The guards by the doors stiffened first.
They had been standing at attention already, polished and motionless beneath the electric chandelier, but now their posture sharpened into something harder. Shoulders drew back. Gloved hands tightened around the stocks of their M1 carbines. Bayonets caught the light and flashed like thin silver warnings.
Elise's breath caught.
Patricia's smile remained perfect, but her fingers tightened once in the white folds of her gown.
Then the great double doors opened.
Two Eternal Guards of the First Company entered first.
They were not palace guards.
The difference was immediate.
The men already stationed in the hall looked clean, formal, ceremonial, soldiers dressed for order. These two looked like order had been given armor and taught to kill. They came through the doors as broad black shapes of metal and discipline, faceless behind dark visors, their full armor swallowing the light instead of reflecting it. M1 carbines rested in their hands, not raised, but ready in a way that made raising them seem unnecessary.
Their boots struck the marble once, twice.
Then they moved apart like gates opening.
And through them came Tanya with the evening sun shining behind her, as if for one breath, it crowned her.
She stepped into the hall in red, and the whole room changed.
Her gown was crimson and black, rich as fresh blood beneath firelight, cut with a boldness that made Patricia's white seem suddenly like a claim under dispute. It drew tight at Tanya's waist, held firm at her chest, then fell in dark-edged layers around her hips and legs. Every step made the fabric shift. Every breath made the bodice rise and fall. She did not move like a woman trying to be admired. She moved like admiration was something already owed to her.
She was not tall.
That did not matter.
Her figure made height irrelevant: narrow waist, full chest, rounded hips, pale flawless skin, soft feminine lines sharpened by something fierce beneath them. There was something almost obscene in the completeness of her beauty, not because she revealed too much, but because nothing about her seemed unfinished, ordinary, or merciful.
Tanya looked like something that had stepped down from a church painting after deciding sainthood was too dull.
A goddess in a red dress.
A temptation with blue eyes and a cold mouth.
Her beauty was not merely beauty.
It was pressure.
It made men straighten before they knew they had done it. It made maids lower their eyes. It made Elise go still. Even Patricia, proud and tall in white, felt a sharp tightening in her chest, as if some primitive part of her had recognized a higher predator before her mind could object.
At Tanya's side walked Imperiel.
The boy was dressed in black.
A perfect little Black Legion officer's uniform clung sharply to his young frame, silver trim clean against the darkness, boots polished, belt fastened, collar high. He was only nine years old, born on the twenty-seventh of July, 1905, and yet there was nothing soft in the way he carried himself. His platinum-blond hair shone almost silver in the electric light. His eyes were pale, nearer violet-blue than ordinary blue, and far too steady for a child.
He was not quite as tall as Tanya.
But close enough.
Close enough that the sight of them together unsettled the room in a way no one could name at once. Mother and son advanced like authority made flesh: one in red, one in black, both too bright, too sharp, too unmistakably of Oskar's blood and household to be mistaken for ordinary people.
Behind them came Gunderlinde, hurrying slightly in blue and white, sweet-faced and princess-like, her beauty gentler, softer, more human beside Tanya's burning presence. Princess Louise followed with courtly poise, her eyes already moving over every face, every guard, every child, every weakness in the room.
Behind them all came Captain Conrad.
He moved like a tower.
Tall, broad, severe, and black-clad, with the cold pride of a soldier whose duty had long ago become something close to religion. He had guarded Tanya in the early days, in the dangerous and secret days of her love with Oskar. He had watched over meetings no one was meant to know of, carried silence like a weapon, and stood close enough to history to feel its breath.
He had been there when the road to Imperiel began.
That fact had settled strangely in him over the years. Conrad took pride in it, though he would never have admitted such a thing aloud. As if he had not merely guarded a princess, but stood witness to the making of the Crown Prince's first angelic child.
Now he guarded them still. The women and children of his Prince.
Patricia stepped forward.
Elise followed half a pace behind her.
Both lowered their heads and sank into proper curtsies. Zofia and Maria lowered themselves as well. The German maids behind them followed at once, skirts whispering against marble.
Patricia spoke with practiced grace.
"Your Highness, Princess Tanya. Welcome to Warsaw. We are honored by your arrival and have prepared everything for your comfort."
Elise's voice followed, softer and less certain.
"Welcome, Your Highness."
The hall became silent.
Only Tanya's heels answered.
Click.
Click.
Click.
She walked toward Patricia, red gown shifting around her legs, hips moving with a natural, dangerous certainty that made the room feel suddenly too small for the two of them. As she drew close, the difference in height became obvious. Patricia was taller. Much taller. She stood pale and statuesque in white, her body held with all the dignity of a princess determined to look innocent before judgment.
Her breasts were nearly level with Tanya's face.
Yet somehow Tanya seemed the larger presence.
The more dangerous one.
She stopped directly before Patricia.
For a moment, she did not speak.
She looked her over instead with one glance. From crown to throat. Throat to chest. Waist to hips. Dress to shoes.
It was not admiration. It was inspection.
Then Tanya looked at Elise, and Elise immediately looked away.
Then past them, toward Zofia and Maria.
Zofia lowered her eyes at once.
Maria froze like a deer under lantern light.
Tanya's gaze returned to Patricia.
The silence stretched.
Patricia's smile held, barely.
Then Tanya placed both hands on her hips, and she huffed.
The sound was small, almost childish, but the effect was immediate. The mask of the elegant visiting princess cracked, and what showed beneath it was not courtly patience, not diplomatic restraint, not the sweet smiling woman the newspapers loved to describe.
It was fire.
Tanya's eyes narrowed, and for one dangerous second she looked as though she might simply reach up, take Patricia by the hair, and drag her down to her level.
Instead, she smiled, faintly.
Cruelly.
"Hmph. Do not act so humble with me, slut," she said, her voice sweet as an angel and sharp as a knife. "You are not fooling anyone with that tone of yours. I know everything about you and your little maid."
Elise went rigid.
Patricia's face drained of warmth.
Tanya leaned in just enough that the insult became intimate.
"You are the two bitches who live by sucking my husband's big, fat, cock, are you not?"
The words struck the hall like a cannon fired indoors.
For one heartbeat, nothing moved.
The children stared, confused by words whose meaning they did not understand, yet frightened by the weight that had suddenly fallen over the adults.
The maids stiffened.
Zofia's face flushed red.
Maria looked down so quickly it seemed her neck might snap.
Elise made a small, strangled sound.
The palace guards, with the discipline of men who very much wished to remain alive and employed, fixed their eyes upon the painted ceiling. Above them, plump little angels drifted through a frescoed heaven, smiling down in eternal innocence.
Every guard pretended not to have heard.
Every guard had heard.
Patricia stood frozen.
Her lips had parted slightly. Her face, pale and perfect only a moment before, colored with scandalized shock. Yet beneath the shock there was something worse: the guilty stillness of a naughty child caught with her hand deep inside a forbidden cupboard.
Because she could not deny it.
She had done it.
She had enjoyed it.
And Tanya knew.
Imperiel turned sharply toward his mother.
"Mother," he said, low but urgent. "No. There are children here."
His gaze flicked toward the little ones clustered behind Patricia and Elise, blue-eyed, pale-haired, gripping skirts and sleeves while trying to understand why the room had gone so cold.
Tanya did not immediately answer.
Elise did.
She stepped forward before thought could restrain her.
Outrage cut through fear, and in that instant she moved as she had moved all her life: not as Patricia's equal, not truly, but as the maid who had once stood before her mistress and still, deep in her bones, believed that was where she belonged. Small, pretty, trembling, and furious, she placed herself between Patricia and Tanya.
"You—" Elise snapped, her voice high and shaking. "How dare you speak like that to Her Highness Princess Patricia!"
She had taken one step too close.
That was all.
The guards tensed.
Captain Conrad's eyes sharpened.
Tanya's hand twitched at her side, her expression flaring hot and ugly for half a heartbeat, as if she were already imagining the satisfying crack of her palm across Elise's face.
But Imperiel moved first.
The boy crossed the distance like a thrown blade.
Before Elise could draw another breath, he was between her and Tanya.
The slap cracked through the hall.
Elise fell.
She struck the marble at Patricia's feet, one hand flying to her cheek, eyes wide with stunned disbelief. The sound echoed upward beneath the electric chandelier, along the carved walls, through the grand entrance hall where kings had once received ambassadors — and where now a child of Oskar had struck a former English maid to the floor.
The children gasped.
Rose began to cry first, then tried to swallow it down as if even tears might be punished.
Arthur pulled Victoria behind him. Alfred did the same with Rose, though his own lower lip trembled.
Imperiel stood over Elise, breathing hard, his pale eyes blazing.
"How dare you," he roared, "step before my mother and her object of wrath without permission!"
Patricia took one step back.
Then, quickly, she signaled the children behind her.
They obeyed at once.
Not because of Imperiel alone.
Because of the guards.
All around the hall, the Black Legion soldiers had shifted. Not much. Only enough. Hands had settled closer around rifles. Boots had turned slightly. Helmeted heads had angled toward Patricia and Elise with unmistakable hostility.
They would not move without command, but if command came, they would move without hesitation.
Patricia understood it then, more than before. She had no real power here.
Especially not when Tanya stood before her.
Not when every German eye in the room knew, without needing the matter explained, that Tanya was one step beneath Oskar himself, and Oskar, to many in Germany, was already something perilously close to holy.
Elise remained on the floor, holding her reddened cheek, stunned silent and frightened enough that she did not dare rise.
The children cried softly now, trying not to cry too loudly.
Zofia tightened her hold on the little one in her arms. Maria did the same, whispering something gentle and Polish under her breath as she rocked the child against her shoulder.
Gunderlinde stood pale with horror.
Louise's expression had gone cold. Not shocked. Not frightened. Cold. Her eyes rested on Patricia and Elise with open hostility, as if the insult had only given shape to what she already felt toward the foreign women who had crawled too close to her beloved brother.
Then Tanya seized Imperiel from behind and dragged him back against herself.
"Imperiel!"
Her arms wrapped around him, pulling him close in startled disbelief, the red sleeves of her gown closing around the black of his uniform.
"How can you hit a woman?"
For the first time since entering, Tanya sounded genuinely shaken.
Imperiel turned in her grip, frowning as if the accusation were not merely wrong, but intellectually offensive.
"What? No. I did not hit her. I slapped her. There is a difference."
Tanya stared at him.
He gently freed himself from her arms and straightened his little black uniform with offended dignity.
"A fist is for hurting," he said. "A slap is for correction. Father says one should never damage what belongs to the household unless there is no other choice."
Gunderlinde made a faint choking sound.
Louise did not move.
Tanya's mouth opened, then closed again.
Imperiel continued before she could recover.
"And besides," he said, "you looked like you were going to slap her."
"I did not."
Imperiel looked at her.
Tanya lifted her chin.
"I did not."
His expression said plainly that he did not believe a word of it.
For a moment, mother and son stared at one another.
Then Imperiel went on, crisp and certain, as if reciting a lesson already tested in his mind.
"Father has also said that women should not be allowed to fight physically among themselves. It is the duty of the man to keep disorder within the household from becoming violence."
His gaze moved to Patricia, then down to Elise, then past them to the children.
"And whether we like it or not, I believe they are part of our household. Are they not?"
The words hung in the hall.
Tanya's face shifted then, shock first, then irritation. Then, despite herself, something else, a flicker of pride.
Her son had spoken like Oskar.
Not gently.
Not politely.
Not in the way a child should have spoken before guests, servants, guards, and frightened little ones.
But unmistakably.
He had not struck from blind rage alone. He had judged, acted, explained, and placed the act inside the brutal little moral order he had inherited from his father. In his mind, he had not been cruel. He had restrained disorder. He had defended his mother. He had prevented a household quarrel from becoming a women's brawl in the palace hall.
And that, somehow, made Tanya both horrified and proud.
She quickly smoothed her expression into innocence.
"You misunderstand me," she said. "I was not going to do any such thing. Striking another woman is crude. Too violent. Words are the weapon I prefer."
Imperiel looked at her with open skepticism.
He had also learned from his father not to take women's words at face value.
But he had learned something else in a family where he had more sisters than he had fingers: arguing with women rarely improved the situation.
So he let the lie stand.
Instead, he turned back toward Patricia and Elise, his young face stern.
"Now kneel."
Elise, still on the floor, stared up at him.
Patricia stiffened, her hands tightening in the white folds of her gown and for one heartbeat, it looked as if she might actually obey.
Then Tanya caught Imperiel by the shoulder and moved him aside.
"That is enough."
Her voice had changed again, still sweet and beautiful, but now there was command in it.
Imperiel stopped at once.
Tanya stepped forward again, no longer merely the jealous wife with fire in her veins, but the first woman of Oskar's household, the one who had lived long enough beside him to know that a house full of women and children could not survive on pride alone.
"If your father has taught me anything," she said, "it is that women within the same household are not made to kneel before one another for sport. Humiliation is easy. Harmony is harder."
Her gaze remained on Patricia.
"And resentment, once planted, is not easily rooted out."
Patricia lowered her eyes slightly, as Tanya looked down towards Elise.
"Stand up."
Elise hesitated, still holding her reddened cheek, eyes wet with humiliation and fear.
For one strange second, she seemed unable to understand that the command was meant as mercy.
Tanya's expression shifted, as a faint impatience crossed her face, then softened.
She walked forward.
The movement made Elise flinch, but Tanya did not strike her. Instead, she extended one small, pale hand.
The hall went still again.
Elise stared at it.
Tanya looked down at her and, to everyone's surprise, smiled, not cruelly, but almost apologetically, as if to say that the storm had passed and that Elise would be wiser not to summon it again.
"Come now," Tanya said. "Do not sit on the floor like a beaten dog. Stand."
Elise swallowed.
Slowly, uncertainly, she placed her hand in Tanya's.
Tanya pulled.
For all her small size, there was surprising strength in her arm. Elise came up in one smooth motion, too quickly to make it graceful, and found herself standing almost chest to chest with the woman who had insulted her, threatened her, and then lifted her as if the matter were already finished.
For a heartbeat, they only looked at one another.
Elise's cheek burned.
Tanya's eyes remained sharp.
Then Tanya released her hand.
"I understand," she said, and now her voice carried across the hall again. "Oskar is not like other men. He is more than most men. More foolish in some ways, yes, but more in every other way too. I cannot pretend surprise that women who came close to him wanted more."
Her gaze moved from Elise to Patricia.
"I understand what you did."
Patricia's face tightened.
"But understanding is not forgiveness," Tanya continued. "Do not mistake one for the other."
Neither woman answered.
Tanya's voice became colder, clearer.
"At present, I do not know either of you personally. You have not, as far as I know, attempted to poison me, ruin my children, undermine my place, or turn Oskar against his true household."
A pause.
"That is wise of you."
Elise lowered her eyes.
Patricia held still.
"You have offended me in principle," Tanya said. "Not yet in blood. There is a difference. For the moment, I will let that difference matter."
The words settled over them.
Not peace.
But a path toward it.
Then Tanya's gaze moved to the children.
Her expression softened.
This time it was not performance.
The little ones stood half-hidden behind white silk and pale pink skirts, their bright eyes watching her as if she were both fairy queen and monster from a bedtime tale. Arthur had pulled Victoria behind him. Alfred had done the same for Rose. The two smallest remained in the arms of Zofia and Maria, confused by tears they did not fully understand.
Tanya looked at them, and the last of the violence left her face.
"Well," she said softly, "that was an ugly beginning."
No one contradicted her.
She lowered herself to her knees.
The red gown pooled around her on the marble like spilled wine.
The movement startled everyone more than another insult would have. Patricia blinked. Elise stepped back. Even Imperiel looked at his mother in suspicion, as if unsure whether this was strategy or surrender.
Tanya extended her hand toward the children.
"Come now," she said, her voice warm and bright in a way that transformed the room around it. "Why do we not begin properly? I know who your mothers are. They know who I am. But from you little ones, I have not heard a single thing."
Arthur did not move.
Tanya smiled at him.
"And who might you be, brave little soldier?"
Arthur looked up at Patricia.
Patricia took a breath, then nodded.
"It is all right," she said gently. "Go on."
Arthur stepped forward, just a little.
"I am Arthur," he said.
Tanya's smile deepened.
"Arthur," she repeated, as if tasting the name. "A very grand name for such a small gentleman."
Arthur frowned with great seriousness.
"I am not so small, I am three years old."
Gunderlinde covered her mouth with one gloved hand.
Louise looked away, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
Tanya's eyes brightened.
"No," she said solemnly. "I can see that now. Forgive me."
Arthur seemed to accept this.
Then, taking courage from having survived the first exchange, he turned and pointed.
"This is Victoria. She is my sister."
Victoria peeked from behind his shoulder.
"My twin sister," Arthur added, with the importance of a child who had learned that details mattered.
Tanya inclined her head.
"Hello, Victoria."
Victoria looked at Tanya's dress.
"You are very red."
"So I have been told."
Arthur pointed next toward Elise's side.
"That is Alfred. He is not my brother, but he is like my brother."
Alfred puffed himself up at being named.
"And that is Rose," Arthur continued. "She hides because she is scared."
Rose immediately hid harder.
Elise made a small wounded sound.
Arthur then turned and pointed toward the maids holding the other two children.
"That is Clara. She is little. And that is Mary. She is little too."
He paused, then seemed to remember that the matter required organization.
"Patricia is my mama. And Victoria's mama. And Mary's mama." He pointed to Elise. "Elise is Alfred's mama. And Rose's mama. And Clara's mama."
He looked back at Tanya, satisfied with the completeness of the report.
"There."
For a moment, Tanya said nothing. She only looked at him. At the pale hair. The clear eyes. The little frown.
The brave posture that tried so hard to be princely and only made him more painfully adorable.
Imperiel had Oskar's blood in a stranger, mythical form, silver hair, violet-blue eyes, an unsettling presence that belonged to something almost beyond human.
Arthur was different.
Arthur looked like Oskar made small, like when he used to be more, normal.
He was like the perfect little mirror image of that old Oskar.
A little boy wearing his father's seriousness without yet understanding its weight.
Thinking of this, Tanya let out a little involuntary squeak, as she reached forward and pulled Arthur into her arms.
Arthur went stiff with shock.
Patricia's eyes widened.
Elise forgot to breathe.
Tanya hugged the boy tightly, then lifted him with surprising ease, rising back to her feet with Arthur held against her as if he weighed nothing at all.
"Oh," she said, suddenly bright with genuine delight. "You are dangerous."
Arthur blinked at her.
"I am?"
"Yes. Far too cute. A little Oskar. Look at you." She turned him slightly as if presenting him to Gunderlinde. "Do you see? The frown. The eyes. Even the way he tries to look offended."
Gunderlinde smiled despite the tension.
"He does look like him."
Arthur looked confused.
"I look like Father?"
"You do," Tanya said. "Very much."
The word Father changed the air.
The women heard it and so did the children. Tanya had even said it without a hint of bitterness.
Arthur relaxed a little in her arms.
"I met him," he said. "He is very tall."
Tanya laughed properly this time.
"Yes. He is."
"And strong."
"Very."
"And he smells like metal sometimes."
"That is usually because he has been doing something foolish."
Imperiel looked faintly offended on his father's behalf.
Arthur considered this with the seriousness of a court judge.
"He gave me his hand to sit on."
"Of course he did," Tanya said. "That sounds exactly like him."
The room had changed again.
Not completely.
The insult still hung somewhere in the walls. Elise's cheek was still red. Patricia's pride had not vanished. Imperiel still looked unconvinced. Louise still watched with narrowed eyes.
But the children had done what adults could not.
They had made the conflict harder to continue.
Tanya shifted Arthur comfortably in one arm and looked to Patricia.
"You have food prepared, yes?"
Patricia needed half a second to answer.
"Yes. Of course. A meal has been laid in the first-floor dining room."
"Good," Tanya said. "Then we will continue there."
Patricia blinked.
"Continue?"
"Yes. Personal matters first. Business after. Or perhaps both together, since Oskar has made it impossible for any part of life to remain properly separate from the rest."
That earned the faintest laugh from Louise.
Tanya looked around the hall, still holding Arthur.
"We came here for more than quarrels. There is a war outside these walls. The nation needs us. Oskar needs us. All of us, whether we like one another or not."
Her gaze returned to Patricia.
"You have been managing this palace. More than that, from what I hear, you have become something like the unofficial governess of these occupied eastern lands."
Patricia straightened slightly.
The title was not official.
That made it no less true.
"I have tried to be useful," she said.
"Good. Continue being useful."
The bluntness made Patricia's eyebrow lift.
Tanya went on.
"There are thousands of women here with no husbands beside them, no sons in their houses, no ordinary work, and no certainty beyond what our occupation gives them. Some are seamstresses. Some are factory girls. Some have only hands and hunger. That is enough to begin."
Gunderlinde stepped forward, her voice soft but steadier now.
"We will need to identify workshops, machines, looms, dye sources, storage rooms, and women with tailoring skill. Those without skill can be taught simpler tasks first: cutting, stitching, sorting, mending, packing."
Princess Louise nodded.
"Angelworks can provide patterns, standards, and design principles. We have worked with everything from women's garments to children's clothes, field accessories, animal harnesses, dog coats, packs, straps, and protective coverings along with simpler military uniforms. This is merely more complicated."
"Much more complicated," Tanya said.
She adjusted Arthur in her arms and continued as if it were perfectly normal to discuss military supply while holding the illegitimate son of her husband's English mistress.
"The Black Legion will need new field clothing for the campaigns of next year. Not parade black. Not palace uniforms. Real field gear. Woodland camouflage. Dark green, light green, brown, black. Patterns suited for forests, marshes, river lines, and broken villages. Smocks. Helmet covers. Reinforced trousers. Jackets with pockets where men actually need them. Rain covers. Packs. Webbing. Winter variants later."
Patricia's eyes sharpened.
Now she understood the scale.
"This cannot be ready for this year."
"No," Tanya said. "Next year. If we begin now."
Elise, still subdued, touched her cheek once and then lowered her hand.
"There are workshops in Warsaw," she said carefully. "Some damaged, but not useless. A few Jewish tailors still have machines hidden away. Some Polish women will come if paid and protected."
Zofia spoke before caution could stop her.
"Many Polish women can sew," she said.
Every eye turned toward her.
Zofia swallowed, then forced herself to continue.
"Not all with machines. But by hand, yes. Mending, cutting, patching, weaving, fitting. If there is food, pay, and safety, they will work."
Tanya studied her.
"So you are Zofia."
Zofia lowered her eyes.
"Yes, Your Highness."
"I have heard of you."
Color rose in Zofia's cheeks.
"I assumed so."
For a moment, Tanya seemed ready to say something sharper.
Then Arthur shifted in her arms, and the moment passed.
"You will help," Tanya said.
Zofia blinked.
"I will?"
"You know the women here. You know what they fear. You know what they will not say in front of German officers. That is useful."
Zofia looked at Patricia, then back at Tanya.
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Good."
Tanya turned, still holding Arthur, and looked toward the central doorway leading deeper into the palace.
"Now then. Where is this dining room?"
For a moment, no one moved.
The mood had turned so quickly that the hall seemed to be catching up with itself.
Then Zofia stepped forward.
"This way, Your Highness."
Tanya smiled.
"Excellent."
And just like that, the crisis broke.
Not vanished.
Not solved.
But broken open into movement.
Patricia gathered herself and moved beside Tanya. Elise followed, still shaken, while Alfred and Victoria exchanged uncertain looks. Rose crept out from behind Alfred once she saw Arthur safe in Tanya's arms. Maria adjusted the child she held and hurried after Zofia. German maids rushed into position, suddenly busy, suddenly relieved to have ordinary duties again.
Imperiel remained where he was for a heartbeat, watching Arthur in his mother's arms with grave suspicion.
Arthur looked back at him from his comfortable height.
Imperiel narrowed his eyes.
Arthur frowned in return.
Tanya noticed and laughed under her breath.
"Oh, this will be interesting."
Then she followed Zofia toward the first-floor dining room, and the whole strange procession moved with her: red gown, white gown, pink silk, blue and white lace, German maids, Polish maids, fair-haired children, and black-uniformed guards trailing like shadows behind them.
Above, on the curve of the marble staircase, Hindenburg and Ludendorff stood beneath the shadow of the second-floor gallery.
They had seen most of it, and for several seconds neither man spoke.
Hindenburg's broad face remained carved from stone, though his eyes lingered on the disappearing procession, then on Elise, then on Imperiel, then on Tanya carrying Arthur as if the boy had always belonged in her arms.
Ludendorff looked as though he would have preferred the Russian offensive.
At last Hindenburg released a slow breath.
"Well," he said quietly, "that danger has passed."
"For now," Ludendorff said.
Hindenburg glanced at him.
"It began with obscenity," Ludendorff continued, adjusting his spectacles. "Then a child struck an Englishwoman. Then the first wife embraced the bastard son, discussed industrial production, and requisitioned the women of Poland for next year's uniforms."
Hindenburg considered that.
"Efficient."
Ludendorff gave him a flat look.
Below, the women's voices faded toward the dining room. The children's footsteps pattered after them. Somewhere, Arthur said something too quietly for the generals to hear, and Tanya laughed.
Hindenburg turned toward the corridor leading back to the war room.
"The women have their work."
Ludendorff followed his gaze.
"And we have ours."
"Good," Hindenburg said. "Though I would like coffee."
"So would I, my friend."
Hindenburg looked down over the railing and saw one of the German maids hurrying after the others.
"You there," he called.
The maid stopped at once and looked up.
"Coffee," Hindenburg said. "To the war room now, and make it strong."
Ludendorff added, "Very strong."
"Yes, Your Excellencies."
She curtsied quickly and hurried away.
The two generals turned from the staircase.
Behind them, the palace swallowed the sound of women, children, silk, and uncertain laughter.
Ahead, the maps waited.
And beyond the maps, the Russians were still coming.