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He had called her beautiful.
Oskar, the Fifth Prince of the Kingdom of Prussia and Germany, had actually called her beautiful. Her—Anna Müller, twenty-four years old, a complete nobody by any sensible standard. And yet he had not only said the word, he had looked at her and held her as if he were holding a real woman. A person. Not a shadow, not a servant, not a nobody.
Her life had never been easy. It was not easy now, and it had never been easy for a farmer's daughter born in the late nineteenth century, growing up in the Brandenburg countryside, in a single small house packed with family and relatives.
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