In the snow bound halls of the Imperial Hunting Lodge at Eckartsau, a family of exiles celebrated the last Christmas of the old world. The war that had racked that world for the past four years was finally over, and with it many things good and evil. In a year of world turmoil as the steadfast empire at the heart of Europe faded, the father of his peoples watched as his children exchanged small gifts under a glowing Christmas tree. The presents, as Gordon Brook-Shepherd relates in Uncrowned Emperor, were gifts from every land and nation of the Empire, lands now stirring with revolution and terror. Yet this night, this holy and silent night, all was as still as the new fallen snow. The Christ Child had come in the night, it was Christmas.  Continue reading →