Re: Blood and Iron

As von Bethmann had promised, he worked throughout the remainder of the evening and deep into the night, coordinating with the appropriate departments to ensure that the conspirators among the Reichstag—and their affiliated party members—were arrested before they could organize a full-scale revolt.

This marked the final death knell for the SDP, now officially banned as a political extremist organization deemed seditious and revolutionary in nature. Evidence gathered during raids on the party’s headquarters—and from the homes of its members—was more than enough to justify their arrest under charges of conspiracy against the Reich.

Other parties that had aligned themselves with the so-called “moderate bloc” were also investigated. Officers armed with warrants seized any materials that could lead to the identification and capture of additional revolutionaries.

Nobody dared resist—certainly not when the raids were carried out under the watchful protection of the Kaiser’s Secret Police, who arrived in full gear and made it very clear that any resistance would be met with overwhelming force.

And just like that, in a single night, the Reichstag had been reduced to little more than a prop—an illusion of “people’s power” shattered beyond repair—its last pretense of democratic relevance swept away in a single, silent night..

The next morning, Bruno sipped his coffee in peace after his workout and post-shower routine, seated comfortably with a hearty breakfast before him. Across the table, newspapers spilled with dramatic headlines about the arrests—exposing the corruption and conspiracy that had, overnight, been rooted out with surgical precision.

As he read, he noticed Eva fidgeting across the table—restless in a way that drew his attention. Lowering the paper slightly, he raised a brow and asked in a concerned tone:

“Is something the matter? Are you not feeling well, baby girl?”

Eva blinked, realizing she’d drawn her father’s focus unintentionally. She quickly straightened and gave a small, sheepish shake of her head.

“Forgive me, Father—I didn’t mean to disturb your morning coffee. But when I saw the headline, I grew a bit impatient waiting for you to finish reading it.”

Bruno tilted his head slightly, confused for a beat—until the realization hit.

“Oh,” he muttered, folding the paper neatly and handing it to her without hesitation.

She accepted it with a quiet “thank you,” and her siblings didn’t even look twice—clearly, this was normal. They went back to eating or carrying on their conversations, leaving Bruno to observe his daughter with renewed interest.

He watched as Eva’s eyes scanned the page—not skimming, not guessing, but processing the contents with laser precision. She read quickly, yes, but it wasn’t aimless. He saw the faint flicker in her eyes as she reacted to details, her brow subtly twitching in thought.

“How long have you been reading the morning paper?” he asked finally. “And why do you even care about the drivel they print in it?”

Eva scoffed and rolled her eyes, as if the question was beneath her.

“For the same reason you read it, Father,” she said with a measured tone. “I like to know what’s going on in the world—especially within my own country. How else am I supposed to support my future husband when he takes the throne if I remain ignorant of its people and their problems?”

Bruno chuckled—loudly—thinking it a joke. But when no one else joined him, and when Heidi in particular gave him a look as though he’d just mocked the girl’s dreams, the laughter died in his throat. He cleared it awkwardly and shifted in his seat.

“You’re serious?” he asked.

“Yes, Father,” Eva replied without missing a beat, her expression calm, resolute.

Bruno leaned back slightly, setting down his cup. “Sweetie, I don’t read the paper to learn anything. I control the paper. It’s propaganda—tailored to the narrative which I decide the public needs to believe that week. I invested in ownership of the Press for a reason.”

He gave a casual shrug. “He who controls the news controls the people. If you really wanted to know what’s actually going on, you could’ve come to me. My door’s always open—if you want a lecture in politics or philosophy. Of course, I’d prefer if you knocked first…”

That drew an unexpected reaction. Heidi nearly choked on her eggs, and Eva lowered the paper, stunned.

“Wait… are you serious?” she asked.

Bruno blinked. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Eva’s shock melted into a warm, almost radiant smile. She nodded, perhaps a bit too quickly, as if afraid he might rescind the offer in the very next second.

“Not at all, Father. In fact, I’d be happy to spend time with you. Do you mind if I come by later today?”

Bruno gave an eager grin in return, matching hers with genuine warmth.

“Of course. Drop by whenever you like—just knock first.”

And just like that, the lingering question that had quietly gnawed at Bruno for weeks—what the hell do I do for leisure—was answered. He was not a man for movies, books, or hunting for sport. No, he was a man which groomed his children for leadership over kingdoms, empires, and armies.

Because of this, he and Eva would share a breakfast that was filled with intrigue and political debate. First, about the ongoing actions taken against the dissidents within the German political system, and second about any other affairs that came up during the remainder of their time together.

This gave Bruno a good gauge on the girl’s education, which, while advanced, was far too naïve, too kind to understand the position she would one day have to fulfill as the future Kaiserin.

And because of this, Bruno had decided his first formal lecture on the realm of politics with his eldest daughter would not be on the politics of the day, but the brutal reality of them when stripped of the veneer, and livery of the false mask which it wore for the sake of public consumption.

Bruno was, after all, a pragmatist first, and an ideologue second, and his daughter would learn why this was the case when she came to his office later that day. By the time she left his office, the world would look a little less beautiful to her—and a little more real.