"Why have you called me here?" Ernst asked Albert from their father's sitting room. Every part of the situation filled him with unease: the formal letter from his brother, delivered by courier and set with a wax seal; the flickering candlelight making specters of their shadows; even his own brother's face, weary in the dim light. Albert stood stooped before him, dressed in his formal statesman garb—another sign of the gravity of their conversation.

In his full-furred robe and hat, he looked the spitting image of their father, Frederick II, staring down expectantly at them from his portrait above the mantle, flanked by an army of his brothers and sisters. One portrait was notably missing: the portrait of the traitorous William III had been removed from its frame, leaving behind an empty gilded rectangle.

Standing before the forlorn gap on the wall, the gold leaf framed Albert perfectly.

"Brother, please hear me out." Albert launched into what was clearly a well-practiced speech. "I have been studying the economic patterns of eastern Saxony, and I am confident that a few changes in their tax laws will usher in a new era of prosperity in the region. I only ask that you trust in my policies for the time being."

"I do trust in your policies," Ernst said, frowning. "That is why we rule jointly and discuss tax laws," he added pointedly.

"Yes, well," Albert said. "You discuss with me out of—I don't know, generosity, I suppose—but we both know who holds the ultimate decisive vote. This time, I wish to rule solo, and be responsible for the decision myself."

It was like a sheet of ice sweeping through his veins. Ernst schooled his face into a sneer. "You want to rule? You want to rule? You would depose me. Ah, because you're tough and strong, skilled with arms, respected by men and steeds alike, is that right?"

"Don't scoff at me, brother. You have two years on me, and that is all that matters: You are at the head of the family and of our father's lands, regardless what I achieve on my own merits—"

"On your own merits! And how many of these merits did you come by through fate and chance? You're even taller than me!" Ernst spat.

Albert snarled in protest. "I worked hard for my skills. I practiced long hours, trained until my bones ached—"

"As did I! Even more than you! I was held up to every impossible standard since our brother Fritz's death—" Ernst caught himself before his voice rose into a shout. He leaned on the table, trying to catch his breath.

"You're my brother, and I thought. . . I thought you'd be proud of me," Albert said quietly

When Ernst continued, his voice was controlled again in icy calm. "Albert, I studied and attended electorate meetings when I was far too young to understand them, all while you frolicked in the stables and training grounds. I think I know best how to handle the economic situation in eastern Saxony."

"Brother, you knew best when you were fourteen and I was but twelve." Albert's voice was soft as well. "Things are different now," he continued. "We are both old men in our forties, I daresay we are equally skilled at peacekeeping among our peoples." He looked away with a little laugh. "And as an old man in my forties, for once in my life, just the once, I want to stand in the sun, free of your shadow."

"I have stood in shadows from all sides, all my life," Ernst sighed, and when he spoke again, he seemed to be addressing the portrait of their father. "I was only ten when I scrambled to learn what our late brother took with him to the grave. I made myself into a shadow of Fritz. Yet before I could turn twenty, I was overshadowed by my younger brother as well. Albert was so skillful and clever, was he not? You wished he could have been your heir instead of me, in the dead of night when you thought only God would hear. Didn't you wish I'd meet some accident, and you'd have an heir worthy of your legacy?"

"Ernst, you know that's wrong. Father loved us both."

"That just shows how wrong you are," Ernst scoffed. "If you couldn't see what was right before your nose, stewing in your own household, then what chance do you have with the politics of a kingdom?"

Albert's eyes burned bright with anger. "Whatever Father was, whatever he did, I am not him. There is no need to be cruel to me, or to—to keep me beneath your heel, just to spite Father!"

The two brothers stared at each other, two immovable forces. "So that's your answer, brother?" Ernst said coldly. "This is the path you've chosen?"

"Yes, though it brings me no joy." A small, sardonic smile twisted Albert's handsome lips. He gestured at the empty space on the wall, bare plaster within the ornate frame. "When we were young, hating William was the easiest thing in the world. But it seems we're doomed to follow in our father's and uncle's footsteps, I'm afraid. I'll send the declaration of war in the morning."

He turned to leave.

"No." The word was out before Ernst could stop himself. Albert faltered in his step. "No," Ernst repeated. "Not exactly in their footsteps. It was that war that got us kidnapped, remember? And the countryside was in ruins. No, we may have reached an irreconcilable parting of ways, but I will not raise my weapon against you. Let us divide up the electorate peaceably."

"How do you propose a fair division?" Albert asked warily, suspicion mixed with hope.

Struck with inspiration, Ernst unrolled a map. "I'll divide our lands in two, and you'll choose."

Albert nodded. "Alright. I accept. We will be two kingdoms from this day forward, separate but at peace. Our children will be allies, and when we are older still... when we've both grown feeble and gray... perhaps we can be a single kingdom once more."

They shook on it, wordlessly, Ernst's heart lodged in his throat and rendering it too painful to speak.

But when Albert had gone, Ernst went into their father's private study. In the back of the room, leaning against the wall in a plain wooden frame, was a painted canvas. He brought it out and carefully inspected it by candlelight.

Duke William III's merry face smiled out at him with twinkling eyes.

He carefully fitted the portrait into its original place on the wall. "Hello, uncle," he said.