The Mercedes rattled through the crowded streets toward Potsdam, its engine growling and its passengers scarcely more composed. People turned as it passed, recognizing the royal crest and, occasionally, the tall blond head that emerged from a rear window to greet them.
"My man!" Oskar called to a cluster of onlookers.
"My man!" several voices answered, followed by laughter.
Somehow, the phrase had become associated with him. People now shouted it whenever they recognized him in Berlin, and the familiarity warmed him in a way he found difficult to explain. For a moment, he almost felt that he belonged.
Unfortunately, the feeling did nothing for his stomach. There were no snacks in the car, no chicken breasts, no eggs, and nothing else that might reasonably qualify as protein. He could practically feel his muscles wasting away, although he suspected this was mostly his imagination.
As they approached the Neues Palais, however, hunger became the least of his concerns.
Palace guards stood in their dress uniforms beside the great steps, while cars and carriages waited beneath the lights. Liveried footmen opened doors for women in shimmering gowns and men whose uniforms and tailcoats carried enough decorations to stock a modest jeweler's shop. Everywhere Oskar looked, there were polished boots, expensive fabrics, and people who appeared to know exactly what they were supposed to do.
It resembled a battlefield crossed with a peacock farm.
"There are… so many people," he muttered.
The Mercedes joined the waiting line. Ahead of them, a general and his family emerged from another motorcar; behind them, a carriage creaked beneath the arrival of some prince whose name Oskar neither knew nor wished to learn.
He turned toward Karl with sudden desperation, seized him by the lapels, and began shaking him.
"Karl, my man, you must take my identity," he whispered fiercely. "Pretend to be me. Nobody will know. Newspaper photographs are terrible. Blurry, very bad quality. They will not see difference. Please, my man. If I go inside, there will be big shame and big trouble. I can feel it."
Karl's view of the world became a violent alternation of upholstery, polished buttons, and princely panic. Unable to get a word out, he pinched Oskar's wrist hard enough to make him yelp.
The prince loosened his grip. Karl immediately planted one shoe against the seat, twisted, and used Oskar's arms for leverage as he drove his other foot into his face.
Oskar recoiled, striking his head against the roof.
"Ow! My man!"
Before he could recover, Karl scrambled upright on the seat and caught him by the collar. In his immaculate white suit, he resembled a small and exceptionally angry assassin.
"Your Highness, get a grip," he snapped. "You are a Prince of Prussia. Those people outside were cheering for you. Are you really going to hide behind a dwarf because you are afraid to attend dinner?"
Oskar stared at him. His shoulders were wedged against the upholstery, his head remained bent beneath the roof, and a man he could carry under one arm was lecturing him like a disobedient schoolboy.
His pride suffered considerably more than his face.
He searched desperately for something wise enough to turn the conversation in his favor.
"Ah, my man," he began, "but the scent of a rose always remains on the hand of the giver."
Karl blinked once, released Oskar's collar with one hand, and slapped him across the cheek.
The crack filled the compartment like a pistol shot. In the mirror, the driver caught enough of the exchange to decide that he should concentrate very carefully on the road and begin praying.
Oskar raised a hand to his burning cheek. The physical discomfort was manageable; the insult was not.
"How can you sla—"
"Stop talking nonsense," Karl barked. "You will get out of this car, walk up those steps, and greet your father. I will see whether I can find a bride. Neither of us will accomplish anything by hiding in here, and you will not disgrace us before we even reach the hall."
Oskar's free hand began to rise.
Karl slapped him with the other one.
The driver winced.
Apparently satisfied that he had restored order, Karl turned toward the door. Oskar lunged after him, caught his legs, and dragged him backward across the seat.
"How can you slap me?" he demanded, clambering over him in the cramped compartment. "How can you slap me, bad man?"
Karl struggled beneath him as Oskar shook him with all the offended indignation of an enormous dog whose favorite person had betrayed him. Knees struck upholstery, a shoe scraped against the door, and the Mercedes began rocking on its suspension.
Outside, several guests turned to stare. A footman paused halfway through opening a carriage door, his professional expression faltering.
The driver decided that whatever was happening had exceeded the responsibilities for which he was paid. He scrambled out, hurried around the vehicle, and pulled open the rear door just as Karl twisted sideways and drove the back of his head into Oskar's nose.
The prince's grip loosened. Karl wriggled free and tumbled through the open doorway, where the driver caught him before he reached the ground and hurriedly set him on his feet.
Inside the car, Oskar pressed a hand to his nose. A thin trickle of blood ran across his fingers.
Whispers spread among the waiting guests.
Karl straightened his jacket and departed without looking back. The driver retreated behind the wheel, clearly hoping that the rest of his evening might involve less direct contact with royalty.
Oskar remained where he was for a moment, breathing through his mouth while he attempted to recover his dignity. Then he wiped the blood away, arranged his face into what he hoped was an expression of princely indifference, and climbed out.
He retrieved his suitcase and shut the door. The Mercedes departed with a haste that suggested its driver had remembered an urgent appointment elsewhere.
Karl was already halfway up the steps, slipping between the arriving guests with the practiced ease of a man accustomed to avoiding inconvenient nobles.
"Slippery little monkey," Oskar muttered.
He adjusted his collar, squared his shoulders, and followed. Around him, people whispered while making determined efforts to appear occupied with something else.
Before the main banquet, the Imperial Family would gather for a smaller meal in one of the grand side halls overlooking the gardens. The Empress usually presided, with her children arranged according to rank and precedence.
To Oskar, it might as well have been enemy territory.
His relationship with the Empress and his siblings was not particularly harmonious. In truth, he could barely remember all their names. The original Oskar had apparently been distant and aloof, and his brothers had answered that reserve with enough mockery to make family gatherings unpleasant. His replacement had been too occupied with warships, lottery tickets, and cat sand to investigate precisely who had tormented whom.
He knew enough to expect trouble.
His father's warning and Karl's subsequent account had also made one matter painfully clear: Crown Prince Wilhelm had already suggested placing Oskar's company under "proper imperial control."
That was rather more difficult to dismiss than an insult in a corridor.
Oskar wanted nothing to do with the throne. He did not covet his brother's position, responsibilities, or future headaches. Being targeted despite that lack of ambition made the whole dispute seem both personal and spectacularly stupid.
He understood the Crown Prince's type well enough: jealous, conscious of rank, and unable to tolerate anyone nearby becoming impressive without permission.
Fortunately, Wilhelm was not yet Emperor. He could attend discussions, offer opinions, and make himself disagreeable, but their father still made the decisions. Even the Kaiser's authority, as Oskar understood it, was not identical to that of the ancient imperial autocrats he remembered studying. There were institutions, interests, and powerful men whose cooperation mattered.
Provided he offered no obvious excuse—no treason, no public disloyalty, and preferably no enormous scandal—his brother would not necessarily find it easy to destroy him, even after inheriting the crown.
And should everything become unbearable, there was always the possibility of buying an island and disappearing. He could become a very wealthy ghost with a German accent, spending his days lifting rocks and eating eggs.
The thought was reassuring, but it was not what he wanted. His future was tied to Germany now, and he would rather improve his position than be driven out of the country like an unwanted dog.
He tightened his grip on the suitcase and drew a steadying breath.
Tonight, he would stop hovering at the edge of his own life. He would enter the room, greet his family, and take his place at the table.
That resolution lasted until he reached the garden beside the illuminated hall and saw everyone gathered inside.
He hid behind a hedge.
Peering between frost-stiffened branches and through the tall windows, Oskar studied the family he had spent so much time avoiding.
At the head of the table sat a woman in her mid-forties, her posture perfectly straight and her dark hair arranged beneath a small tiara. Lace and soft curls framed her face, while a silver cross rested at the throat of a richly embroidered dark-blue gown. She possessed the stern composure of someone who believed equally firmly in God and proper table manners.
Oskar considered her for a moment, then reached out and tugged the sleeve of a nearby guard.
"My man," he whispered, "who is that old woman?"
The guard stiffened.
He followed Oskar's pointing finger, swallowed, and answered with considerable care.
"Your Highness, that is Her Majesty the Empress. Your mother."
Oskar nodded as though the answer had confirmed a private suspicion.
"Very good. My man knows things. But do you know her name, her age, what she likes? What does she think of mighty me?"
The guard looked briefly as though he regretted every decision that had led him into military service. Nevertheless, a prince was waiting for an answer.
"Her Majesty, Empress Auguste Viktoria," he said. "Forty-six, I believe. She is very devout, supports charitable works, and enjoys church music. She does not approve of impropriety or excessive noise."
"And me?" Oskar prompted.
The guard hesitated.
"Her Majesty is grateful that Your Highness survived the fall," he said at last. "She continues to pray for your recovery."
Oskar accepted this with a thoughtful nod. It was not quite the assessment he had hoped for, but at least nobody had mentioned disinheritance.
He indicated the other figures, and the unfortunate guard continued.
Crown Prince Wilhelm sat to the Empress's right, immaculate in uniform, his neat mustache and carefully composed expression familiar enough to require no introduction. He looked faintly bored, although Oskar suspected that this was merely how his face rested when he was not actively making someone miserable.
Beyond him sat Prince Eitel Friedrich, about twenty, dark-haired and solidly built, with the serious bearing of a soldier. Prince Adalbert wore naval blue and had a lean face and restless eyes that suggested he would rather have been aboard a ship. Prince August Wilhelm, perhaps nineteen, possessed softer features and appeared to be making a deliberate effort to look solemn.
The younger two were easier to distinguish. Prince Joachim, still in his mid-teens, shifted in his chair with poorly concealed impatience. Princess Viktoria Luise, the only daughter, wore a pale dress and watched the conversation with bright, curious eyes. She looked about twelve, with her hair carefully pinned and mischief never very far from her expression.
So these were the people he was expected to call his family.
Oskar straightened and clapped the guard on the shoulder.
"You are a smart man," he said approvingly. "I am very happy now."
The guard appeared relieved to have survived the examination.
Leaving the hedge, Oskar made his way into the hall with his suitcase in hand. Conversation faltered as he approached the table. Several heads turned fully toward him, taking in the enormous figure in the neatly pressed Prussian uniform, the combed hair, and the conspicuous absence of dirt.
He spotted an empty chair and decided that it was probably his. Before reaching it, he stopped and attempted a formal bow.
"Mother. Brothers. Sister," he began carefully. "I am very sorry to be late. But now, at least, I do not smell like sewers. I hope big brother is pleased."
The silence that followed was immediate.
Along the walls, servants maintained expressions of disciplined neutrality, although several had become noticeably rigid around the shoulders.
Crown Prince Wilhelm was the first to respond. He gave a light, polished laugh.
"Welcome, little brother. I see your speech remains as refined as ever."
A few strained smiles appeared around the table. Wilhelm turned his glass between his fingers, watching Oskar over the rim.
"But we must make allowances. I was just explaining that you are a great man now, a mighty businessman known throughout the Empire. Naturally, someone so important cannot always spare time for ordinary family matters." His smile sharpened slightly. "After all, family is not as important as money. That was what you told me, was it not?"
The Empress's expression changed. Her eyes moved from Wilhelm to Oskar with a mixture of displeasure and hurt.
Oskar had caught great man, famous, late, family, and money. The rest had passed too quickly for him to untangle, but the sudden attention around the table told him that something unpleasant had just happened.
He recognized a trap without understanding its mechanism.
Smiling seemed safer than attempting an argument.
"Ah, yes, my man," he said brightly. "Now, should we eat?"
Wilhelm gave a soft, incredulous chuckle.
Several of the others looked away. A servant fixed his gaze on a point beyond Oskar's shoulder with the determination of a man refusing to witness a catastrophe.
Oskar felt his smile stiffen. He did not need to understand every word to recognize the familiar arrangement of tight mouths, lowered eyes, and uncomfortable movements. He had managed to embarrass himself again.
Eitel Friedrich and Adalbert wore restrained, uneasy smiles. August Wilhelm adjusted a cuff that appeared to require no attention. Joachim and Viktoria Luise simply watched, uncertain whether they were supposed to laugh.
Irritation rose in Oskar's chest, directed as much at himself as at anyone else. He swallowed and forced himself to choose his next words slowly.
"I did not choose this life," he said. "I was born into it. Now I am trying to do the best I can with what I have. Can you say you are doing the same?"
This time, there was no confused proverb and no misplaced "my man." The words were simple enough for him to deliver clearly, and everyone understood them.
Wilhelm's face reddened.
"Unbelievable," he snapped. "Are you accusing me of idleness? At least I attended school and completed my education."
The other princes shifted in their seats.
Mocking Oskar had once required very little thought. He had been the peculiar fifth son, easy to ridicule and easier to dismiss. Now the household was receiving millions of marks from his business, and his promise to finance a battleship no longer sounded entirely absurd.
He remained ridiculous in many respects, but he was no longer insignificant.
None of his brothers appeared eager to oppose the Crown Prince openly. Neither, however, did they seem particularly interested in making an enemy of Oskar. The strained amusement around the table faded as Wilhelm's irritation became increasingly difficult to disguise.
"Enough," the Empress said.
Her voice cut cleanly through the exchange.
"You are brothers, and this bickering is disgraceful." She looked directly at the Crown Prince. "Wilhelm, leave Oskar alone. You know that he is still recovering from his fall. We should be grateful that he is alive and able to join us."
Being publicly instructed to show kindness to his supposedly injured brother did little to improve Wilhelm's temper. Nevertheless, he closed his mouth.
Oskar allowed himself a small breath of relief.
"And you, Oskar," the Empress continued, her tone softening, "may sit down and be at ease. It is Christmas Eve. His Majesty will host the larger gathering tonight, but first we should spend some time together as a family."
He understood sit down, be at ease, and family. That seemed sufficient.
He took his chair and placed the suitcase beside it, carefully ignoring the look the Crown Prince directed toward him.
Servants moved around the table with wine, pastries, cold meats, and fruit. Conversation gradually resumed, measured and cautious at first before returning to the familiar subjects of court life.
Oskar listened from behind what felt like an invisible wall. Their German twisted through long sentences and elaborate expressions, carrying references to people and events he barely remembered. By the time he understood the beginning of a joke, everyone else had already finished laughing.
He concentrated instead on their manners. He watched the way they held their knives and forks, kept their elbows away from the table, and touched napkins to their mouths without appearing to think about it. He attempted to copy them, with mixed results.
Eating proved considerably easier.
While his relatives nibbled, Oskar disposed of his portions and accepted more whenever an opportunity presented itself. The meal was intended as a modest prelude to the banquet, but by the time he had worked through the available cold meats and pastries, the imagined collapse of his muscles no longer seemed imminent.
For a few pleasant minutes, he began to think that the worst was over.
Then the Crown Prince raised his glass.
"Oskar, my brother," he said, loudly enough to draw the table's attention, "Christmas has arrived again, and I find myself wondering what you have prepared for Mother. We have already presented our gifts."
Everyone turned toward him.
Oskar caught his name, Mother, and gift. More importantly, he noticed the gleam in Wilhelm's eyes.
Another trap.
He rose, faced the Empress, and attempted to buy himself a moment with something complimentary.
"Mothers are the true gift to the world," he announced. "They make babies, and life continues. Yes, my man."
Nobody answered.
He had been reasonably certain that praising motherhood was a safe choice. Apparently, he had found a way to make even that uncomfortable.
"Yes," he continued, feeling the silence lengthen. "A very great gift. With Mother, it is always easier to eat more than to talk."
Why did I say that?
Several faces had settled into expressions of polite alarm.
Oskar cleared his throat and abandoned philosophy.
"But of course this handsome son has prepared a present for Mother."
He bent to open the suitcase, searched briefly among its contents, and lifted out a necklace that caught the candlelight in a glittering cascade.
It contained 108 diamonds, arranged and linked with a craftsmanship that even Oskar could appreciate. He had paid five hundred thousand marks for it to a very pleased Frenchman whose name he had already forgotten, although Karl had certainly remembered the receipt.
"This is for you, Mother," he said, holding it carefully. "I selected it myself. I hope you like it. Very nice necklace."
The table remained silent, but the quality of the silence had changed.
Unfortunately, Oskar failed to recognize the distinction.
He looked from the necklace to the Empress, saw that she had not immediately spoken, and began to panic. Perhaps he had misunderstood what mothers wanted. Perhaps there was some royal rule concerning jewelry that nobody had thought to explain.
He lowered the diamonds, reached into the suitcase again, and brought out a soft teddy bear.
"Or this, Mother," he offered. "A teddy bear. Also very nice."
The Empress half rose from her chair.
"No, Oskar. You misunderstand." She extended a hand toward the necklace. "I liked the first gift. The necklace."
Her attention remained fixed on the diamonds as though she feared they might disappear permanently beneath the stuffed animal.
Oskar blinked, then nodded in relief.
"Ah. Women and shiny things."
He returned the bear to the suitcase and presented the necklace again.
This time, there was no mistaking the response. The Empress's gaze followed every movement of the stones, and beside her, Viktoria Luise leaned forward with an almost identical expression. For a moment, mother and daughter appeared united by an understanding considerably more immediate than anything discussed over dinner.
"Oskar," the Empress said, smiling warmly, "you are such a thoughtful boy."
She accepted the necklace without hesitation, taking care that it did not catch against her sleeves.
Whatever she had expected from her strange fifth son that evening, it had plainly not been this. His peculiarities had not disappeared, but they seemed to have become considerably less troubling.
Oskar grinned.
"Beautiful mother, beautiful necklace. Very good combination."
Viktoria Luise looked from the diamonds to him and pouted.
"And where is my necklace, Brother Oskar? You always forget about me."
He understood enough to recognize a demand he had fortunately anticipated.
"How could I forget?" he replied. "Small pretty woman likes shiny things also. Do not be distressed, little woman. Your brother has prepared."
He reached into the suitcase and produced a second necklace. It was smaller and less extravagant than the Empress's gift, but still fine enough to hold the attention of everyone nearby.
"Here," he said, handing it to his sister. "Now you may smile and be quiet with a happy heart."
Her cheeks colored.
For a moment, Viktoria Luise appeared torn between taking offense and leaving immediately to try it on. The necklace won, although she made an effort not to let him see how decisively.
"Very well," she muttered, closing her fingers around it. "I shall keep it. But I am not wearing it for you. It is a stupid necklace anyway."
A quiet chuckle passed among the other princes.
The Crown Prince did not join them. His fingers had tightened around his glass until the knuckles showed white.
Oskar returned to his chair and took a cautious sip of wine, his heart still beating rather faster than he would have preferred.
Perhaps social life in this world was survivable after all, provided a man brought enough diamonds to cover his mistakes.