at least, it seemed aimed at Germany's princes and not the Swedish prince who—in theory—ruled them all.
By now, partly under Becky and Melissa's tutelage and partly from his own disciplined reading program, Mike knew enough history to recognize the phenomenon. It was a common pattern, repeated many times. The crowd was still—just barely—willing to give the emperor a pass. If he did the right thing and got rid of his evil and wicked advisers.
The emperor seemed a goodly enough fellow, after all. He'd beaten down the Habsburgs, hadn't he—something no German prince could claim. And he slept with his own troops in the field, didn't he—lying on the cold ground right next to them. And, perhaps most important of all, he had greeted the United States with . . .
Well. "Open arms" was a bit much. Still, he had greeted them. Which no one could say for German princes.

Except one, who had chosen to give up his princedom.
When Mike saw Wilhelm of Saxe-Weimar already standing on the steps of the palace, not far from Spartacus and—like the young German leader of the CoC—trying desperately to calm down the mob, he gave him a silent nod of respect. And, simultaneously, felt a deep sense of relief and satisfaction.
If I can head off this civil war—contain it, rather—maybe we won't have to fight the next one at all.
When Wilhelm and Spartacus caught sight of Mike striding up the steps, the look of relief which crossed their own faces was almost comical.
"Thank God you're here!" hissed Spartacus. "What do we do? I've been trying to reason with them, but . . ."
Mike clapped him cheerfully