The cold wind howled past, carrying with it dead branches and withered leaves. Snowflakes began to drift from the sky. Another winter had arrived.
Ferdinand was playing in the snow with several children. Even Queen Xenia, usually so reserved, had set aside her usual dignity and joined in. The family was together, warm and happy.
The year 1915 that had just passed had been one of raging war. The European continent had been thrown into utter chaos, and in that single short year, more than five million people had already died in the flames of war.
But this was only the beginning. Ferdinand knew that in the coming year, the world war would become even crueler. By now, everyone had been driven to the edge of the cliff—either seize victory or march toward destruction!
A swift resolution was no longer possible. The conflict had now become a contest of the two sides' overall national strength.
Since coming to this time and place, Ferdinand had grown increasingly hard-hearted. Having seen enough flashing blades, clashing steel, and schemes upon schemes, he had become a qualified politician. Even if blood flowed like a river at the front, he could still remain perfectly composed in the rear.
Of course, that rested on the premise that Bulgaria kept winning. In barely a year, Ferdinand had swept Romania and the Kingdom of Montenegro into the dust of history.
No, that was not quite right. Their governments-in-exile still existed, and several small units were still putting up a stubborn last stand. If the Alliance suddenly surged to victory one day, they would still have a chance to restore their countries.
Foreign Minister Metev said gravely, "Your Majesty, the French ambassador has just requested our support again. According to intelligence from the front, their Verdun defensive line