1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 215 Who is the real chess player?

After a brief period of warmth, the strategist's composure quickly returned.

Constantine didn't let go of Sofia's hand; he led her to the enormous map. The moonlight cast a cold, silvery glow on the mottled, fragmented Balkan Peninsula.

"Harrison's 'promise' was the lever I used to sway my father and the entire cabinet." Constantine's finger emphasized Athens on the map.

"They fear the great powers, British intervention, and French condemnation. Now, I'm giving them a reason for British 'tacit approval.' A limited operation 'suggested' by the British, 'escorted' by the British fleet, and solely for 'combating crime.'"

His voice was calm, yet it understood people's hearts.

"This will make them feel safe, that we are under the protection of the British Empire, undertaking a risky venture that is sure to make a profit. That will be enough to shut most people up."

Sofia's gaze followed his finger, and her extraordinary political instincts immediately spotted the next obstacle in the plan.

"It's easy to talk to my father; as long as the British endorse it, he'll agree. But the Chancellor of the Exchequer won't give it a piece of his mind easily; military spending is his lifeline. And those pro-German officials will see this action as a signal that Greece has completely sided with Britain."

She raised her head, her azure eyes clear and bright in the moonlight.

"Especially the German ambassador, Baron von Schneider. He will definitely come to see me tomorrow for coffee with Prussian pastries and the latest issue of the Berliner Zeitung, trying to subtly probe for information about the 'family'."

Constantine gazed at his wife, his eyes filled with admiration.

Instead of asking her "What are you going to do?", he asked, "So, how do you plan to tell him?"

This issue itself represents the highest level of trust.

Sofia picked up the now-cold coffee on the table and took an elegant sip. The bitterness of the coffee melted on her tongue, making her thoughts clearer.

"I will tell him that I did my best." A faint smile played on her lips.

"I will let him know that Connie's 'patriotism' and 'distrust' of the Ottomans have overwhelmed all reason. I will complain to him about how the Greek generals are inciting war, and how my husband is infected by this sentiment."

"I will make him feel that this is a small-scale 'family dispute' that I, as a Prussian princess, failed to prevent because of my 'weakness' and 'incompetence'."

One was aimed at the British, and the other at the Germans.

Two completely different scripts, yet perfectly serving the same goal, quickly took shape in just a few words between the couple.

To the British, they feigned weakness, playing the role of someone impulsive and in need of guidance.

To the Germans, they had to create the illusion of "internal loss of control," making the Germans believe that this was not a Greek national policy, but merely Constantine's personal "reckless act."

This tacit understanding is the most powerful weapon of this era.

Constantine reached out and gently stroked his wife's cheek. Their alliance had long transcended love and marriage, becoming an unbreakable political symbiosis.

Meanwhile, in London.

The morning mist, like a gray blanket, enveloped the Thames River completely.

In a Foreign Ministry office, the firelight from the fireplace illuminated the slightly weary face of a middle-aged official. In his hand lay a top-secret telegram from Lionel Harrison, sent from Athens.

After reading the telegram, a barely concealed sneer appeared on his lips.

“A ‘punitive operation’? A ‘surgical procedure’? Harrison’s wording is always so elegant.” He said to his colleague sitting across from him, casually tossing the telegram onto the table. The telegram, which concerned the fate of a nation, fluttered to the corner of the table like a piece of waste paper.

"Let these Balkan roosters fight it out; they've been too peaceful for too long. Just don't burn our interests in the Suez Canal, and don't actually kill that sick Ottoman lion. Oh, and give Harrison a bonus; he's been doing quite well lately."

The colleague across from me nodded and took a sip of lukewarm black tea.

"Reply to Harrison and tell him to keep a close eye on things." The middle-aged official casually tossed the telegram into the fireplace, watching the flames lick at the paper, turning it into curled black ash.

“We only want a moderately weakened Ottoman, not an overfed Greece.” His colleague across from him picked up his tea, stirred it gently with a silver spoon, but his gaze lingered on the huge world map on the wall, finally settling on the narrow channel of the Suez Canal. “Tell him that the fleet conducting the exercise has the right to end this ‘law enforcement operation’ ‘whenever necessary.’ They are merely actors, and the final interpretation of the script must be in our hands.”

An order was issued from the center of world power.

In their eyes, Greece and the Ottoman Empire were nothing more than pawns on a chessboard. With a few words, they could decide the lives and deaths of countless people thousands of miles away.

Royal Palace in Athens.

The sky was already beginning to lighten.

Sofia, feeling exhausted, went back to her room to rest. She needed to be well-rested to prepare for the "coffee party" that was destined to be anything but easy during the day.

Constantine stood by the window, looking at the eastern horizon, where a pale dawn was breaking.

He was not sleepy at all.

He turned around and pressed a secret doorbell in the corner of the study.

A moment later, Alexandros reappeared at the doorway like a ghost.

"Your Highness."

Constantine turned and walked toward him. His footsteps were exceptionally clear in the silent dawn.

"Send our best people."

His voice was colder than the morning dew outside the window.

"Keep an eye on Major Lionel Harrison. From now on, I need to know who he meets every day, who he writes to, and what he says."

Constantine's gaze fell on Alexandros, who lowered his head slightly and remained motionless.

"Even..." Constantine paused, a hint of amusement in his voice, "I need a report on what brand of dog food his English hound, 'Churchill,' eats every day."

Alexandros lowered his head even further. He understood what a serious and dangerous order the Crown Prince was issuing.

To monitor a British intelligence officer.

This is tantamount to dancing on the edge of a knife.

Constantine walked up to him, looking directly into the eyes of his most loyal subordinate, and spoke clearly.

"The British promise is a double-edged sword. It can hurt the enemy, but it can also hurt themselves."

"I want to make sure that the hilt of the sword is always in my hand."

The final peace is as thin as a cicada's wing.

Constantine knew that the countdown to war had officially begun the moment he stepped out of the study.

He picked up his military jacket from the hanger and, without asking his attendant for help, personally buttoned it up, one button at a time. His movements were meticulous, as if he were performing a sacred ritual.

Then, he strode out of the study.

Its daybreak.