The cold wind had turned piercing; by September, Saint Petersburg already carried a trace of chill. In the Winter Palace, Alexander II was still attending to state affairs. The wrinkles etched across his brow spoke of the ravages of time.
Having witnessed the Russian Empire decline from its zenith, Alexander II possessed a powerful sense of duty and allowed himself not the slightest indulgence.
A man in his forties or fifties stepped forward and said quietly, "Your Majesty, this is top-secret intelligence from Vienna."
After accepting the sealed report and verifying its markings, Alexander II pointed to the confidential document and said slowly, "Understood. Ferenc, you may leave."
Anything worthy of being called top-secret intelligence meant that something major had happened. Alexander II had no habit of sharing intelligence with those around him; it had nothing to do with trust, merely a monarch's instinct.
He opened the confidential document. Its contents described events from half a month ago. There was no helping it—there was no radio in this age, and if they used telegraph wires to transmit the news, how could they hide it from the Austrians?
Codes were even less feasible. That would be tantamount to openly telling others that there was something suspicious about this message—come investigate!
Telegrams in this era were charged by the word, and ordinary telegrams contained only a scant few words. Intelligence transmission clearly could not be handled so carelessly; if the meaning was not conveyed clearly, it would spell disaster.
From Vienna to Saint Petersburg, it had taken only half a month. Such efficiency was already the limit of the age.
Second by second, the furrows on Alexander II's brow tightened. At last, having finished the document, he slowly let out a sigh.
At that moment, Alexander II was lost. Events had not