Published at 27th of February 2026 7:01 am

Chapter 883: Christmas

This chapter is updated by JustRead.pl

Christmas day came faster than Bruno had predicted it would. He, Heidi, their daughter Erika, his son-in-law Paul, and his grandchildren had all gathered for Christmas mass at the Hagia Sophia.

They walked into the building without ceremony. Just another face in the crowd. If it weren’t for the fact that many of the people recognized their King, there would have been no attraction to the royal family whatsoever.

Bruno stood by his son-in-law as they greeted the parish before eventually finding their way to the pews.

There they knelt in silence as the service began. Bruno had never actually attended and Orthodox mass before.

The chanting began not from a single voice, but from many. It rose from somewhere unseen behind the iconostasis, low and resonant, swelling like a tide against the ancient stone. The cadence alone carried weight. It was less structured than the Latin masses he had known; less rigid, yet somehow older.

Incense drifted through the nave in slow, deliberate spirals. It clung to the air beneath the great dome, catching the light that filtered through the high windows in pale shafts. Icons gleamed in gold leaf and deep blues, saints staring down not with accusation, but with witness.

There was more standing than kneeling. More participation than silence. The congregation answered in unison at certain intervals, their voices weaving into the priest’s intonations. It felt less like an audience observing a ritual, and more like a body remembering something together.

Bruno found himself unexpectedly moved by that.

In Catholic mass, he had always felt the structure of hierarchy; priest above parish, altar elevated, the divine mediated. Here, beneath the dome that had survived empire after empire, the distinction felt thinner. Not gone, but humbly.

He closed his eyes briefly, allowing the sound to wash over him without analysis.

For once, he did not measure the moment in history.

He simply allowed it to exist.

Though many of his views on spirituality and religion were closer in line with the Orthodox tradition than the Catholic one he professed himself to be. It was not until this day that he actually sat through an Orthodox sermon.

The service went on without interruption, reminding the people of Constantinople what the cost of salvation had truly been, and what repentance actually was.

In the end, Bruno paid his tithe and walked out of the Cathedral, taking one last look upon its marvel. Wondering if this would be the final time he would see its glory in this life.

Heidi could instantly tell he was thinking and grabbed his hand, curling it into her own, as she brought herself into his proximity.

"So, was it all that you thought it would be?"

Bruno walked in silence for a short while until finally nodding his head in approval.

"It was...."

Heidi smiled, not bothering to pester the man any further about a topic he usually kept close to his heart.

All the while Erika approached her parents and asked them a far more mundane question.

"I can’t believe it’s the first Christmas where you both are here instead of at the family estate. I wonder what they are all doing without their gracious hosts to look after them?"

Erika was practically snickering imagining the family tradition collapsing into mayhem without her father there to maintain order.

But Bruno knowing his children well enough had a boring answer for his daughter.

"I suppose Erwin is running things in my absence... We didn’t really discuss the matter in depth."

---

Bruno was right to assume that Erwin, his eldest son, had assumed the mantle of hosting the family Christmas celebration while their patriarch and matriarch were away in Constantinople.

And if Erwin was being honest he was completely out of his depth. Not because he couldn’t manage his uncles, cousins, children, or grandchildren. But because his sisters were a nightmare to keep under control without their father around.

What was normally a yearly tradition of gambling over the yearly kickboxing tournament quickly turned into a catfight between Elsa and Eva, who began bragging about their sons’ achievements in the war.

Bruno the Younger and Nicholas simply shook their heads in dismay, watching their mothers fight over which of their sons was more impressive. They both knew that while they had truly earned the lower degree of medals pinned to their chests, their positions as future emperors all but guaranteed them some degree of privilege in selection for honors they otherwise didn’t deserve.

But tell that to their mothers, both of which were immensely proud of their sons, and had been in a rivalry since they were children.

Eva of course started the dispute, mentioning how her son was a decorated Gebirgsjäger who had held the line in Sicily, and had even led the offensive that saw the Americans encircled and annihilated.

And there was definitely some partial truth to this, but the reality was Eva was embellishing his deeds by quite a large margin on the second half of her claim.

Elsa, refusing to call her sister on her lies out of respect and decorum, instead made a slight remark about Nicholas’ role in the capture of Anchorage. And from there, the two of them kept at it.

All the while the sons in questions drank in silence, clearly embarrassed by their mothers’ behavior.

It wasn’t until Erich approached the two of them, the litany of medals earned in blood and iron pinned to his general officer’s uniform that the two of them suddenly felt ashamed rather than embarrassed.

Erich stood slightly apart from the others, not by exclusion, but by habit. Even in civilian settings, men gave him space without consciously meaning to.

It was something in the way he carried himself; shoulders squared not out of pride, but vigilance. His eyes moved often, unconsciously cataloging exits, sightlines, and shadows.

The medals on his uniform were not decorative. They were not the polished symbols of ceremony worn for prestige. Each ribbon, each iron cross, had been earned in mud, frost, and blood. Unlike his younger cousins, there was no ambiguity about how they had been obtained.

Several of the younger officers present in the family gathering straightened subtly when he passed. They did not salute; that would have been absurd at Christmas. But instinct ran deeper than etiquette.

Erich noticed.

He always noticed.

Yet he did not linger in it. He did not posture, nor correct. He simply sipped his drink, expression unreadable, as if the weight of recognition were something he had long ago stopped engaging with.

For a moment, his gaze drifted toward the fire crackling in the hearth.

There had been winters when the only warmth he had known came from burning villages and artillery flashes. This one smelled of pine and spiced wine.

It was almost foreign.

Almost.

Then he returned his attention to his cousins, offering them the rare kindness of humor rather than the edge of truth.

"It is days like this I’m glad my mother comes from a simple background. Else she would have gall to compete with my aunts about our achievements and then I too would wish to bury my head in the snow...."

Neither of the two men knew how to react to this statement. They stood there in utter disbelief until Bruno the Younger broke out laughing. Nicholas quickly followed, and finally Erich joined them.

Ultimately Erwin was forced to step in as Eva and Elsa’s little debate was attracting the attention of their family.

"Alright, the two of you, enough.... Go watch the fights and stop arguing about such a useless subject. If I hear either of you mention your sons again to one another, I will call father, and he will have some words to say!"

The mere mention of calling Bruno on his vacation to Greece, and interrupting the time he was having with their youngest sister was enough to stop Eva and Elsa dead in their tracks.

They didn’t bow their heads and apologize to their brother, like they would to their father. But they did walk off to the palace theater where they began their yearly tradition of watching the annual Kickboxing World Grand Prix unfold.

Alya approached her husband and rubbed her shoulders from behind, while soothing him.

"You did well, handling those two when they get like this is something I have only ever see your father manage."

Erwin sighed heavily and drank his own glass of Eierpunsch. Shaking his head while commenting on the state of affairs.

"My family...."

Erwin watched his sisters disappear into the palace theater, their argument already dissolving into shared excitement over the upcoming fights.

The noise of the gathering resumed its familiar rhythm; laughter, glasses clinking, children weaving between chairs.

He glanced instinctively toward the head of the table.

The chair was empty.

For decades, that space had anchored the room. Not through volume, nor intimidation, but through gravity. Disputes ended when their father spoke. Pride softened when he entered. Even joy seemed to organize itself around him.

Now the responsibility rested, quietly and without announcement, upon Erwin’s shoulders. Not to dominate, nor to command, but to contain.

He exhaled slowly and straightened his posture. Authority, he realized, was not loud. It was exhausting.

Share