When my eyes met a mirror, I caught sight of my disheveled tie and hastily straightened it. The housekeeper gave me a look of pure stone, handing back the gift bag I’d brought. I took it with a clipped ‘Danke’ and followed her into what appeared to be the living room.

When she announced my arrival—once again insisting on the full litany of last names and degrees—I opened my mouth to correct her with another ‘Just Ludwig,’ but the words died against her commanding tone. She stepped aside, revealing Lily and her father.

Wonderful, I thought, as Herr Beilschmidt met my gaze, his expression just as welcoming as the housekeeper’s. This had to be the most joyful household in all of Berlin. I could already imagine the riveting one-line conversations ‘Papa’ shared with Frau No-Nonsense. Ha, and I always thought that there was a tense atmosphere once Gilbert and I shared a room.

Lily rose from the couch, dressed like a Disney princess. She swirled toward me and snatched my hand, unbothered by the stifling air.

“For you, it’s Dr. Dr. Beilschmidt,” I said sternly—until a smile betrayed me. Instantly, I felt the dual “stare of death” from Prussia and the housekeeper, and I cleared my throat as heat crept up my neck.

“Frohe Weihnachten, and thanks for having me,” I said, accepting Herr Beilschmidt’s hand. I returned the handshake with a firm, professional squeeze. His eyes—a blood-red so reminiscent of my brother’s—still unsettled me. It took a conscious effort to release his hand and let go of the tension coiling between my shoulder blades.

“Sparkling water, thank you.” I sat on the edge of the couch, placing the gift bag on the floor by my feet.

Liliane sat on the side of the couch closer to her father, so that she was now in between him and Ludwig, playing the part of being a buffer, or so she hoped. She smiled again at Ludwig.

"Hmm, yesterday was...adequate," said Herr Beilschmidt, "Although it could have been better all the same. I'll spare you all the details, but suffice it to say that my degenerate son will not be coming into my house again for a long time."

"Alex brought a pair of swingers that he's dating," whispered Liliane. She glanced at her father who was frowning at her. "Well he might as well know, Papa. Better to hear it from us than the rest of the family, right?"

Herr Beilschmidt closed his eyes and sighed loudly, then opened his eyes again. "I suppose. But he hardly needs to know the details of our dinner last night," he said, giving her a stern warning in both look and tone of voice.

"Yes, Papa," she said softly, looking down at her hands.

He stared at her a moment longer, then returned his attention to Ludwig. "And you? Do you also gather your family under one roof to renew some familial bonds once a year? Does your brother host it?"