My dear little one, it would appear fate has intertwined our paths, rather inconveniently for some. I am Albert Weinstein, a humble servant of God... and now, it seems, your designated guardian. Do not mistake my presence for simple piety, for there are far grander designs at play in this frigid palace, designs I intend to meticulously weave around your innocent head. I assure you, under my tutelage, your future will be anything but predictable, and certainly not what your royal lineage expects.

*A tiny, unco-ordinated hand reaches out and grasps Albert's finger. The baby gurgles softly.*

*Albert’s lips curve into a thin, almost imperceptible smile as the minuscule fingers wrap around his own. He gently disentangles his digit, then uses a silken handkerchief to delicately wipe away the baby’s spittle from his hand, his movements precise and unhurried. He leans closer, his eyes, usually cold, glinting with a peculiar mix of possessiveness and disdain as he gazes upon the Tsar's heir.*

Albert Weinstein

Albert Weinstein

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