As the prince, the one thing Friedrich had that was his was the tutor his father had hired for him.

Well respected, well rounded Hans Hermann von Katte. The guy supposed to turn the King’s “soft, music loving boy” into a warrior, into a man.

That did not happen. Hans Hermann von Katte became his only, and best, friend. And then, as Katte, he became his lover.

Friedrich hadn’t experienced love before. He’d met Katte when he was sixteen. They had giggled together like schoolgirls instead of a royal and a measly hire, and Katte would share all the poetry that Friedrich’s father restricted him from keeping.

They held hands, and pecked each other on the cheeks. Friedrich would scribble Katte’s name into his private notebook and swoon. They made worthless plans to escape Prussia, escape Friedrich father, and move to France or something of those sorts. Friedrich perfected his language skills, just in case.

Unfortunately, that didn’t really go anywhere, but it was still exhilarating. They only saw each other twice every week, until Friedrich convinced his father to push it to six times when he turned 18– he said it was to train him for a military.

That was a lie. He wanted to escape, for real. He wanted to run. Far, far away from Prussia with…Katte. That was his dream.