The imperial breakfast table was, by design, a modest affair by royal standards.
White linens, porcelain dishes, freshly baked rolls, soft-boiled eggs in silver holders, everything just understated enough to suggest tradition, not excess.
The great windows of Bellevue Palace bathed the dining room in a pale spring light.
Outside, the Tiergarten glistened with dew, and a light breeze stirred the hedges with the promise of an early summer.
Eva sat beside her husband, Prince Wilhelm, his uniform coat draped over the chair beside him.
Across the table sat the Kaiser himself, Wilhelm II, older now, white of mustache and somewhat slower in movement, but no less sharp in wit.
And next to Eva, their eldest son, young Bruno, sat swinging his legs beneath the chair, eyes darting between his buttered toast and the morning paper that the Kaiser had just dramatically unfolded with a rustling snap.
