Hanseatic Embassy, Beijing - April 22nd, 1940, Morning
Kylian stood before the full-length mirror in the bedroom he shared with Wolfgang, making minute adjustments to his uniform with meticulous attention to detail. The silver aiguillette required perfect positioning, each ceremonial cord falling in precise alignment, every single ruby inlay catching the morning light exactly as regulations specified. His fingers worked with efficiency, but beneath the surface routine, his mind churned with anticipation and unacknowledged anxiety.
Today was monumental, perhaps one of the most important events they would attend in their entire lives, he thought as he studied his reflection. The union of two ancient imperial dynasties, witnessed by dignitaries from across the world, would reshape the balance of power in East Asia. The Hanseatic Empire's presence mattered, and their conduct would be scrutinized by both their hosts and their rivals.
Outside, the weather was predictably beautiful, Beijing's spring seemed determined to provide perfect conditions for this historic occasion. Kylian hoped fervently that this meteorological blessing would prove a favorable omen for the day's events and for the fragile peace the marriage was meant to secure.
"Captains! We must leave immediately!" Minister von Hausen's voice carried up from the ground floor, sharp with urgency and barely concealed frustration.
The two officers had been awake since seven in the morning, but three hours had somehow evaporated in the seemingly endless process of donning their ceremonial uniforms and grooming themselves to diplomatic perfection. Every element had to be flawless—buttons aligned, braiding straight, boots polished to a mirror shine, hair styled according to Hanseatic military standards. For such an occasion, even the smallest imperfection could be interpreted as undignified.
Kylian glanced through the window and saw the embassy's staff cars already positioned in the circular driveway, engines idling, Chinese drivers standing at attention beside opened doors. The sight sent a jolt of urgency through him. They were cutting this far too close.
He applied the final touches to his appearance, one last adjustment to his collar, a final check of his ceremonial dagger's positioning, then moved quickly toward the stairs. Wolfgang was just finishing with his boots, hopping slightly as he pulled on the second one while simultaneously trying to maintain his balance and dignity.
Moments later, both officers appeared in the courtyard, moving with as much haste as military bearing would allow. "Apologies for the delay, Your Excellency," Kylian offered formally as they approached the waiting vehicles.
Minister von Hausen's expression conveyed wordless disapproval, his raised eyebrow spoke volumes about his opinion of junior officers who couldn't manage their time properly but he simply gave a curt nod and climbed into the lead vehicle. Chinese embassy workers opened the doors of the second car for the two officers, bowing respectfully as Kylian and Wolfgang slid into the back seat.
The streets of Beijing had been transformed overnight into a corridor of celebration. Red lanterns hung in such profusion that they created an almost continuous canopy of crimson paper and golden tassels, swaying gently in the morning breeze. The entire city seemed to pulse with festive energy, a mood of genuine optimism that both officers found both touching and somewhat heartbreaking given what they knew about Japanese intentions and the fragility of the peace this marriage was meant to guarantee.
Common people lined the streets despite the early hour, many already dressed in their finest clothes. Children waved small flags bearing imperial symbols, while vendors sold commemorative items and special foods prepared specifically for the wedding celebration. The atmosphere was electric with hope, hope that this union would finally bring the stability and peace that China so desperately needed after decades of internal chaos and external pressure.
"Look at them," Wolfgang observed quietly, his face pressed close to the car window. "They genuinely believe this marriage will change everything. That the Japanese will honor their promises and leave China in peace."
"Let's hope they're right," Kylian replied, though his tone carried little conviction. He had heard too many intelligence briefings, absorbed too much diplomatic cynicism to share the crowd's optimism. But he couldn't help admiring their faith, their willingness to believe in the possibility of a better future.
As their convoy approached the Forbidden City, the festive atmosphere gave way to something more formal and controlled. Security was immediately evident, far tighter than anything they had observed during previous visits. Chinese Imperial Guards stood in formation outside the massive gates, their distinctive blue uniforms creating a striking visual contrast against the ubiquitous red decorations. Kylian estimated several hundred guards visible from the street alone, with certainly many more stationed throughout the palace complex.
The security presence spoke to very real concerns about threats to the ceremony from anti-Japanese protesters, from regional warlords opposed to the alliance, from Communist agitators who saw the marriage as a betrayal of Chinese sovereignty. The Imperial Guard was taking no chances that this historic event would be disrupted by violence.
Diplomatic vehicles from dozens of nations lined the broad avenue leading to the palace gates. They recognized flags from Britain, the United States, France, The Netherlands, and numerous Asian kingdoms and republics. Every power with interests in East Asia had sent representatives to witness this moment and to calculate how it would affect their own strategic positions.
As their car came to a halt at the main gates, Foreign Minister von Hausen turned in his seat to address the two officers, his expression one of unmistakable disappointment. "We are late, it seems," he stated flatly.
Both officers' eyebrows rose in alarm. Being late to an imperial wedding, particularly one of this significance was a serious breach of protocol that could embarrass the entire Hanseatic delegation.
"Your Excellency, I sincerely hope the Chinese will not form a negative impression of our delegation because of this," Wolfgang said as he quickly exited the vehicle, trying to maintain dignity while hurrying.
"Do not worry excessively," von Hausen replied, his tone slightly softening. "We are honored guests, and they will make allowances. But we must proceed immediately, or this will indeed reflect poorly on the Hanseatic Empire. Quickly now."
Ambassador von Rottberg and Minister von Hausen led their small delegation toward the gates with purposeful stride even as they knew they were behind schedule but refused to appear flustered. Both younger officers followed, their longer legs allowing them to keep pace without looking like they were rushing.
Upon passing through the massive gates, they entered a world that seemed to exist outside ordinary time. The Forbidden City was indeed bustling with activity, but it was choreographed activity—thousands of servants, officials, and guards all moving according to precise protocols established over centuries. The scale and significance of the spectacle became immediately apparent.
A delegation of palace servants, led by a senior eunuch whose elaborate robes marked his high rank within the palace hierarchy, approached to greet them. The eunuch bowed with practiced grace, his movements conveying both welcome and subtle reproach for their late arrival.
"Honored guests from the Hanseatic Empire," he intoned in English, "we are pleased you have arrived. Please follow, the ceremony will begin very shortly. We must make haste."
Just as they prepared to follow their escorts toward the ceremonial courtyard, Kylian felt a sudden, sickening realization. His hand moved instinctively to his chest, and his fingers confirmed his worst fear. The silver aiguillette, the ceremonial cord that was an essential part of his dress uniform was loose. The securing hook had somehow worked free during the car ride, and the entire elaborate piece was in danger of falling off completely.
This could not be happening. Not now. Not at an imperial wedding attended by half the diplomatic corps of Asia.
"Your Excellency," Kylian said urgently, forcing himself to keep his voice level despite rising panic, "I have a problem. My aiguillette is coming loose, the hook has failed. I'm afraid it will fall off entirely if I don't secure it properly."
Von Hausen turned to face him, and his eyes widened with an expression that conveyed far more than any words could. Disappointment, frustration, disbelief that such a thing could happen at precisely the worst possible moment, all of it was visible in that single look.
"We don't have time for this, Captain von Reichsgraf," von Hausen stated firmly. "Properly securing it will take several minutes at minimum. The ceremony is about to begin. We must proceed now."
"I understand completely, Your Excellency, but I would not look dignified appearing at an imperial wedding with my uniform in disarray," Kylian insisted, already working to keep the loose cord from falling. "It would reflect poorly on the entire delegation. Please, give me just a few minutes."
Wolfgang sighed heavily, caught between his friend's predicament and the diplomatic urgency of their situation. "Your Excellency, I'll remain with Kylian and escort him to the ceremony once his uniform is properly secured," he offered.
Von Hausen and Ambassador von Rottberg exchanged meaningful glances, both clearly calculating the relative embarrassments of arriving late versus arriving with an officer in improper uniform. The servants waiting to escort them were growing visibly anxious, palace schedules were precise, and delays created cascading problems.
"No, Wolfgang," Kylian interjected, recognizing the stress his problem was creating. "You should go with His Excellency. This will take time to fix properly, and there's no reason for both of us to be late. I'll join you as soon as possible."
The three members of the delegation nodded reluctantly, accepting this compromise as the least problematic option. They turned to follow their increasingly agitated Chinese escorts, leaving Kylian behind with a single elderly eunuch who had been assigned to assist with his uniform crisis.
The eunuch led Kylian quickly to a nearby servants' preparation room, a small chamber filled with sewing supplies, spare fabric, and various tools for making emergency repairs to court dress. Without speaking a common language, they nonetheless communicated through gestures and shared understanding of the problem.
Kylian removed his coat entirely, allowing better access to the faulty hook mechanism. The servant examined it with experienced eyes, then set to work with needle and reinforcing thread. His fingers moved with the practice of someone who had spent decades maintaining the elaborate costumes of court life.
Minutes crawled by with agonizing slowness. Kylian could hear distant sounds of the ceremony beginning—announcements being made, the shuffle of thousands of officials taking their positions. Every second he delayed increased the disruption his late arrival would cause.
Finally, After what felt like an eternity but was probably only five or six minutes, the hook was properly secured and the silver aiguillette hung in perfect position once more. The threads had been reinforced so thoroughly that the piece was now as if it had just left the manufacturer.
"Thank you," Kylian said earnestly to the servant, bowing deeply despite the language barrier. The elderly man smiled and returned the bow, pleased to have solved the crisis.
"Xiè xiè," Kylian added, using one of the few Chinese phrases he had learned—thank you. The servant's smile widened considerably at this small gesture of cultural respect.
The eunuch then gestured urgently for Kylian to follow, and they set off at the fastest pace compatible with maintaining dignity through the palace complex.
As Kylian approached the vast courtyard where the wedding ceremony was taking place, he was completely unprepared for the grand scale of what awaited him. The sounds changed as he drew closer, the bustle and chatter of servants gave way to an almost eerie silence despite the presence of what must be thousands of people. It was the silence of perfect discipline, of ceremony so formal that even breathing seemed regulated by protocol.
The courtyard itself was a masterpiece of imperial stagecraft. Seats had been arranged in perfect geometric rows, organized according to strict hierarchies of rank and diplomatic importance. A broad carpet of brilliant red silk ran down the central axis, leading from the Meridian Gate toward the elevated throne platform. Everywhere he looked, he saw red in decorations, in official robes, in ceremonial banners punctuated by golden dragons embroidered, carved, or painted on every surface of significance.
The Emperor himself was to be sat on an elaborately carved throne positioned on the high terrace, elevated above all others, facing southward along the palace's central axis. This positioning was deeply symbolic, representing his role as the cosmic center around which all civilization revolved. The ancient principles of Chinese cosmology were made manifest in architectural and ceremonial form.
Kylian's eyes scanned the enormous gathering, trying to locate his own delegation. He could see thousands of Chinese court officials in their formal robes, their ranks indicated by subtle variations in color, embroidery, and hat decorations. Foreign guests occupied separate pavilions arranged around the courtyard's periphery, he spotted European dignitaries in the Western Pavilion, including what appeared to be the British and American ambassadors to China, both in full diplomatic dress.
Imperial Guards stood at every corner and gateway, their presence both ceremonial and genuinely protective. The security was extraordinary, a visible reminder that this wedding, however carefully choreographed, was taking place in a time of profound instability.
Kylian found himself suddenly vulnerable and isolated in this ordered, silent mass of humanity. All he could hear was the distant sound of ceremonial music, strings and wind instruments playing ancient melodies and the subtle rustling of thousands of silk robes moving in the slight breeze.
The eunuch led him not toward the Western Pavilion where foreign guests were congregated, but along a covered corridor that flanked the eastern side of the massive courtyard. They approached a special elevated pavilion, separated from the main court by intricately carved marble balustrades. The craftsmanship was extraordinary, dragons and phoenixes intertwined in patterns that seemed to shift and flow as one's perspective changed. This was clearly a place of exceptionally high honor, positioned close to the imperial family's own seating.
As they drew closer, Kylian saw with relief that Minister von Hausen, Ambassador von Rottberg, and Wolfgang were already seated. All three looked up as he approached, their expressions showing gladness at his arrival mixed with concern about the situation.
But then Kylian noticed something wrong. There were only three ornate, red-lacquered chairs in the Hanseatic pavilion. His three countrymen occupied them all. There was no fourth seat for him.
The mathematical impossibility of the situation hit all four men simultaneously. One seat was missing. The seating arrangements had somehow failed to account for the full size of their delegation.
A high-ranking Chinese official, recognizing the problem immediately, hurried over to Minister von Hausen. His face showed genuine distress, errors in seating arrangements at an event of this magnitude were serious embarrassments that could have career-ending consequences.
"Honored Minister, please accept our profound apologies," the official said in careful English, his voice pitched low to avoid drawing attention. "There has been a most unfortunate misunderstanding regarding the seating arrangements for your delegation."
"What do you propose we do?" von Hausen asked quietly, his tone conveying that while he understood mistakes happened, this was nonetheless unacceptable. "We cannot simply leave one of our officers standing throughout the ceremony."
"We will find a solution immediately," the official assured him, though his expression suggested he had no idea what that solution might be. "Please, I beg your patience for just a moment. We are immensely sorry for this error."
Wolfgang looked up at Kylian with an expression mixing sympathy and amusement at the absurdity of the situation. Kylian returned a slight smile, but he felt acutely like an outsider now, A man without a place in this carefully ordered world. Officials throughout the courtyard were taking their designated positions, the ceremony's beginning imminent. His presence standing awkwardly in the pavilion was beginning to draw curious glances from nearby dignitaries.
The Chinese official summoned a subordinate and spoke rapidly in Mandarin, gesturing urgently. The man departed at a near-run as much speed as protocol would allow, returning several minutes later with what appeared to be good news.
"Honored guests," the official said, returning to von Hausen with visible relief on his face, "we have found an available seat for your officer. We are deeply sorry for this confusion and the inconvenience it has caused your delegation."
"Where is this seat located?" von Hausen asked, his tone firm. "I hope it will not be too far from our pavilion? It would be inappropriate for our delegation to be unnecessarily scattered."
"Not far at all, Your Excellency," the official assured him quickly. "In fact, we have found a seat immediately adjacent to the imperial family's pavilion. The Minister of Rites was expected to occupy it, but he has fallen ill this morning and will not be attending the ceremony. The Captain may take his position. Under the circumstances, we felt this compromise was most appropriate, it maintains your delegation's proximity to the ceremonial center while solving our logistical difficulty."
The Hanseatic delegation's eyebrows rose in collective surprise. A seat adjacent to the imperial family? That was an extraordinary honor far beyond what protocol would normally grant to a junior military officer, regardless of how prestigious his nation.
"The Imperial family's section?" von Hausen repeated, wanting to ensure he had understood correctly. This seemed almost too convenient, and he wondered briefly if some deeper game was being played.
"Yes, Your Excellency," the official confirmed. "We recognize this is highly irregular, but the ceremony must begin momentarily, and we have no other available seating of appropriate dignity for your officer. We hope this arrangement will be acceptable despite its unconventional nature."
"It is understandable given the circumstances," von Hausen replied simply, then looked directly at Kylian and gave a single, firm nod. The message was clear: accept this seat, maintain perfect protocol, and represent the Empire with distinction despite the awkward situation.
Kylian understood. There was no choice, really—he had to take the seat offered or remain standing like a servant throughout the hours-long ceremony. That would be far more embarrassing than accepting a seat in an unusual location.
"Please follow me, honored sir," the official said in hushed tones, gesturing for Kylian to accompany him quickly.
As Kylian followed the official through the arranged seating, he walked past the Japanese pavilion, which occupied an even more elevated and prominent position than the Hanseatic one. This made perfect sense—they were, after all, providing the groom for this union. The pavilion's positioning, its elaborate decorations, and its proximity to the Emperor's throne all proclaimed Japan's status as the most honored foreign guest at this ceremony.
Kylian kept his eyes forward, but he could feel the stares from the Japanese dignitaries as he passed. He caught fragments of whispered conversation in Japanese, A language he didn't speak but whose tone conveyed clear surprise and perhaps suspicion. What was this foreign officer doing walking past their pavilion toward the imperial family's section? The positioning seemed to suggest honor beyond his rank or nation's status. He could practically feel their eyes boring into his back, calculating what this placement might mean diplomatically.
He tried to maintain perfect composure, to pretend he neither noticed nor cared about their scrutiny. But inside, he felt acutely self-conscious about the attention his unusual seating was generating.
When Kylian finally arrived at his designated seat and saw who sat immediately beside it, his heart nearly stopped.
Princess Changning.
The seat of the missing Minister of Rites was directly adjacent to the Third Princess of the Jin Dynasty.
His chest tightened painfully. His breathing became shallow and rapid. He had never expected this, of all the seats in this vast courtyard, of all the possible places he might be positioned, he was being placed in close proximity to the one person he had been trying desperately to avoid. The person whose very presence seemed to undo all his careful emotional control.
This had to be some cosmic joke. Some test of his discipline and resolve. Or perhaps, the thought struck him with sudden force—this was deliberate. Had someone arranged this? But who? And why?
Princess Changning wore robes of deep blue silk that seemed to capture and hold light in their folds, making her appear almost luminous in the morning sun. Her hair was arranged in an even more elaborate style than usual, held in place by what appeared to be dozens of jade and gold hairpins arranged in patterns of extraordinary complexity. There was something about her appearance today that made her even more striking than he remembered, perhaps it was the formal grandeur of her dress, or perhaps it was simply that his feelings had intensified during their separation.
"This is your seat, honored sir," the official whispered urgently. "Please take it immediately. The ceremony is about to begin, and any further delay will be noticed."
Kylian took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He approached the seat with measured steps, then offered a formal bow toward Princess Changning, acknowledging her presence with the respect her rank demanded.
"Your Highness," he said simply, his voice admirably steady despite his internal turmoil.
The Princess acknowledged him with the slightest inclination of her head and a brief smile that might have been merely polite or might have carried deeper meaning—he couldn't tell. Then she immediately returned her attention to the ceremonial preparations, her face composed in the serene mask that royal protocol required.
Kylian took his seat, acutely aware of every inch of space between them, perhaps two feet, maybe less. Close enough to detect the subtle scent of jasmine and citrus that seemed to follow her. Close enough to observe the minute movements of her breathing, the occasional flutter of her eyelashes, the precise way her hands rested in her lap.
The air between them felt electrically charged, almost crackling with unspoken awareness. He felt paralyzed by her proximity, by the impossible situation he found himself in. He desperately wanted to look at her, to study her profile, to see if she felt any echo of what he was experiencing. But such staring would be profoundly improper, especially given the scrutiny they were already receiving.
The Japanese dignitaries in their elevated pavilion were still watching him, he could feel it. Their whispers had increased. Clearly they were disturbed by the fact that a foreign officer had been given positioning right next to an imperial princess when it was they who were supposed to be the most honored guests. Some might interpret his placement as a subtle insult to Japan, suggesting that even a relatively junior Hanseatic officer deserved positioning equal to an imperial princess, while Japanese ambassadors sat separately in their own pavilion.
Kylian recognized in this moment that his accidental placement had inadvertently created diplomatic tension. Palace officials were probably noticing. Court gossips were certainly whispering. And he was the unwitting center of attention from multiple quarters.
He utilized everything his upbringing and training had taught him—perfect posture, eyes forward, expression neutral, breathing controlled. He would maintain absolute protocol. He would give no one any reason to question his conduct or to suggest impropriety.
But his proximity to Princess Changning was making his mind and heart profoundly uneasy. Every fiber of his being was hyperaware of her presence beside him. He hoped desperately that the ceremony would begin soon and provide some distraction from the overwhelming feelings threatening to consume him.
Then, cutting through the hushed anticipation like thunder, a massive bronze bell in a nearby tower was struck three times. The deep, resonant sound washed over the entire Forbidden City, felt as much as heard. It seemed to reach into one's chest and resonate with one's heartbeat.
Absolute silence fell over the courtyard. Even the subtle rustling of silk robes ceased. Thousands of people became as still as statues.
An announcer's voice, trained to carry across vast spaces, proclaimed with formal authority: "His Imperial Majesty, the Son of Heaven, the Dragon Emperor, approaches!"
Every official in the courtyard, thousands of men in elaborate robes dropped into an even deeper, more formal posture of reverence. Those already seated bowed from the waist. Those standing performed full prostrations. The coordinated movement of so many people created its own sound, a massive susurration of silk against silk, of bodies moving in perfect synchronization.
The entire courtyard's attention focused on the throne platform as the Emperor's procession emerged from within the Hall of Supreme Harmony itself. His Majesty appeared in robes of brilliant yellow silk, the imperial color, forbidden to all others embroidered so extensively with golden dragons that the fabric seemed to move with serpentine life. The craftsmanship was extraordinary, representing thousands of hours of work by the empire's finest artisans.
China's cultural sophistication, its artistic traditions stretching back millennia, its claims to civilization itself, all were made manifest in that single garment and in the elaborate ceremony surrounding its wearer.
The Emperor took his seat upon the Dragon Throne with the deliberate, measured movements that ceremony required. Every gesture was symbolic, every moment choreographed according to protocols established centuries ago. He was not merely a man taking a seat, he was the cosmic center of civilization assuming his proper position in the universal order.
Then Princess Anle emerged, walking with confidence, accompanied by a much younger child whose appearance immediately captured everyone's attention. This was Crown Prince Jia Hao, heir to the Dragon Throne and the future of the Jin Dynasty. Despite their physical separation in the courtyard, both Kylian and Wolfgang recognized the young prince simultaneously, their eyes drawn to the small figure processing with careful dignity toward the imperial platform.
The Crown Prince could not have been more than twelve years old, yet he wore robes of the same brilliant yellow silk as his father, the imperial color that marked him as heir apparent. The garments were elaborate beyond description, covered in embroidered dragons that seemed to writhe with golden life as he moved. Despite the weight of ceremony surrounding him and the elaborate costume that must have been uncomfortable in the warming morning, the young prince's face carried an expression of innocent incomprehension. He seemed oblivious to the true significance of this wedding, to the political calculations and desperate hopes that had brought thousands of people to witness his sister's marriage to a foreign prince. Princess Anle and Crown Prince Jia Hao then took their designated seats beside their father, completing the imperial family's formal arrangement on the elevated platform.
Now everyone was in their designated places. The vast machinery of imperial ceremony was finally ready to proceed.
Another announcement rang out, the announcer's voice carrying triumph and solemnity in equal measure: "By the grace of Heaven and the blessing of the ancestors, the Imperial Wedding Ceremony commences!"
Kylian sat beside Princess Changning, his heart pounding, his breath shallow, every sense heightened to painful intensity. The ceremony that would unite two ancient dynasties and reshape the fate of nations was beginning.
And he could think of nothing except the woman sitting two feet away from him, close enough to touch yet separated by an unbridgeable gulf of protocol, rank, and the Consort's warning that still echoed in his memory: There are consequences worse than any fate you might imagine.