Chapter 25
The silence of the Achterhoek was not the empty, sterile silence of the Noordeinde corridors. It was a living thing—composed of the rustle of dry cornstalks, the lowing of distant cattle, and the rhythmic creak of the porch swing. For Casper and Elisa, it was the sound of an ending, but as the sun climbed higher over the North Pasture, it began to feel like the first breath of a new life. Inside the small brick house, the air was cool and smelled of woodsmoke. There were no servants to whisk away their coats, no press secretaries to vet their morning conversation. Casper stood in the small kitchen, his large frame making the space feel even more intimate. He was brewing coffee in an old tin pot, his movements slow and deliberate. Elisa watched him from the doorway. Without the ceremon
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