The steam from the thermal waters curled lazily into the crisp Bavarian air as Wilhelm, Crown Prince of Prussia, sank into the milky-blue embrace of the spring. At twenty, his youthful vigor was unmistakable—cheeks flushed from both the heat and the thrill of indulgence, his laughter echoing off the cedarwood panels of the bathhouse. His cousin, Alfred, Duke of Edinburgh, reclined beside him, their camaraderie punctuated by Wilhelm’s boisterous clap on Alfred’s shoulder.

“You’ve outdone yourself, mein lieber cousin,” Wilhelm declared, his voice carrying the self-assured cadence of royalty. “A man could grow accustomed to such luxuries.”

Alfred offered a wry smile before turning to debate the merits of Hungarian wines with a silver-haired Russian count across the spring. Wilhelm paid their conversation little mind. Bad Wiessee’s springs were a crossroads of Europe’s elite—English lords trading gossip, Prussian generals soaking away old battle wounds, and the occasional tsarist envoy melting into the steam. But tonight, Wilhelm’s attention drifted elsewhere.

He leaned back, the mineral-rich water lapping at his collarbone as his gaze swept the room. A group of ladies—German, perhaps Austrian—giggled behind silk fans near the stone hearth, their eyes darting in his direction. Wilhelm’s smirk widened. Youth had its advantages, and he wielded charm like a sabre: sharp, gleaming, and impossible to ignore.

“Ach, Alfred,” he murmured, more to himself than his preoccupied cousin, “one mustn’t let politics overshadow… diversions.”