Berlin, The German Reich - May 10th, 1940
Kylian von Reichsgraf sat in the back seat of the Hanseatic embassy's staff car as it made its way toward the Reich Chancellery on the Wilhelmstrasse in Berlin. His reflection stared back at him from the window, a young officer in dress uniform, face clean shaven, hair well groomed, silver aiguillettes gleaming, every button and braiding in perfect alignment. He looked exactly as a von Reichsgraf should look when representing the Empire in a foreign capital. Yet beneath that carefully maintained exterior, his mind had not been in the right place since that conversation with Hans in Osthaven.
Each passing moment only seemed to deepen the unease that had taken root in his chest. He wanted desperately to convince himself it was just rumors, military gossip amplified through repetition until it bore little resemblance to truth. The diplomatic conversations he'd overheard all suggested that conflict with Japan had been inevitable regardless of any specific incident. Yet the stares the Japanese delegation had given him during the wedding ceremony, sustained, calculating and hostile. It seemed to confirm there was more than mere coincidence at work.
Inside the car, Foreign Minister von Hausen sat to Kylian's left, reviewing documents from his leather portfolio. In the front passenger seat was Otto Kiefer, a young man in his mid-twenties from the Hanseatic diplomatic corps who had accompanied von Hausen as his note-taker for the Berlin talks. Otto radiated nervous energy, this was his first major diplomatic mission, and the responsibility showed in the way his fingers drummed against his leather portfolio.
Throughout the journey from their embassy quarters, Kylian could not focus on the passing scenery. His mind remained fixed thousands of miles away in the Far East, his guilt growing agonizingly with each moment that brought them closer to the Chancellery. What had his carelessness set in motion? What consequences were even now rippling outward from those few hours of conversation during a wedding feast?
He forced himself to lean toward the car window and observe the scenery, hoping the distraction might provide some relief from the circular anxiety consuming his thoughts.
Berlin was undeniably beautiful, a capital city that combined Prussian austerity with genuine architectural sophistication. Since the National Socialists had come to power seven years ago, the city had been systematically transformed. New boulevards cut through old neighborhoods, imposing governmental buildings rose where medieval structures had stood for centuries, monuments to German power appeared with regularity. The visible modernity and organizational capacity impressed all visitors, even those who harbored deep reservations about the regime that had created it.
Red flags bearing the black swastika in white circles flew everywhere from the Brandenburg Gate all the way to the Reichstag, from ministry buildings to lampposts, creating a continuous visual reminder of who now ruled Germany. It was a show of national pride carried to such extremes that it began to feel oppressive, Kylian thought. The imposing architecture and constant ceremonial display all pointed to Germany's reemerging status as a great power, destined to reshape Europe.
As the staff car pulled to a stop before the Reich Chancellery, Kylian felt his breath catch slightly at the building's imposing presence. The facade stretched along the Wilhelmstrasse with daunting length, over four hundred meters of limestone and granite, designed by Albert Speer to communicate power through sheer scale. A row of rectangular columns framed the main entrance, supporting a heavy, unadorned parapet that seemed to press down on all who approached. Above the central portico, an enormous bronze eagle clutched a wreathed swastika in its talons, the Reichsadler, symbol of Germany.
Flags of the Third Reich flanked the entrance and lined the roofline. SS guards stood at measured intervals, their black uniforms and death's-head insignia creating an atmosphere of controlled menace.
German Foreign Minister Joachim von Ribbentrop was already waiting at the entrance, flanked by an entourage of SS guards and diplomatic aides. von Ribbentrop cut an impressive figure, dressed in a dark suit, his bearing suggested confidence in Germany's position. Two SS officers, their black uniforms sharply tailored and their silver Totenkopf insignia glinting in the morning light, moved in perfect synchronization. Without a word, each took position at a rear door of the Hanseatic vehicle and, in one fluid motion, opened the doors.The choreography was flawless.
"It is good to see you, Your Excellency! We have been waiting eagerly for your arrival. Welcome to Berlin," von Ribbentrop declared in German, extending his right hand as von Hausen emerged from the vehicle.
"You honor me, Herr Reichsminister. I look forward to our discussions," von Hausen replied with a diplomatic smile, accepting the gesture with appropriate warmth.
Kylian and Otto likewise exchanged pleasantries with their German counterparts as they exited the vehicle. The Germans certainly understood stagecraft, Kylian observed as he watched the SS guards maintain their perfect postures, their black uniforms and Totenkopf symbols making them look like something from mythology rather than merely soldiers. Everything about this reception was designed to intimidate and impress in equal measure.
von Ribbentrop and the German entourage escorted the Hanseatic delegation through the massive bronze doors into the Reich Chancellery. As they entered, even von Hausen who had visited dozens of palaces and government buildings across the world seemed momentarily taken by the scale of what surrounded them.
The entrance hall was a marble gallery stretching nearly three hundred feet, designed to dwarf visitors. Crystal chandeliers hung from a coffered ceiling decorated with gold-leaf swastikas. Massive red marble pillars rose at intervals, each too thick for three men to encircle. The domed rotunda's mosaic floor showed the German eagle ringed by regional symbols.
Every surface spoke of power, resources, and the regime's determination to project permanence through architecture. This was not just another government building but a temple to the National Socialist vision of German destiny.
The German Foreign Minister guided the Hanseatic delegation through several corridors, each lined with enormous paintings depicting iconic scenes from German history, Arminius defeating the Roman legions, Frederick the Great reviewing his troops, Bismarck proclaiming the Second Reich. The message was unmistakable: Germany had always been destined for greatness, and the current regime simply represented the latest maker of German destiny.
They arrived at a set of double doors guarded by two SS soldiers who stood with such perfect stillness they might have been statues. These were probably among the best soldiers Germany had to offer, Kylian thought, selected as much for their appearance and bearing as for their combat capability.
von Ribbentrop paused at the entrance and turned toward the Hanseatic delegation. "Please," he said simply, gesturing for them to enter first while offering a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
von Hausen nodded with appropriate courtesy and stepped through the doorway.
The conference room was impressive even by the standards of what they had already seen. The walls were entirely clad in marble, cream-colored with subtle veining that caught the light from the tall windows. An ornate fireplace dominated one wall, its mantel carved with eagles and oak leaves. Above it hung a portrait of Otto von Bismarck in his dress uniform, the Iron Chancellor's stern gaze seeming to evaluate all who entered this space.
The furniture was entirely rosewood, a conference table that could seat twenty, chairs upholstered in burgundy leather, side tables bearing silver ashtrays and crystal carafes of wine. The floor was polished parquet arranged in complex geometric patterns. Large windows draped with floor-to-ceiling burgundy curtains provided views into the carefully manicured Chancellery Gardens, where rigid geometry had been imposed on nature with typical German thoroughness.
von Ribbentrop and his aide took seats on a leather couch positioned to suggest casual conversation rather than formal negotiation. The Hanseatic delegation settled opposite them, the furniture arrangement creating an illusion of friendly discussion among equals.
"Where is the Führer, Reichsminister?" von Hausen asked as he arranged himself comfortably. "I had understood he might join us for at least part of our discussions."
"The Führer is in East Prussia, tending to personal matters," von Ribbentrop replied smoothly. "Why? Are you disappointed the Führer isn't here to greet you personally, Excellency?"
"Not at all, Reichsminister. I was simply curious as to why the Führer isn't in residence during such important talks," von Hausen replied neutrally.
Ribbentrop offered von Hausen a cigarette from an ornate silver case, which von Hausen declined with a raised hand. The German minister then turned to Kylian, pausing mid-gesture as recognition dawned in his eyes.
"Oh! You must be von Reichsgraf, yes? The Chancellor's brother." There was something calculating in how Ribbentrop said this.
"Yes, Reichsminister. And I do not smoke," Kylian replied, keeping his voice level and professional.
Von Hausen gestured toward Otto, who likewise refused the offer.
"Well then, I will have a smoke, but please do bear with me," Ribbentrop said, lighting his cigarette with a gold lighter. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled a thin stream of smoke toward the ornate ceiling.
Kylian felt profoundly uncomfortable being recognized so immediately, so specifically. He wanted nothing more than to return to the Hanseatic Continent and seclude himself at the family estate for a year. It felt like a sick joke that his brother kept insisting on sending him on these diplomatic missions when all he wanted was the anonymity of ordinary military service.
The conversation moved in slow circles for the better part of an hour, the threat of Bolshevism, opportunities for expanded trade, the decay of democratic systems and their inevitable replacement by more decisive forms of government. von Ribbentrop spoke with eloquence about Germany's destiny while von Hausen parried with equal skill about Hansa's own future.
Kylian observed the dance of diplomacy with growing appreciation for its complexity. Both men were masters of their craft, able to suggest much while committing to nothing, to probe for advantage while revealing no weakness.
Then von Ribbentrop's tone shifted, and the real purpose of the meeting emerged.
"Shall we attend to the matters of state? I trust your journey has been comfortable, Excellency." Von Ribbentrop carefully stubbed out his cigarette in the silver ashtray, giving the gesture his full attention.
"It was quite pleasant, Reichsminister. I hope this pleasant feeling will carry us throughout the day," von Hausen replied with a measured smile.
Note-takers from both nations carefully extracted their leather-bound notebooks and fountain pens, waiting for the first words worth recording. Kylian straightened in his seat, his attention sharpening. He had never witnessed high-level diplomatic negotiations, his experience had been limited to ceremonial functions and formal receptions. Now, in this marble chamber, two of the world's most skilled diplomats were about to engage in genuine statecraft. This would be educational, he thought, pushing his personal anxieties aside with effort.
"Excellency, do you ever think about how we are living in a time of great historical convergence?" von Ribbentrop's arm rested casually on the couch's back, cigarette smoke curling upward from between his fingers.
"It certainly is a time of significant realignment, Reichsminister. Which is precisely why the government in Theodosia is keen to understand how the Reich envisions the future," von Hausen replied, his tone conveying polite interest without commitment.
"The future belongs to those who are willing to shape it, Excellency." Ribbentrop paused deliberately. "Is Hansa willing to shape the future?"
von Hausen took a measured breath before continuing. "Reichsminister, I am curious as to how the Reich sees Hansa fitting into this equation you're proposing."
Silence fell over the room for several heartbeats. Ribbentrop tapped ash into the silver tray deliberately before continuing. "The German Reich wishes only to offer equal partnership to Hansa. It is natural that Germanic peoples work together toward common goals, is it not? Our shared heritage creates obvious synergies."
"The historical and cultural links between our peoples are undeniable, Reichsminister," von Hausen acknowledged carefully. "But we left Europe a millennium ago. Our people certainly do not consider themselves German anymore. We are Hanseatic, something distinct that has evolved over a thousand years of separation."
Kylian noticed the almost imperceptible tightening around von Ribbentrop's eyes. The Germans did not appreciate this answer, he realized. They wanted acknowledgment of shared identity, of natural alliance based on blood and culture. von Hausen's polite but firm rejection of that premise clearly irritated them.
"A thousand years is indeed a long time, Excellency," Ribbentrop conceded with a smile that contained no warmth. "But the future can still be shaped through common understanding, regardless of how peoples choose to identify themselves. If Hansa wishes to take part in the coming reorganization, identity need not be an obstacle."
"I'm intrigued, Reichsminister. What precisely does the Reich expect of Hansa in this partnership you're proposing?" von Hausen's voice carried genuine curiosity beneath the diplomatic veneer.
"The territorial settlements of the past two decades have created certain... tensions throughout Europe," Ribbentrop said, choosing his words with visible care. "We find ourselves at the dawn of another reorganization. The Reich would be willing to share the benefits of this reorganization with those who demonstrate willingness to cooperate with us."
This was more direct, Kylian noted. The Germans were done with subtle probing.
"An interesting proposal, Herr Reichsminister. I confess my intrigue," von Hausen replied. "I would very much like to understand what 'sharing the continent' looks like from your perspective. After all, it is not land Hansa is primarily after, we wish to maintain and expand our commercial interests. Territory for its own sake holds little appeal."
Ribbentrop's smile widened slightly. He took a long drag on his cigarette before responding. "Then let me cut to the chase, Excellency. We are speaking of spheres of influence."
The words hung in the air like the cigarette smoke. Kylian felt the tension in the room sharpen, though both senior diplomats maintained expressions of polite interest.
von Hausen allowed several seconds of contemplative silence before speaking. "This is indeed a matter of the highest state importance, Reichsminister. I will naturally convey the Reich's generous offer to His Majesty Emperor Konrad." He paused deliberately. "But I would benefit from clarity: what, precisely, would this sphere of influence encompass?"
Ribbentrop leaned forward slightly, his eyes fixing on von Hausen with increased intensity. "Let us speak in practical terms, Excellency. We propose a clear demarcation. The Iberian Peninsula and French colonial territories in North Africa would fall under Hanseatic influence. This represents a security guarantee of the highest order, it would protect your exclave in Ravara from the territorial ambitions of both Spain and France. These territories have been bones of contention for centuries, have they not? This offer resolves those concerns permanently."
von Hausen closed his eyes briefly, processing the magnitude of what was being proposed. "And in return, Reichsminister, what does the Reich expect from Hansa?"
Ribbentrop's smile returned, carrying satisfaction at having reached the conversation's true substance. He killed his dying cigarette in the ashtray with deliberate finality before speaking.
"What we ask is merely a recognition of realities, Excellency. A free hand in Eastern Europe. Naturally, we have certain historical scores to settle in the East that date back to Versailles. When that day comes, and it will come, all we ask is that Hansa not stand in the way of necessary historical realignment."
von Hausen's eyes widened as full realization struck. "Poland?" The word emerged quietly, less a question than an acknowledgment of understanding.
"The arrangements made at Versailles were unnatural and unsustainable. They will be corrected," Ribbentrop stated with calm certainty. "We are not without friends who understand this new reality. The Reich would value Hansa joining those who recognize where history is moving."
The phrase hung in the air with deliberate weight. Friends? von Hausen's mind immediately began calculating. Who could Ribbentrop possibly mean? Britain and France were clearly opposed to any German expansion eastward. Italy was aligned with Germany but lacked the power to guarantee anything regarding Poland. That left only one possibility that made strategic sense, but it was almost too shocking to contemplate.
The Soviets? But Germany and the USSR were supposed to be ideological enemies, Ribbentrop himself had spent the past hour denouncing Bolshevism as a civilizational threat. Yet what other power could provide the assurance Germany would need to act against Poland without fear of a two-front war?
von Hausen nodded slowly, his expression revealing nothing of his internal assessment. "The sphere you propose for Hansa, the Iberian Peninsula and North Africa is generous in principle and does indeed address Ravara's security concerns substantially. However, there is one practical complication I must raise."
Ribbentrop's eyebrows lifted slightly. "A complication, Excellency?"
"Gibraltar," von Hausen said simply, allowing the name to carry its own weight. "If Hansa were to exert influence over Spain and North Africa as you suggest, I have little doubt the British would be profoundly displeased unless the Reich's vision for Western Europe also includes a solution to that particular issue. We are both well aware of Gibraltar's strategic importance to the Royal Navy and Britain's determination to hold it regardless of other territorial arrangements."
von Ribbentrop's smile didn't falter. If anything, it widened. "Given the nature and extent of our offer, Excellency, Gibraltar naturally falls within the Hanseatic sphere of influence. If you wish to take it."
von Hausen shook his head slightly, not conveying annoyance, but rather acknowledgment of the audacity being proposed. A slight smile played at his lips. "A generous delineation in principle, Reichsminister. I will certainly take this proposal to His Majesty for consideration."
Kylian sat listening, his role purely observational while the note-takers scribbled furiously. He could scarcely believe what he was hearing. These two men were casually discussing the partition of an entire continent as though they were dividing property in a business negotiation. They spoke of "free hands" and "spheres of influence" with such practiced ease, and he found himself wondering whether diplomats and empires ever truly considered the millions of people living in the territories they carved up so casually over coffee and cigarettes.
The proposal was staggering in its ambition: Germany would dominate Western Europe and have free rein to "settle scores" in Poland and presumably further east. In exchange, Hansa would control Iberia and North Africa, potentially including Gibraltar, one of the most strategically vital chokepoints in the world. It was the kind of grand bargain that could reshape global power for generations.
And Hansa's role, if they accepted, would be to simply stand aside while Germany did whatever it intended to do.
As von Hausen stood, preparing to conclude the meeting, Ribbentrop remained seated, leaning back with casual authority. His smile still hadn't quite reached his eyes.
"Before you depart, Excellency, there is one other delicate matter which might interest His Majesty's government in Theodosia."
von Hausen's expression remained carefully neutral, though Kylian detected a slight tension in his posture. "I am listening, Reichsminister."
"The Reich maintains excellent relations with Tokyo," Ribbentrop began, his tone shifting to suggest he was offering a favor. "We are well aware of the diplomatic complications that have recently emerged in the Far East. Should Hansa require mediation in resolving these... misunderstandings... we are uniquely positioned to serve as intermediaries. It would be an honor for the Reich to facilitate such discussions. Consider it a natural extension of the partnership we are proposing."
As Ribbentrop spoke these words, his gaze shifted deliberately toward Kylian, just for a moment, perhaps five seconds, but it felt like an eternity. Those eyes seemed to pierce through him, suggesting knowledge of things that should have remained private.
Kylian's jaw tightened involuntarily. He felt his heart begin racing, the rhythm suddenly loud in his own ears. The rumors were true after all. Not just rumors, established fact, known to foreign governments, serious enough that Germany was offering to mediate. His worst fears crystallized into confirmed reality in that single glance from the German Foreign Minister.
"Noted, Reichsminister. This will certainly be of interest to His Majesty," von Hausen replied smoothly, though Kylian detected the slightest edge in his voice. "I have much to report to my sovereign."
"Of course, Excellency. I am quite certain this will not be the last of our conversations. There is time for Hansa to consider our offer carefully." Ribbentrop lit another cigarette, the gesture suggesting unhurried confidence in the eventual outcome.
The Hanseatic delegation exchanged final handshakes with their German hosts and made their way toward the exit. But at this moment, all Kylian could focus on was his hammering heart and the unbearable tightness in his chest. It felt as though something was physically constricting around his ribcage, making each breath slightly harder than the last. His chest trembled with tension he could barely control.
The ride back to the embassy on the Unter den Linden was conducted in near silence. Otto and von Hausen exchanged notes in low voices, reviewing what had been said and how it should be reported to Theodosia. Kylian could only stare out the window, watching Berlin pass in a blur of red flags and imposing architecture.
His worst fears had been confirmed. The diplomatic crisis was real, serious enough that foreign powers were discussing it, offering mediation, using it as leverage in their own negotiations. And none of the implications seemed positive, not for China, not for Princess Ankang who had sacrificed everything for a peace that now hung by a thread, not for Princess Changning who might face consequences for his inability to maintain proper emotional distance.
At this moment, he wished with desperate intensity that he had never attended that wedding ceremony. That he had found some excuse, illness, urgent duties, anything to avoid being placed in that impossible situation. If he had simply stayed away, none of this would be happening.
But he had attended. He had sat beside her. He had allowed himself those hours of conversation that now seemed to have set in motion forces far beyond his control or understanding.
And now he could only watch as the consequences unfolded, powerless to stop whatever was coming.