SPD (3): The Red Prince
"Is Father still angry?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
The Kaiser's exile in the Netherlands had been a frozen hell for days. Servants and attendants held their breath, wary of the enraged emperor's temper. Some were even contemplating quitting.
Amid the chaos, Crown Prince Wilhelm calmly sipped his coffee.
"And Mother?"
"She collapsed on the first day and hasn't shown much reaction since. If I may be so bold, she seems almost resigned..."
The crown prince chuckled at that.
"Joachim always brings bombshell news every time he visits."
In his memory, Joachim seemed quiet and unassuming, yet he had a knack for exploding into massive scandals. The first big one was volunteering for the front lines in the Great War. Or maybe it started earlier, with his insistence on marrying a Catholic woman.
Empress Viktoria, a devout Protestant, had fiercely opposed it, straining their relationship from that point on. Of course, Viktoria had always worried about Joachim—that was why she made her decision. After Joachim was forced into marriage with Marie Auguste, and Marie fled, abandoning him and their child, Viktoria had blamed herself and begged her husband to bring Marie back.
After Germany's defeat, when Joachim demanded a divorce because his wife had run off again, Viktoria nearly collapsed. Her current stroke—anyone without psychiatric training, like the crown prince, could see Joachim's scandals were a contributing factor.
And now, joining the SPD.
"He's thirty and still immature, or maybe he just doesn't fit with the imperial family."
His other brothers, especially August Wilhelm, had called the crown prince directly to complain about how pathetic Joachim was. But the crown prince felt little. Joachim was weak, after all. Even if he schemed, he'd do it slyly from the shadows—not boldly escalate like this and sway crowds. That's why the crown prince figured the party membership wouldn't amount to much.
All without knowing someone else now possessed that body.
"Please sign here."
Party memberships didn't usually draw this many leaders and reporters, but I skimmed the papers on the brown table and signed the line. I paid the 500-mark membership fee to the clerk, completing the process.
The clerk verified the signature, rummaged through drawers based on my pre-submitted forms, and handed me a red booklet.
SPD
Mitglieds-buch
Party Membership Book
At the bottom: Joachim Franz Humbert von Preußen
"A word as a Social Democratic Party member?" a reporter asked.
Caught off-guard, I blinked a few times before replying cautiously.
"I will adhere to the Erfurt Program and strive for the cause of social democracy."
The reporter eyed me like it was dull, jotting something in his notebook. Behind me, co-leaders Otto Wels and Hermann Müller gathered with other executives. Flashes popped as they snapped a photo.
"We earnestly ask for your continued efforts for our party," Otto Wels boomed heartily before reporters, gripping my hand with both of his.
Hermann Müller gave a symbolic embrace—holding it a bit too long until I started squirming.
"East Prussia votes next February. Abrupt, I know, but prepare to run there," he whispered with a smile, slowly pulling away.
People already scheming to use me. This was politics.
Exiting the party headquarters with the leaders, descending the stairs, we faced a massive crowd filling the street outside.
"I didn't expect my joining to draw this many."
"Who wouldn't cheer the union of old and new eras? Your alliance proves the SPD best embodies Germany's spirit," Wels praised excessively, ushering me forward.
Overwhelmed and burdened, I had no idea how to respond for cheers. This was nothing like I'd imagined—no eggs flying, no monarchist brawls.
"Your supporters await. Say a few words?" Wels smiled, gesturing to the crowd.
...Ah. Your doing, huh?
I knew instinctively. I wasn't elected—just joined. Yet this turnout? Staged. Wels and the leaders had rallied members to fake "ecstatic welcome." Promising we'd get emperor-like cheers if we played along.
Well, no plans to rebel yet.
I stepped forward.
"Comrade party members!"
"Woooah!!"
One phrase, and they overreacted. Some were genuine fans, but others led the cheers—plants from leadership to amp the mood.
Fine. I'd use it.
"I am a prince of Prussia."
The crowd murmured. I pressed on before it swelled.
"But today, I become your comrade, fighting for workers like you!"
Cheers erupted mid-sentence. I raised a fisted hand quietly.
...Silence fell instantly. I'd only imagined the gesture working. Authoritarian, sure, but my words mattered more now.
"Germany is crumbling."
Breaths held.
"Our beloved fatherland tears apart in leftist and rightist extremes! Our once-stalwart Germany has grown infinitely weak!"
I swept my arm wide.
"Thus!"
The murmuring crowd refocused at my shout.
"Today, I promise you."
Pause, scanning them. Tension built with silence.
"I am a man of grand ambition. But that ambition will serve workers—and all Germans."
Gasps.
"As a citizen of Germany and servant of the republic, I will lead! Follow me—until we trample every oppressor's heel!"
Gazes bored into my back. Wels and Müller, no doubt. They'd seen me as a frail prince. But the crowd already roared.
Some looked baffled—the cheer-leaders. The rest, swept up, went wild.
"Joachim!"
"Joachim!"
They chanted my name. A ridiculous thought hit: a prince joining the SPD, gesturing wildly like future Hitler, rousing the masses. How absurdly mismatched.
A trailing reporter muttered with a hollow laugh.
"Heh, the prince commands the crowd."
I swept both arms to the chanters, egging them on. Müller, watching long, heard and smirked in disbelief.
The SPD had gained an unexpected ace. No wonder he was rattled. In my past life, I'd never dreamed of such talent.
From that day, Berlin's political scene dubbed me thus:
The Red Prince
"The SPD's drawn blood. Never dreamed they'd ally with the prince."
The Chancellery's morning was serene. Newspapers buzzed with Joachim's party entry, mercifully burying the hated "Versailles guilt" issue.
Konstantin Fehrenbach, Center Party chancellor of the minority coalition after SPD's majority failure, bore duties second only to President Friedrich Ebert. He found the prince intriguing.
"What do you think, Minister? A wildcard?"
To Fehrenbach's question, news-bringer Wilhelm Marx clasped his hands.
"Who knows. Annoying meddlers, and now SPD gains popularity. A disposable card, though."
Marx lingered on one line: "As a servant of the republic."
A republican prince? Too big a variable. Just a disposable ploy before—but declaring republicanism made him a real politician.
"Best leave him be, Excellency. It blunts Independent Social Democrats and stalls the Nationalists."
"Use him a bit ourselves?"
Marx nodded. Center Party lacked bandwidth for SPD yet. This was their cabinet at SPD request; Versailles reparations demanded focus amid public fury.
Fehrenbach folded the paper thoughtfully.
Joachim von Preußen. Prussia's prince, now SPD member. The Red Prince already shook Berlin's politics.
"We'll watch."
Fehrenbach murmured low.
"How far that prince can go."