Re: Blood and Iron

Before Elsa could truly ask her father if his words were true, the Tsar himself found Bruno and the rest of the group still gathered in the hallway, discussing the painting.

And upon seeing that the subject of the portrait had finally had a chance to witness it in person, Nicholas — ever the jovial and lighthearted figure — couldn’t help but ask if the man had been pleased with the end result.

“There you are, my old friend. I heard from my staff that your car had arrived, but I hadn’t seen you yet, so I came rushing down to check. I see now why it took you so long — you looked at yourself in the mirror on the way to find me, didn’t you? Well? What do you think? Is it to your liking?”

Bruno turned back to the painting one more time, taking its image fully into his mind. Not thinking about what it meant to him — but about what it meant to everyone else who gazed upon its glory. Especially the future generations of the House of Romanov.

After a long and solemn contemplation, Bruno finally smirked and nodded in approval. He voiced the words he knew the Tsar wanted most to hear.

“It’s brilliant. It captures my regal and handsome features perfectly. Don’t you think, Elsa?”

Elsa looked at her father as if he had gone from being exceptionally humble to the most egotistical man alive in such a short span of time. She didn’t even recognize him anymore. The look of disbelief and disgust on her face did not go unnoticed — especially when she delivered the line that would echo through the halls of the Winter Palace in laughter for years to come.

“Who the hell are you, old man, and what did you do with my beloved father?”

Bruno tried his best to remain stoic, but the dagger of her words pierced even him — and instead, he burst out laughing. His laughter, in turn, disarmed her defenses, melting away years of social anxiety and the icy veneer she’d worn for so long.

Elsa giggled into her hands, so swept up in the moment she forgot she was in a semi-public setting. All her usual worries evaporated. Even the Tsar himself was momentarily struck silent by the sight.

Ultimately, however, Bruno knew that the path between the older and younger generations had to part here and now. His visit wasn’t for leisure — and it certainly wasn’t a vacation. He was in Russia to discuss the future of the world with the Tsar.

Elsa, on the other hand, was here to become more acquainted with her future husband. And so Bruno turned to Olga and gave his instruction.

“Olga, I trust you’ve developed the rare trait of wisdom by now — and will chaperone my daughter and your little brother with the utmost professionalism and courtesy while I take your father to discuss some dull matters that you kid would find much too uninspiring to join in on, yes?”

Olga immediately caught the gazes both her father and Bruno were giving her. She was the oldest — an adult in her own right. If anything went wrong with this get-together, she would be the one held accountable.

And because of that, she laid down a condition that damn near gave Bruno a heart attack.

“Of course, Your Royal Highness. If anything happens to your daughter that you find undesirable, I would be forced to pay for it with the only thing of value I have to offer you!”

Elsa and Alexei missed the meaning of the line completely — but Bruno didn’t. And while he tried to remain stoic, a faint stroke nearly gripped him right there on the spot.

Only after Olga had corralled the others off — somewhere open and still under the scrutinizing gaze of their family and staff — did Bruno finally release a heavy breath, placing a hand over his heart and muttering an honest confession.

“If that girl keeps teasing me in such a provocative manner, I won’t have to fear the next war — I’ll be dead and buried long before it arrives…”

Nicholas had understood Olga’s remark, too. It would’ve been the scandal of a lifetime if someone outside the family had heard it. Even so, he couldn’t help but pin the blame on Bruno.

After all — the man had crushed Olga’s teenage affections years ago, and now she had turned her bitterness into a game of public torment. The Tsar sighed dramatically and spoke in the same wry spirit:

“She clearly still fancies you. Are you absolutely certain you don’t want a mistress? You could house her in Moscow. My family has an estate or two collecting dust there. Your wife would never need to know.”

Bruno shot him a flat, cutting glare that made it very clear he was done entertaining this particular game. He redirected the conversation to the actual reason he’d come.

“I’ve already made my stance clear on that matter. Now… after such a grand welcoming, I find I’ve developed a thirst for vodka. Let’s go discuss what progress has been made these last two years — and whether or not I should extend the contract for another two.”

Nicholas could only sigh and shake his head as Bruno marched off toward the private office. For the second time, the man had refused to entertain any of Olga’s lingering affections. The Tsar followed behind, muttering with theatrical defeat:

“I’m sorry, Olga… but it seems I’m a failure of a father, after all. This man is too stalwart in his sense of honor to be tempted by such things. And I fear I don’t have the leverage or charisma to convince him to love you. It simply wasn’t meant to be…”

In silence, Nicholas swore never to bring up the subject again. He would speak to Olga about it — about her way of grieving over a crush that had long since turned to smoke. And soon, he resolved, he would need to find her a proper husband — someone to take her mind off such foolish notions.

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