Page 115 of The Last Kingdom

He did.

Albert was twenty-five, attending university. He was a boy, not even yet a teenager. Their father had brought them south to the mountains in the only journey they all three had ever taken together. It had been his first visit to Neuschwanstein, which they’d toured one evening privately, without tourists. He’d been amazed at the intricate woodworking and the array of color from the gilding and countless murals. The grotto had really intrigued him. Set near the king’s study, it was an artificial dripstone cave with wondrous colored lighting, all made of papier-mâché to resemble icicles and stalactites,even a real stream of water splashed down from the make-believe rocks. It had all seemed so unreal. So magical. Looking back, that was perhaps the first time he thought of himself as royalty.

Now he may become king.

Albert stepped from the rocky ground onto the metal span, the grates thick with fresh snow. Easy to see why visitors were not allowed this time of year. Together they walked about halfway across its thirty-five meters of length, ending about where they’d stood with their father all those years ago. Ninety meters below was the Pöllat gorge, its raging water from the mountains unfrozen and crashing down in a steady thunder. A stinging draft of icy air took his breath away and bit the skin through his woolen trousers where unprotected by his overcoat. They stood together, the two highest-ranking members of the Wittelsbach family. Its current number was somewhere around five hundred individuals. Just a small portion lived in Bavaria. Most were spread across Europe, Asia, the Middle East, even the United States. Only his family and Albert were directly supported by the main estate. The rest fended for themselves.

“Ludwig II would have the castle’s rooms lit with twelve hundred candles,” Albert said. “Then he would come right here, and stand over this chasm, gazing for hours at the fairy-tale brilliance he created.”

They stood a few moments in a strained silence.

The chill, though bitter, seemed invigorating.

“What will you do with it?” Albert asked, pointing to the illuminated castle, seemingly floating in the darkness.

“Nothing,” he said.

“I would finish it.”

He was curious. “Why? It generates millions of euros in revenue and provides the people with something to see and appreciate. Just as it is.”

“But it also represents failure. As does Herrenchiemsee. They both require completion. They scream for a period at the end of their sentences. If for nothing else, I would do it simply to validate Ludwig II’s grand dreams.”

He could appreciate that sentiment. “But it would cost hundreds of millions of eurosand accomplish little.”

“Really? Think of the result.” Albert pointed at the Neuschwanstein. “That is perhaps the most famous castle in the world. Its design has been replicated and adapted countless times. When it was built all called it folly. But here it is, over a century later, still serving the nation.”

Another true statement.

“It deserves completion.”

He wondered about Albert’s laments. They were unlike him. His brother had always been pragmatic to the point of indifference, collecting his stamps and doing little to nothing of anything else. The family had never mattered to him. So he wanted to know, “Is that your illness talking?”

“No, Stefan. It is the Duke of Bavaria talking.”

He felt vibrations beneath his feet, which signaled someone else was on the bridge. He turned to see two dark forms detach themselves from the shadows and walk toward them.

Then he realized.

“You were expecting them?” he asked Albert.

“I believe you know one of them.”

He waited until the forms drew close.

“Good evening,” Jason Rife said.

He did not know the other man.

“This is my associate, Terry Knight. We came to deal with what’s happening inside the castle.”

“Ming sent you?” he asked Rife, curious.

“No. He”—and Rife pointed to Albert—“sent for me.”

“I had no idea you were connected with my brother.”

“I imagine there’s a lot you have no idea about,” Rife said.

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