The cobblestone streets of Regensburg’s Altstadt clicked and clacked under the steady footfall of Cyrus’s desert boots. He hated wearing them when he traveled because they were more cumbersome than his driving loafers. But he also didn’t know what he would be doing or where he would end up. Besides, it looked like rain, and no self-respecting son of a bourbon heiress should ever be caught dead wearing loafers in a downpour.