Election (1): Königsberg
"The claimant's assertions show no consistent intent to raise the child."
The judge delivered his curt conclusion. The gallery buzzed with murmurs.
"Based on this, the father's mental fitness is affirmed. The custody claim is therefore dismissed for lack of merit."
I clenched my fist tight as the judge's ruling rang out. We'd wanted to call Dr. Gaufe as a witness, but he couldn't be reached—nearly forcing a re-exam by another doctor and dragging things out. Luckily, the scandal's escalation had unintentionally pressured the court into a swift verdict. On top of that, Eitel Friedrich testified as a witness: "My brother suffered only from war trauma, from which he has fully recovered." He also argued that Marie Auguste, who'd been fleeing since 1917, showed no parenting intent herself. The court accepted this, ruling she lacked the will to raise the child, and dismissed the claim just three weeks after filing.
"Haa..."
I slumped back in my chair like it was a bed.
"Our family got blown to bits over household drama—same for you or me."
Eitel Friedrich, the plumpest prince and easiest to spot among the brothers, smirked and patted my shoulder.
"Truly grateful, brother. Never thought you'd step in."
"Least I could do—not have a madman for a brother. That'd be a problem."
Eitel straightened his jacket and said,
"Heard you're moving to East Prussia?"
"Seems that way. Given my current affiliation."
He shot me a displeased look at my words but held back any real scolding.
"Father's gonna blow a fuse."
"Already got an earful."
"Figures. Especially from you—the quietest one, always dropping the biggest bombs."
I managed an awkward smile at that.
"Something's changed about you."
I flinched inwardly but kept my face steady as I asked,
"...In what way?"
"Bolder, calmer. You used to tremble before every little thing."
"Ahaha... Who knows. War's aftermath, maybe."
"Could be."
Family's scary. I'd been gauging how others saw me, adjusting my behavior accordingly, but they noticed even the slightest shift.
"I'll head out. Drop a letter now and then."
"Safe travels."
He turned to leave, then glanced back.
"And..."
Eitel paused.
"I won't back your politics. Just don't embarrass us."
He tipped his bowler hat slightly, then strode out without another look.
Eitel Friedrich—the brother who'd joined illegal monarchist groups branded anti-republican, early Stahlhelm member with a far-right rep. He'd helped me just because I was his little brother. Not politics. Family ties.
Shady as it felt, I had no time to dwell—urgent matters loomed.
"As you see, East Prussia is a single district. We can expect about 80,000 votes here—optimistically, 120,000. One seat per 60,000 votes means two seats at best is a stretch."
Otto Wels pointed only to the central large-farm belt southeast of Königsberg—Gerdauen, Insterburg, places where wage laborers crowded the estates. East Prussia relied heavily on them.
"So, for a safe win..."
I peered at the map.
"Put me at number one—or two—on the list."
Wels shrugged at my suggestion.
"But you insisted on being the flag on the hill."
I spun calculations fast. Pure proportional representation—no concentrated votes on one person in the Weimar system. My list position determined everything, with seats at one per 60,000 votes. Recalibrating: East Prussia population two million, voters about 1.2 million. Minus invalids... roughly one million. Sixteen seats total. But snagging them all? Impossible. Last election plus USPD support meant one or two seats, as Wels said. A risky gamble for "flag on the hill."
"Then we need to pull voters from other parties."
"You live in Königsberg. Considering local sentiments..."
Wels nodded.
"Grab the People's Party votes."
Gustav Stresemann's People's Party—lukewarm on the Kapp Putsch, distrusted by the coalition as "anti-republicans." Mild monarchists' votes, in other words.
"But my public image isn't great right now."
"That's with laborers."
I tilted my head at his words.
"Mild monarchists are nobles or landowners, mostly. They're used to messy family drama."
"Even so..."
"Didn't you volunteer to be the flag on the hill?"
Wels eyed me like, Backing out now?
Situation worse than expected. I'd figured fifth spot for safety, but this distorted structure made even personal appeal dicey. No quitting, though.
"Third spot, then?"
"Even third needs at least 100,000—up to 120,000 votes."
"I've got a plan."
Wels smirked at my resolve, meeting my unyielding gaze.
"Willpower noted. Third's suicide. Second it is."
"...No flag on the hill?"
"Party prerogative. Can't waste our investment on a crazy gamble."
Hard to argue. They'd let a prince like me join SPD to siphon monarchist votes and dilute radicalism. If I flopped, it all crumbled. I got it—no pushing.
"...Speaking of, you mentioned showing Otto Braun a new campaign style."
I stood with a grin.
"Might wanna cancel your papers for a bit."
"...Nothing surprises me anymore."
Wels chuckled dryly, relaxing.
"Good luck, then."
I nodded and left the room.
"Prince Joachim speaking here?"
"What'll he say?"
Party members gathered in the park on word of the prince's speech. Sunday morning drew strollers, and the crowd sparked curiosity, swelling fast. But parks weren't vast—soon, a small circular clearing formed amid the throng, wondering if it was some show.
"Wooah!"
"Isn't that the Red Prince?"
"Get lost, you brat!"
"Your Highness! Look this way!"
Then, casually, without guards, I appeared. The crowd parted amid cheers and jeers.
I clenched and unclenched my sweaty fist. But I strode center with a relaxed smile.
"Quite a crowd already."
People blinked at the novelty—no guards, no podium, unannounced beyond members, just stepping into the circle.
I adjusted my tie.
"I'll be here weekly. To hear your voices directly."
Murmurs rose. I scanned the ring of faces—buzzing, hesitant to speak.
"Feeling awkward? Fair. But we saw this in the textbooks: the Agora!"
Some scoffed in disbelief; others eyed neighbors, words on the tip of tongues.
"Agora? This ain't Greece."
"Prince really lost it, huh?"
"Chatting with commoners?"
Middle-class mustachioed suits muttered, chilling the vibe. I kept smiling, arms wide like it was fine.
Then, a hand shot up.
"Uh... so we can ask anything?"
I answered without pause.
"Yes. No dodging."
Silence. Eyes darted. Then—a one-eyed youth stepped forward, gritting teeth.
"I'll ask."
His voice shook but rang clear.
"The war that did this to us... Do you bear no blame for Germany's defeat?"
Air froze. Laughter, boos—gone. All eyes pinned me. Someone's swallow echoed loud.
I drew a breath.
Then, slowly, opened my mouth.