Why in all his thirty years could he not sire a living heir? The grand duke kept his focus away from the family crowding his library. They wouldn’t see him weep. Klaus swallowed hard against his emotion. He lifted his heart in silent prayer.

Heavenly Father, if she carries a son… let him live.

That thought fogged his vision. Upstairs his wife labored, and any minute he would hear the news. It was always the same. His little girls would live, but his sons would only survive long enough to wrap joy around his heart before they left him forever. Most lived only days. Little Rudolf met the Father shortly before the dawn of his sixth month.

Rudolf... his youngest. Klaus’ throat tightened. The memories scattered across years and pounded against his mind like the deep rumble of thunder through the Alps.

Five sons. Five heirs. Five coffins.

The door clicked open. Behind him Klaus heard the rustle of silk and the snap of boots as family members leapt to their feet. His heart stopped beating. Exhaling a shaking breath, the grand duke turned. His gaze met that of the physician before locking upon the flattened expression of the nurse. His eyes slid to the maternal blood upon her apron.

“It is a boy,” she announced.

Klaus bit his tongue. The metallic taste of blood flooded his mouth. Tugging on the hem of his Attila jacket, he straightened his sash and fastened his collar. Beneath trembling fingers, the Order of the Golden Fleece swung like a metronome. Suspended from his neck on a blood red ribbon, Klaus was strangled by the jeweled honor bestowed upon him for selfless service to Austria. Right now his altruism was the last thing that mattered. All Klaus selfishly wanted was to hold his son. Keeping his chin tucked, he headed for the door. The sea of people parted to let him pass. The grand duke refused to meet anyone’s questioning looks. He did not want them to see his worst fear already tightening his brow. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the arms of the grandfather clock pushing time into place. The pendulum swung. Klaus lengthened his stride. The Golden Fleece swayed in rhythmic mockery. Only time would tell.

Six sons. Six heirs. Six coffins?

                    ***

They buried him beneath an oak tree.

As desperately as he wanted to avoid it, Klaus could not help but think of that tree and the small family plot it protected. His feet dragged like an anchor pulled though an undertow too heavy to fight. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger against his eyes. Klaus pressed hard. It was impossible to push back the image. With nothing in its way the tree’s massive branches reached outward, seemingly toward infinity. Their shadows lengthened, and their blanket of black caressed each tombstone rocking six children in eternal sleep.

The month that had passed was harder than expected. Klaus wandered through his ducal palace wondering if it was wise to be seen in such a state. Wind burned and exhausted with his hair slightly damp from the weather. Perhaps not, but Klaus thought spontaneous hikes in the Semmering Alps, no matter the hour, would help him heal. At least on the mountain he was surrounded by black fir with not an oak in sight.

A distant clock chimed thirty past the hour. But what hour? Sleep was an elusive luxury betraying him for weeks. Klaus walked like an obedient automata, powered only by the sheer will to pace away his thoughts. He stopped at the wing leading to the nursery. The hollow feeling in his chest evaporated as his heart swelled. Should he check on his girls? The wind blew with vengeance, rustling the ivy armoring Semmering’s walls. The leafy vines whistled and moaned like a banshee searching for her next victim. Klaus shuddered at the thought. It propelled his feet forward. Perhaps the little one was frightened and could not sleep? Friedle was only two; the shadows and sounds could be taxing for her. Slowing in his steps, Klaus groaned. What paranoia! He stopped. His heart fell to his feet, his chin following as it sagged to his chest. She didn’t need him. She had her sisters, Gertl and Elisabeth to watch over her, not to mention the governess. No doubt they would wake in the morning, eager as always to spend the day playing and studying. He did not want to disturb their slumber.

Plowing his hands through his hair, Klaus resumed walking. Sans any ribbon to hold it in queue, strands kept falling in his face. He paid for rebelling against fashion by its unruliness. Odd, his disobedient hair was like peering through the bars of a prison. He was an inmate to his thoughts, unable over the last month to put aside the death of his son.

Sons.

The echo of his boots against the marble floor was his only company. The steady click of his heels numbed his storm tossed thoughts. Semmering was a beast of an estate, a massive and commanding presence in a secluded and serene part of the Alps. Klaus walked nearly every inch of it in attempt to calm that tempest sea. The moon was high and bright by the time he stopped again.

“Katiyanna, mach auf.” Klaus called through the door of his wife’s bedchamber, bidding her to open it. Despite the hour he heard a shuffling from within. Stepping backward, Klaus bowed respectfully when she appeared. His wife’s eyes pulled open wider than a sapphire sea. “Forgive me for disturbing you. I thought we might talk.”

Katiyanna glanced behind her into her bedchamber before resting her gaze on her husband. “Talk?”

Klaus made a gesture of impatience. “I know it is late, but I… I cannot sleep.”

His gaze slid up and down the thin elegance of her body. His heart tapped a familiar rhythm against his chest. It beat with hopeful anticipation every time he saw her until it slowed under her intense scrutiny.

Katiyanna pulled her dressing gown closer around her shoulders, making no offer to allow him beyond the door. Her cold gaze screamed in the silence, raising an invisible wall between them. Klaus took a deep breath to govern his temper. Their marriage had been a fated affair from the start. Why he continually felt need to make an insufferable relationship cordial, he did not know.

Perhaps, buried beneath the years of contempt he knew she had for him, he still loved her.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked. She curtly nodded. “You are not sore, or in any ill temper from the trip?” The train and fiacre ride had been long and depressing. His spontaneous suggestion to visit to castle Hradschin in Prague, where Klaus’ kin conveyed--again--their deepest condolences, was not the best idea. It only deepened the distance between him and Katiyanna.

“I am fine, Klaus. What is it you wish?”

Her abrupt tone slapped lifeless emotion against the marble. Klaus shifted, indicating his wish to enter.  She tossed her shoulders and gave him a smoldering glare.

“I came to make you aware that I wish to see to your every need while you convalesce.” Tension knotted his shoulders. “Should Admiral von Sterneck and the Kaiser call for me, I will have to leave immediately. I want you to know--it is not what I wish.”

The squint Katiyanna gave him knifed Klaus in the gut. She always had an indignant air when he needed to place country before family. Did she think he would willingly choose the sea over her? Klaus pushed her attitude aside.

 “I would remain to comfort you in your mourning.” Klaus moved to take her hand, but she step out of reach. He curled his effort into a fist and lowered it his side. His stomach pinched with the need to discuss his profound grief with the one person he thought would understand. “Katiyanna, please, we have barely spoken since his death...”

Katiyanna stepped from the door and slowly swung it closed.  She spoke through the diminishing crack. “I have bore you nine children, Klaus. Six times I have mourned without you. I do not need your arms or your pity.”

The click coming as the door latched shut might as well have been from the master at arms sentencing him to life in a loveless prison.

                     ***

Katiyanna leaned with her back to the door listening to his boots click and fade away.

“Intolerable man!”

“Come now, Katiyanna, do not be so severe on your husband. You should be charmed he bleats at your door like a little lost sheep.”

Katiyanna pushed off the door and approached the man reclining on her bed. What few candles were lit cast orange shadows across his bare chest and accentuated the smile creeping across his square jaw. The golden hair peppering his chest shimmered red in the light. Katiyanna followed its line lower and lower until it was lost beneath the waistline of his trousers. One finger caressed the tickle in her throat. It developed every time she saw him and matched the way her stomach squeezed.

“And what you be, Edouard, the Shepard?”

“The wolf in sheep’s clothing,” he growled, catching her opposite hand and dragging her down atop him.

Katiyanna’s bones melted as he caught her lips in a heated kiss.  His chest was a warm expanse of muscle. His lips were slightly salty, musky. Pulling away she relished his fingers raking through her hair.

“I knew when we returned from Hradschin you would be waiting,” she whispered.

Edouard trailed his lips from one of her ears to her next. “Your husband is ignorant, as always. So self absorbed. He has no idea I even arrived.”

Edouard tugged on a lobe and flicked his tongue in tiny circles around it. His voice dipped. “I’m sorry for not being there when your son was born. He passed peacefully?”

Katiyanna rolled her head away from his affection to look into his eyes. She could drown in those blue pools.  Her lips pulled down and matched the shadow she saw across his face. Closing her eyes, her forehead sank to his chest. “Like all the others.”

Katiyanna rolled to her side and curled into the crook of his arm. His roaming hands explored her through the thin muslin of her night dress. What she would not give to have him in his entirety!  But no. This cursed marriage locked her out of her lover’s embrace and forbid any congress. Her womb must be used only for her husband’s needs, lest she bear a child not his. She snuggled deeper against the solid comfort of Edouard’s chest. Her husband was a damn fool. Why could he not seek console in the arms of a whore or mistress instead of coming to her chamber to talk? No, far be it for Klaus to look at another woman. He was as loyal as a dog, whether Katiyanna wanted him to be or not. The idiot.

She wished he would stop rebelling and be like the rest of his kin. Katiyanna was not stupid. She knew his peers kept their mistresses neatly tucked away. They would flaunt their wives for the good of the public eye and keep their lovers discreet arrangements. Katyianna’s lips tightened. She envied those wives. Only having to suffer their husbands for so long, knowing some other woman would deal with his needs. She never desired Klaus and long ago fell tired of his constant need to dote upon her. She knew he would never step outside the boundary of his marriage. Hereditary would only pass by legitimate biological descent. Klaus would dare not risk siring a bastard. Let alone break his vows to her or soil his selfless loyalty to that bumbling idiot who granted him this duchy. Besides, an heir would only ruin the best laid plans.

Should she continue to bear only girls, the succession would pass to Klaus’ brother and any male descendents he may have. If only Klaus would permit that. Then perhaps she could figure out a way to be rid of him and his obligation to Austria. Katiyanna would be free to love who she wished. She twisted to look up at the man sharing her bed. A sly smile crept across her lips. She should make the best of this stolen rendezvous while she could.

            Edouard caught her smile. “You only have that look when you are plotting something.”

He jolted as her hands found a tender spot between his thighs. A low groan rumbled past his lips as her nimble fingers worked the buttons on his trousers.

“I want what I want.” Katiyanna whispered, kissing his belly. “It has been nine years. Klaus is not getting the point.”

“Patience, Katiyanna.”

She slapped him on his stomach making him crunch forward. “How can you tell me to have patience? I don’t see you bedding him. In six sons he has not passed on his right to succession.” She thrust an arm toward the door. “He is going to come to my chamber as soon as he assumes I am well enough. When his mourning has passed he will look to do his duty to the fatherland. He will start reminding me how much he loves me…  How can you stand by and let that happen again? The time has come to end this, Edouard.”

Silence smoldered between them. Katiyanna stared intently into her lover’s dark eyes as she dipped to trace the hair running from his chest to his belly with small, intense kisses.

“You want me to put pressure on him?” Edouard asked. Katiyanna nodded but did not remove her lips from his flesh. “And I suppose you think I am scoundrel enough to do so?” He jolted as she nipped his navel. “If the death of his heirs is not enough to convince him to pass on what he knows is right, I suppose you want me to devise a plot to make my brother yield?”

“I want the power and wealth promised me when my parents made me marry him, and I want that with the rightful heir to this duchy.” Katiyanna watch those words tighten Edouard brow. The muscles on his cheek twitched. His jaw had clenched. She pursed her lips and blew warm breath against his hips.

Edouard groaned as his need stiffened.  Her eyes darkened when she looked up at him. Katiyanna smiled as he plowed his hands through her hair and guided her lips to his rigid sex.

“Persuade me.”

                    *** 

Klaus stormed the halls.

Anger this profound was usually beaten out of his body by a good bout with a foil. An expert swordsman, there was little Klaus thought better for defeating his aggression than abusing his adjutant with a tip of well crafted steel. He was not about to wake Siegfried. The first gray rays of dawn would color the sky soon enough. Let him sleep like the entire bloody estate. Klaus pushed his hair out of his eyes again. Why was Katiyanna awake at such an ungodly hour anyway? Fury clenched his stomach. Certainly she was not mourning. That woman had a heart of ice.

Klaus shoved his fist into his gut to keep it from flipping. He should give up on being a gentleman. No matter how hard he tried to give that woman the world, she still greeted him with utter contempt. He only wished he knew what he did to deserve such disdain.

There was no way sleep would come this evening. Rousing his stallion, Kriegsmesser, and his grooms for a ride would be as deplorable as waking Siegfried. He resigned to pace the halls all evening. Klaus shortened his strides as he realized where he was. He stared at the ornately carved doors of the ballroom until, pulled by a deep rooted need, he slid them open.

The room was built for music and laughter. Huge floor to ceiling windows graced one wall, guiding in the fine fingers of moonlight and making silver shadows ripple across the inlayed design on the polished wood floor. Klaus’ strides were long and purposeful as he headed to the top of the room.

The space was immaculate, the ballroom rarely used. Klaus silently laughed at the oddity. Semmering had been used for years to flaunt the age old battle of man against beast. Masculine airs permeated the ducal palace, but not this space. Klaus redid the ballroom, filling it with the finest chandeliers, endless marble, and the most breathtaking murals. When that was done he added the attached conservatory and gave it all to Katiyanna as his wedding gift. Klaus stopped before the only instrument on the ballroom floor. The pianoforte sat slumbering in the near darkness, its ebony surface blending in seamlessly with the shadows. Caressing its curves, he walked around it.

Klaus sighed. He knew there was no way he could have defied the wishes of the Kaiser. To Klaus, the thought of accepting an arranged marriage was like accepting the Kaiser’s glass of hemlock. Instead of dishonoring his father, whose gentle heart would never wish for discord between Klaus and the Kaiser, Klaus took his cousin’s extended cup and drank.

His eyes flicked to massive crest above the door. The black feathers of the dual headed eagle could not be seen in the darkness, nor could the chain of the Order of the Golden Fleece it wore around its body. He didn’t need to count the heraldic shields the eagle carried or note the crown between its heads. He knew the beast was there. Watching. Waiting.  There was no doubt royal blood pulsed through his veins, and no denying the few whose animosity desired to staunch the flow. Few in Schönbrunn felt Klaus had the right to carry the rank he did. But they would never speak out against the man who bestowed that rank upon him.

Klaus’ position within an ancient dynasty was kept an open secret, known throughout the walls of Hofburg, but existing nowhere else. Klaus was the dashing and brilliant embodiment of the wise fool who sired him, an oxymoron Austria never expected.

Klaus gently shook his head, rattling the thoughts from his brain. He preferred focus on the lady beneath his fingertips. The music sealed his fate with Katiyanna. She was playing a piece by Schubert when he met her. Klaus figured in time they would grow to love each other, but apparently time ticked only in one direction. Klaus was the only one who even tried.

 The wood of the pianoforte was smooth and cool under his palms. He took a seat at the bench. The moonlight made the ivory keys tremble like a virgin begging to be touched. Reaching into a tin set near a candelabra, Klaus struck a match and lit several candles. His corner of the ballroom warmed with orange light. Klaus sat in silence for a long while feeling the edges of his eyes tighten.

A proud and devoted man to both his family and his country, Klaus did his best to hide the toll his loneliness took on him. It had been years since he sat behind a pianoforte. If he was not a grand duke and Admiral, he was certain he would have been a concert pianist. How had his life and marriage come to the point where everything, except his duty to Austria, was denied? A tight ball of emotion constricted his throat. Blinking, Klaus tried to swallow it away. His cheek twitched. A small grunt crawled out his lips. What was the point? Certain he was alone, he let the tears come.

Klaus covered them by driving his hands headlong up and down the keyboard in a run of rusty scales. When the thought of his sons caught in his throat, he leaned on the sustaining pedal. The notes echo in a dull roar across the room. Finding the pages of an abandoned score spread above the keyboard, Klaus dove into a swirl of notes. He did not think twice about why they were there. He followed the stanzas as best he could, playing away the hollowness in his chest and filling the space with the beauty of music.

He could have played for hours, but the dark figure darting from one shadow to the next caused him to leap to his feet.

“Who is there?” he bellowed, the bench skidding backward with the force of his shock.

A plant rustled.  The moonlight caught the glow of a white apron. A girl shuffled from the shadows. Her chin was pulled to her chest, sending a river of corkscrew curls tumbling down in front of her face. Tussled, they fell in any manner they saw fit and stopped below her waist. The curls swayed when she shook her head.

“Am I in trouble?”

Her voice was edged in such fear it instantly softened Klaus’ position.

“No.”  He replied, relief pulling out in a sigh. His family name was not held in the highest esteem lately and he was thankful the security of the palace had not been breeched by overzealous political anarchists. “Nevertheless…” he quickly judged her rather haphazard appearance, “scullery maids are not to be in this wing without due cause, nor are they to be wandering at this hour.”

“I am not a servant. I am Adelrune.”

Klaus jerked back in shock. Her voice held an odd inflection, it was edifying, almost as if she were speaking at him and not to him. The girl stood before him with an arrogant cock to her head a jut to her bottom lip.  She did not acknowledge his rank or style him as expected. She kept her posture cautious but did not move to courtesy. Never had he been addressed so frankly or treated so disrespectfully by a complete stranger. A steady flame of anger started to flare up his spine.

“You are a scullery maid and belong to this house! You are not to address--,”

“I belong to me.”  

Her defiance smacked him across his face. Heat rose of the back of his neck as that anger reached its apex. He moved to the side of the pianoforte in an attempt to see her better.

The girl whirled. His approach sent her scurrying like a mouse suddenly realizing a cat was at large. Lifting her skirts nearly to her knees, she raced for the door, her bare feet slapping against the floor.

“Fräulein Adelrune!” Klaus bellowed.

She jerked to a stop. Turning toward him, her jaw had dropped like a rock. Klaus plowed ridges into his brow. What did he say to cause her such disbelief?

“You used my name.” She approached with eyes bigger than the moon and her ear pulled to her shoulder. When she shook her head, those extraordinarily long curls swayed against her waist even when she stopped moving. “No one uses my name. Please… say it again.”

Klaus looked from side to side before studying her. Even in the moonlight and dim glow of the candles he saw a blush spread from her neck up to her face.  She was somewhat ordinary in feature, save for that thick blanket of hair. She stared at him with a childlike wonder, her full lips slipping open as if expecting to taste the sound of her name. She seemed attractive, but the odd way she shuffled in her spot, as if trying to decide whether to stay or flee, contradicted everything he saw. Her eyes kept darting from his face to the pianoforte.

“Are you a half wit?” he blurted. Klaus’ eyes slammed shut for a second. He did not just say that…

The girl stiffened. The excited disbelief on her face rearranged into a slate of empty emotion. Drawing herself up as tall as she could, she slowly lifted her eyes and fixed them upon his face. Her expression held the same air of self preservation and confidence he saw upon the women jostling for position within Viennese society.

“I am Adelrune.”

There was a crack of finality to her voice that was not to be reproved. Klaus nodded with circumspect caution. Whoever she was, he would find out come dawn and make certain she was locked out of this room. The last thing he needed was a scullery maid intruding upon his privacy. If he had to padlock the ballroom, then so be it. She was lucky his mood was not so dark as to sever her employment immediately.

“Leave.” He directed curtly, flicking a finger toward the doors. “And do not return. Do I make myself clear?”

She snapped ram rod straight. “You mean I cannot come here? But the pianoforte is here!” The edges to her voice were colored by panic. “I have to come here. It is all I have. The grand duke has returned and I need time make certain the music is perfect.”

Klaus stumbled backward, struck by the lightening of her words. What the hell?  “The grand duke?”

“Please speak to him!” she pleaded. “His little boy just died and he deserves a requiem mass. Something much better than Der Tod can provide on his violin!” She gestured to the score.

“Der Tod?” Klaus stammered. The image of Death playing his sons to the grave drove a knife into her heart. Who speaks on such topics? “Death? What sort of illness plagues you? How dare you stand before me and--,”

She stomped her foot. “I must return here! My music is not finished and the little ones deserve the most splendid I can create. You will speak to the grand duke?”

Klaus’ head snapped like the crack of a whip back to the pages on the pianoforte. Impossible! He snatched one in his hand and studied the rising and falling notes.  Besides the comfort he had once found in his wife, music was an outlet for a stressful life. And music a pleasure he rarely had time to indulge.  Along with burying his children, Klaus had buried his love for music. He might as well have buried him. The agonizing grief that drew him to the ballroom churned as he stared at the manuscript in his hands.

“You wrote this?” he whispered.

He looked up to stare upon its composer. Klaus’ heart raced to his stomach.

Adelrune… was gone.