The next day, Kaiser Wilhelm II summoned Crown Prince Wilhelm from Cecilienhof to the Berlin palace.
But instead of receiving him in the study or throne room, he had him kept waiting in a side salon — a comfortable "leisure room" with couches, low tables, and tall windows overlooking the gardens. It was the sort of room used for guests, not heirs.
By the time the Kaiser entered, Crown Prince Wilhelm had already finished one cup of coffee and was halfway through another.
"Father, what is it?" he asked with a bright, practiced smile. "What do you wish to discuss?"
His mood had lifted since the night of the attack.
True, Oskar had survived, which was… irritating. But he had bled, he had almost died. That was something. And the Crown Prince was certain his own role in the affair was buried. He had never written "kill my brother" in ink. He had only sent a carefully worded letter to his father‑in‑law, Frederick Franz III. Vague wishes. Dark hints. The rest had been "interpreted."
Even if the investigation reached Mecklenburg‑Schwerin, surely it would stop there.
"Prince," Wilhelm II said, his voice cold, "do you understand how serious Oskar's condition is?"
"Yes, Father," Wilhelm answered quickly, face rearranging into pained concern. "I was deeply saddened when I heard of the attempt. Those murderers are utterly despicable—daring to attack an important member of the royal family, and even wounding that dwarf, Karl, who is always at his side. Father, you should have them all shot. Not only the assassins, but anyone involved in helping them. The Empire must see justice done for Oskar."
He spoke like a dutiful son demanding vengeance.
To anyone who did not know him, it might even have sounded sincere.
Wilhelm II only felt tired.
He shook his head slightly.
"Prince," the Kaiser asked, eyes narrowing, "do you know who the true mastermind was?"
There was a sliver of hope buried inside that question. If Wilhelm would admit it now—if he would kneel, confess, beg forgiveness—then perhaps there might yet be a path back for him. Oskar was soft‑hearted. If the Crown Prince truly repented, the younger brother might still be persuaded to accept him.
Wilhelm hesitated for half a heartbeat, then forced his expression into puzzled outrage.
"The mastermind?" he repeated. "Isn't it obvious? These radicals in the Empire—Poles, Danes, whoever—always angry, always resentful that Oskar doesn't hire them or that he strengthens the state. Or perhaps some rival businessmen. Oskar owns so many companies now. It is only natural he has enemies."
He tried to sound thoughtful, even helpful, as he subtly pointed fingers away from himself.
The Kaiser's gaze hardened.
"According to our investigation," Wilhelm II said slowly, "the assassins were indeed recruited from radical groups. But they did not act alone. They were promised large sums of money, weapons, and support for their 'national struggles' by your father‑in‑law, Grand Duke Friedrich Franz III."
For the first time, genuine panic flickered across Crown Prince Wilhelm's face.
Already? How? It has only been days—
In his mind, thoughts scrambled:
If Father knows about Friedrich Franz… Does he know about my letter? Will he strip me of my title? Will he disinherit me?
His mouth went dry.
Then, instinct and fear made his choice for him.
"F‑Father, there must be some mistake," he stammered. "How could Archduke Franz do such a thing? I think… there must be a misunderstanding…"
The protest came too late and too weak.
Wilhelm II looked at his eldest son with a mixture of anger and deep disappointment.
"Prince," he said quietly, "you have truly disappointed me. Even now, you refuse to admit it. The men who nearly killed Oskar were set in motion by you and Friedrich Franz. Do not insult me by pretending ignorance."
"Father, no!" Wilhelm burst out. "I knew nothing. This has nothing to do with me!"
The air in the room seemed to freeze.
The Kaiser was certain he was right. He also knew that to arrest and publicly interrogate Friedrich Franz III would cause a scandal across Europe. It would throw the German court into disgrace, and at a moment when he was already forcing through the new citizenship law and facing foreign outrage over the expulsion orders.
For now, it was easier—for the Empire's image—to let the world believe it had been "foreign radicals" alone.
After a long silence, Wilhelm II spoke again.
"Prince," he said, voice flat, "whether you admit it or not, we both know what truly happened. For the sake of the royal family's dignity, and to preserve peace in Germany, I will not pursue this matter publicly. For now."
Relief flashed through Crown Prince Wilhelm's eyes. He almost smiled.
Then the hammer fell.
"Starting tomorrow," the Kaiser continued, "you will move to Babelsberg Palace in Potsdam. You are not to leave it without my explicit permission."
It took Wilhelm a second to understand.
Then his face drained of colour.
"Father… are you putting me under house arrest?" His voice rose. "No! You cannot do that. You cannot take away my freedom. I am the Crown Prince of the German Empire!"
"You will remain there," Wilhelm II said, "and reflect on what you have done. When I am satisfied you have truly done so, you may resume your duties. Until then, you will stay at Babelsberg. Your position as Crown Prince will not be revoked, and nothing will be announced to the public."
"Father, you can't!" Wilhelm almost shouted, losing any last trace of princely dignity. "I am your eldest son! Your most beloved—"
"Guards," the Kaiser called, without raising his voice, "escort His Highness the Crown Prince to Babelsberg Palace."
The doors opened at once.
Two palace guards stepped in and bowed.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
They moved to either side of Crown Prince Wilhelm, firm hands on his arms.
"Unhand me!" Wilhelm cried, struggling. "I am the Crown Prince! Father! FATHER!"
His cries echoed down the corridor as they dragged him out, but the Kaiser did not call them back.
He stood alone in the quiet salon, jaw clenched, eyes shut.
It hurt.
But not as much as seeing Oskar standing in a pool of his own blood.
When the news reached the Royal Military Hospital, Oskar lay propped against his pillows, bandages bright white against his tanned skin.
Karl, on the next bed, looked up from grumbling at a nurse.
"Your Highness," Karl said, unable to hide the satisfaction in his voice, "congratulations. His Majesty may not have stripped the Crown Prince of his title, but this shows his patience is nearly gone. He wouldn't lock his favourite son away if everything were fine."
Oskar exhaled slowly.
"This isn't something to celebrate," he said. "I almost lost my life. And now my mother… she'll be beside herself. And if the truth ever gets out, half the court will tear itself apart choosing sides."
Karl conceded that with a small shrug, but his eyes still gleamed. From his point of view, any setback for the Crown Prince was a blessing for Germany.
For Oskar, the hurt ran deeper.
This incident had shown him something he'd always known in theory but had never truly felt on his own skin:
In royal families, blood ties meant less than people liked to believe.
When a throne was at stake, even brothers might draw knives against each other. If the prize was large enough, affection and childhood memories meant nothing.
It had always been that way in Chinese history, he knew. Princes murdering half their brothers to secure succession. Emperors purging uncles, cousins, entire branches of the clan.
He had hoped Europe would be different.
He had been wrong.
"The throne," Oskar muttered, staring at the ceiling, "is always stained with blood. East or West, it's the same. If you're not ruthless, you don't become emperor."
He clenched his fist.
"Next time," he said quietly, "I won't be so soft. I won't give anyone another chance to point a gun at me… or at the people I care about. Brother or not—if he tries or even thinks of such things again, I'll make sure he pays for it myself."
Karl watched him for a moment, then nodded once.
For the first time since the park, Oskar's anger was no longer just fear and confusion.
It had become something harder.
Something the throne of Germany would one day have to reckon with—whether Oskar wanted it or not.