Re: Blood and Iron

Chapter 569: House von Zehntner

The harbor at Trieste glittered under a waning afternoon sun.

Gulls wheeled above sleek modern ships whose lines spoke more of military power than leisurely cruising; but the vessel tied at the private quay was fitted for luxury all the same.

It bore no national markings beyond a discreet Tyrolean pennant snapping in the salt wind.

On the docks, stevedores loaded crates of fine wines, silk-lined trunks, and towering hampers of delicacies.

The Grand Prince of Tyrol’s household, sprawling, illustrious, burdened with titles that spanned half of Europe, was preparing to sail for Lisbon.

Bruno himself stood on the wide promenade deck, arms crossed, a small amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He watched the organized chaos with the calm of a man who had commanded armies across continents; and found far more unpredictable storms in his own children and grandchildren.

Below on the pier, the family assembled in waves:

First there was Heidi, regal even in travel dress, murmured crisp instructions to the Tyrolean stewards trying desperately to keep track of every trunk and case. Her sky blue eyes flashed with matriarchal energy, terrifying even hardened adjutants.

Erwin, Bruno’s eldest son, but second child stood near the gangplank with Alya, the once-starving Russian orphan now radiant in a gown of Tyrolean emerald. Their brood circled them; five children in total.

Erich, their firstborn and future heir, tall and golden like his father but with Alya’s gentle Slavic eyes, helped keep his younger siblings from stampeding the dockworkers.

A short distance away stood Eva, Bruno’s eldest daughter, and the oldest of the brood. The very image of aristocratic poise; save for the delighted chaos of her four children clambering around her skirts.

Her husband, Wilhelm, grandson of the old Kaiser, laughed as he patted little Bruno’s head, named after his grandfather. The brat had begun to grow like a weed now that he had hit adolescence.

Elsa, cool and statuesque, was momentarily distracted by her own twins pulling at her sleeves. At her side stood Alexei, the newly crowned Tsar of Russia, his uniform immaculate even on holiday.

Their eldest, Alexander, already carried himself with a small, conscious dignity. Beside him, young Nicholas tried to look equally imperial and failed spectacularly, chasing after a stray dog.

Josef, Bruno’s second son, chatted amiably with his wife Sophie von Hohenberg, the pair surrounded by several blond-headed children. Sophie’s laughter rang bright in the summer air, a sharp contrast to her husband’s quieter Prussian reserve.

Wilhelm and Heinrich, the next two sons, both strapping officers in sharp tailored civilian coats, stood side by side, already wagering on who would win the shipboard fencing bouts.

Their wives, newlywed and trying to keep the men from rushing off to test their blades right there on the quay, exchanged exasperated smiles.

Finally there were the youngest daughters, Anna and Erika, bright with youthful energy, trailing ribbons and half-formed romantic fantasies.

They leaned over the rails giggling, pointing out sleek racing yachts and daring each other to leap the small gap to the dock.

Like her sister, Anna, Erika was engaged to a Crown Prince, the Prince of Greece in particular. Both of them were present for the Journey, and speaking formally with their soon to be brides.

Bruno took it all in with a deep, slow breath.

This was why he built empires. Why he brokered marriages, broke republics, crushed conspiracies, annihilated Marxists and ensured the Reich would last long beyond his own heartbeat.

It was not only for the iron crown of Germany; though that mattered, too. It was for this living dynasty he had nurtured from fire and blood.

For the children who bore his steel in their bones, and the laughter that warmed even his scarred, calculating soul.

Beside him, Heidi rested a hand on his arm, following his gaze across the bustling deck.

“They’ve grown so quickly,” she whispered. “All of them. It feels like only yesterday Erwin was tugging at your coattail begging to carry your saber.”

Bruno’s mouth twitched into a wry grin.

“Now he runs half the war industries of the Reich and frets more over steel shipments than duels. A father could hardly ask for a gentler outcome.”

Heidi’s expression softened. Her thumb brushed the back of his hand. Even after decades, her touch steadied him.

“And Erich? I’ve seen how you look at him lately. You’re proud.”

A shadow crossed Bruno’s gaze, but it passed. “Yes. He’ll carry Tyrol well. And perhaps more than that, should Europe demand it.”

A call went up from the quarterdeck:

“Lines cast off!”

Children shrieked delightedly, racing to the rails. The ship’s whistle gave a deep, resonant blast that rolled across the sunlit harbor.

Dockworkers waved caps; Tyrolean guards snapped to attention. Slowly, majestically, the vessel slipped away from Trieste, bound for Lisbon’s golden hills.

Bruno stood at the prow with his family, feeling Heidi’s hand slip into his, Eva on his other side with Wilhelm and little Bruno standing between them.

The younger sons gathered nearby, ribbing each other over fencing, hunting, who would best the others in Lisbon’s salons.

Elsa and Alexei stood close, Alexei pointing out distant sails to Alexander and Nicholas, trying to teach them naval silhouettes.

Behind it all, the sun dipped lower, painting the Adriatic in rippling gold.

Bruno took it in; the bright chatter, the mingling of Prussian, Russian, Habsburg, and old Imperial German blood, all under his banner.

This was what he had fought for. What he had stolen decades from the fates to protect.

A small smile, rare, genuine, touched his lips.

“Let the world do as it will,” he thought. “I have built something here no revolution can ever truly touch.”

And together, the house of von Zehntner sailed toward Portugal, laughter and schemes mingling on the warm salt breeze.

Bruno’s eyes lingered on each child, each grandchild, memorizing their faces as if daring destiny itself to try and steal them away.

The ship cut westward, sails billowing, carrying with it the legacy of a man who had conquered far more than mere kingdoms.

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