Oskar woke before dawn, unusually rested, in a room that no longer resembled a prince's chambers so much as a luxury AngelWorks maternity suite.
Two cribs stood ready against the wall.
The entire floor was covered with a thick, soft mat so that if a baby ever fell, there'd be more surprise than injury. Every sharp corner in the room had been wrapped in cushions or padding.
Piles of tiny cotton clothes—shirts, socks, little caps—lay folded on the dresser.
A new rocking chair gleamed beside the bed.
Baby bottles waited in a neat row.
An absurdly expensive pair of "Royal Infant Tooth & Hair Brushes" (AngelWorks limited edition) sat on a silver tray.
Shelves were stacked with AngelWorks diapers and baby powder.
He stared at it all for a moment, half admiring the creativity and enthusiasm Tanya and Anna had poured into the preparations—with some help from him—and half overwhelmed by the sheer reality of it.
I've basically turned my bedroom into a baby-proofed nursery…
Tanya stirred on his right, soft blonde hair like silk against his arm.
Anna shifted on his left, dark lashes fluttering, her rounded belly rising and falling with every slow breath.
They were both so heavily pregnant now that even turning over needed planning.
Yesterday he had stood in a confessional, trying to justify not just his relationship with them, but his entire vision for Germany—to the Church, to his mother, to his furious little sister. He wanted to marry these two women properly, not separately. He knew a prince was expected to marry some noble lady at some point, but he cared very little for what was expected.
At this point, he didn't need a noble bride for fame or power. If a truly good match appeared—say, a Russian princess with real political value—he wouldn't be opposed to adding another woman to his life. But his heart and his bed already belonged to these two.
And as ridiculous as his speech to the priest had been, there had been truth in it.
He did want Germany's ethnic German population to grow, to be united in one faith, one people, one nation. He did want a larger future manpower pool for armies and fleets. He did want families with many sons so that, if war took one, an entire bloodline didn't end in a single muddy trench.
His "rant" in the confessional had been both personal and strategic.
If Germany filled its homes instead of its graveyards, then maybe the horrors he'd seen in his other life, in another war in another century, could be softened here.
And if laws and faith bent just enough, maybe he could one day marry all his women legally as well.
Thinking of this, Oskar leaned down and kissed each of them gently on the forehead.
"Time to get up, my beautiful ladies."
They smiled sleepily. With his help, they rose and began the slow, careful ritual of getting ready for the day. They bathed together in warm water, brushed their teeth, laughed quietly, and clung to Oskar's arms when balance wobbled. He dressed them himself—Tanya in a soft cream gown that made her look radiant and sunlit, Anna in a pale blue that made her resemble a Madonna from some old church painting.
After the events at church the day before, the Empress had stunned everyone—especially herself—by pronouncing:
> "If these young women carry my grandchildren, then they shall eat with us. And if you truly do love them, Oskar, then I suppose they are worth speaking to at least once as well. But only unofficially. Between family."
So Oskar walked out of his room with one arm wrapped around each woman, moving slowly down the long palace corridor.
Servants smiled warmly at Tanya and Anna.
Guards straightened and greeted them as if they were already part of the dynasty.
Most of all, the two guards posted at Oskar's door—the night guard and the morning guard, the only ones ever trusted with his private wing—bowed to them with particular respect. Neither man had ever spoken a word about what they'd seen or heard near that door. Oskar had rewarded their discretion with generous New Year's bonuses and small gifts for their families—enough that their own wives and children could live and grow in comfort.
Anna walked at his left; Tanya at his right.
He held both protectively.
Tanya, now an unofficial celebrity thanks to her AngelWorks fame, received subtle nods and small bows from palace maids. She had become a brand icon—her face and figure in countless posters, AngelWorks beauty and health products bearing her image from Berlin to London.
Her designs were already being sold all over Europe, most significantly in London, Paris, and Saint Petersburg, and rumors said New York would be next.
Anna, less known to the public but stunning in her soft, maternal beauty, blushed at the attention and murmured gentle greetings to each servant they passed.
As they neared the dining hall, Tanya leaned closer and whispered:
"Do you think your mother will like us today?"
"She already likes you," Oskar replied. "She's just pretending she doesn't. After all," he smirked, "she wears your creams and lipstick now."
Anna giggled quietly.
Tanya tried, and failed, not to smile.
The guards straightened, exchanged a quick nod, and with a ceremonial sweep of their white-gloved hands—they pushed the gilded double doors wide.
A burst of warm golden light spilled out.
And then—
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PRINCE OSKAR!"
The shout hit him like a physical force.
Inside the grand Marble Festsaal of the Berlin Palace, the sound ricocheted off crystal chandeliers, marble columns, polished parquet floors, and high frescoed ceilings painted with Prussian eagles and mythic heroes.
The hall had been transformed for the occasion:
Imperial black-white-red banners draped from balcony rails,
garlands of summer roses hanging between carved pillars,
long tables covered in gleaming silverware and delicate porcelain,
musicians in dress uniforms clutching brass instruments,
gas lamps casting warm golden halos across the room.
And at the far end, dominating the chamber like a proclamation:
**JULY 27, 1905 —
THE GLORIOUS 17th BIRTHDAY
OF HIS IMPERIAL HIGHNESS PRINCE OSKAR**
embroidered in gold thread on white silk, flanked by the black eagle of Prussia.
Oskar stood there frozen.
He could feel it—
dozens, no, hundreds of eyes fastening onto him.
The imperial dining hall was overflowing with the spectrum of the Empire:
generals in midnight-blue tunics glittering with medals,
admirals in white, cuffs heavy with gold embroidery,
ministers in black frock coats and stiff collars,
foreign dignitaries studying him with sharp, measuring looks,
dukes and counts in sashes and stars,
aristocratic ladies in shimmering silk and triple strands of pearls,
Berlin's wealthiest industrialists, smiling a little too eagerly, hoping to catch his eye,
and, astonishingly, a dozen workers from Pump World and AngelWorks standing awkwardly near the back, hats in hand, hardly daring to breathe.
Among them all, the royal family formed a shining front line:
the Empress in white silk and diamonds,
his brothers arranged by rank in full dress uniform,
Luise in pale lace and ribbons—
and, notably, Cecilie, the new addition to the family, who now was the Crown Princess, stood tall beside Wilhelm as she in fact was quite tall and smiling beautifully. Wilhelm on the other hand as always wore a smile pulled so tight it looked like it might crack.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then Luise did.
The instant she saw him, she gave a delighted little cry, gathered her skirts in both hands—
—and ran.
She darted past the Kaiser, past the ministers and generals, skirts flying, ignoring every rule drilled into her since childhood. Then she launched herself at Oskar with all the force her small body could muster, slamming into his chest and wrapping her arms around his neck.
"Happy seventeenth birthday, big brother!!"
Oskar froze.
Because in that instant—
with Tanya holding his arm on one side,
Anna holding the other,
a roaring hall of nobles and commoners before him,
and Luise hanging from his shoulders—
it finally hit him.
Today was his seventeenth birthday.
The music faded into a hum in the distance.
The crowd waited to see what the People's Prince would say.
He opened his mouth—
and fate split the moment in half.
"…Seventeenth?" he echoed.
"Wait. Seventeen?
I'm… seventeen?"
He stared at the Kaiser, horrified.
He had never attended his own birthday in this life. People had mentioned his age, joked about it, guessed it—but the number had never truly taken root in his mind. In his head, he was still a grown Chinese man, not a teenager.
And he certainly didn't look seventeen.
He looked like a young giant carved out of muscle and stubbornness, already more myth than boy.
"I thought I was at least twenty—wait—WHAT THE—"
He didn't finish.
On his right side, Tanya suddenly stiffened.
Her fingers clenched around his sleeve.
"O-Oskar… I… think…"
Then came the sound.
SPLASH.
A clear puddle spread at her feet.
Oskar's eyes went wide.
"…Oh no."
The hall fell silent, the kind of silence that comes after a cannon shot.
Before he could even turn, Anna drew in a sharp breath, both hands clutching her belly.
"Oskar… I… oh heavens—"
SPLASH.
Another puddle.
Another shock.
The silence deepened, thick as wool.
Two women.
Two enormous pregnant bellies.
Two very dramatic water-breakings, one right after the other.
Oskar felt them both sway.
Instinctively, he tightened his arms around them—one under each woman—lifting their weight as though they weighed nothing at all.
This cannot be happening. At my birthday. In front of everyone.
Anna whimpered.
Tanya hissed through her teeth.
The Empress dropped her fan with a crack.
The Kaiser went white.
A foreign ambassador frantically began sketching the scene into his notebook.
Karl, standing near the cake, froze like a taxidermied squirrel.
Oskar swallowed.
"…Well," he muttered, voice oddly calm in the stunned hall.
"…this is happening."