Schloss Southwestern
Dieter Schwarz
I knew I was going to get punched at some point.
Directly after the plane flight, Dieter staggered into the kitchen ofSchloss Southwestern,Wulfram von Hannover’s mansion in the southwestern US. Morning sunlight glared off the stainless steel kitchen appliances, checkering the white wall and kitchen table with white squares of laserlight. He raised a hand to shade his eyes from the intense beams.
The coffee pot was right where it always had been, just to the right when entering the house from the garage, and it was percolating and spitting cheerfully as it finished brewing a large pot.
Out of deep habit, Dieter reached into the cabinet above the machine, retrieved a white mug from the three dozen or so up there, and pouredhimself a cup. The brew was a dark roast, bitter and burned, scented with skunk and forest fires in his mouth. Everything about it suited his mood.
God, Dieter was tired. He hadn’t managed to catch up on sleep for weeks, since that terrible night in the warehouse in Geneva. He wasn’t even sure how many days had elapsed since then.
Flicka had been hovering when the driver had dropped them off,fluttering around him like she thought she could protect him from Wulfram, so he’d shooed her into the house to go catch up with Rae, meet her newborn niece for the first time, and find Alina.
Behind Dieter, the kitchen door clicked.
He tried not to twitch, but exhaustion made him jumpy.
When he looked over his shoulder, Wulfram von Hannover stood just inside the kitchen, his legs braced apart,his hands curled into fists at his sides. The black fatigues and black tee shirt he wore were an echo of their days together in the Swiss commando unit ARD-10, maybe a deliberate choice. Everything seemed like a signal from him just then.
Sunlight glared on Wulf’s bright blond hair, which had gotten a little shaggy around his ears. Dieter rubbed the short beard that covered his chin. They’d allgotten a little shaggy over the last few months.
Okay, Dieter resolved, Wulfram got one free punch and then Dieter would block any further attack. He wasn’t going to fight back unless Wulf got really out of hand.
Dieter deserved that one shot.
Wulfram said, “Rosamunde said you’d arrived.”
Dieter set his mug on the counter and pushed it back near the coffee pot where it was less likely to spillor get broken in a fistfight. “Yeah. Flicka went upstairs.”
“We should talk.”
“I’m ready.” Dieter turned and braced his abs. He hoped the punch would be to the gut. He hated walking around with a black eye or a split lip.
God, he hoped it wasn’t a nut shot. Dieter was going to have to block a nut shot.
Dieter’s fists rose from his sides, ready to block a low punch, if that’s what it was goingto be.
Wulfram’s expression was impassive, as always, as if he had been carved from cold marble. He looked like he could have been a golden king, ruling from a large, silver, Hannover throne, his every proclamation instantly law.
Wulf said, “My sister,Friederike Augusta, is a legal adult in charge of her faculties and fully capable of making her own decisions in life, including whom she shallmarry. I do not have the authority to usurp her agency nor her human rights, no matter how long or much I was responsible for her during her childhood.”
Dieter allowed his fists to lower a few inches. “That sounded rehearsed.”
Wulf’s voice seemed more clipped than usual, more British. “We’ve been texting since she arrived atSchloss Marienburg.Some of her arguments were convincing, apt, andwell-stated.”
“So, you’re not angry?”
“I didnotsay that.”
“About the Raphael Mirabaud thing—”
“We should not discuss that at all.”
“When I met you, I was trying to leave that life behind, and Dieter Schwarz was my legal name. Because I was a minor when it all went down, they allowed me to have two legal names. It wasn’t really a lie.”
“Yes, it was.” Wulf’s lips barely moved.
