The King of Prussia

In the cold halls of Berlin Palace, the King of Prussia stood by his window, watching snow fall on his kingdom. His name was Frederick, but his people called him the Great.

He was not a man of laughter, nor one who smiled easily. His hands, though old and worn, still carried the memory of a sword—and the grace of a flute. For when wars ended and the drums fell silent, he would play soft music that drifted through the corridors like a memory of peace.

Years ago, he had fought to defend his small nation against giants—Austria, Russia, and France. Many nights he had not slept, thinking his army would break, his kingdom collapse. Yet somehow, through courage and cunning, he had endured. His people followed him not only out of fear, but because he never gave up, even when the world turned against him.

Now, in his final winter, the King no longer thought of battles. He thought of his garden at Sanssouci, of the roses he had planted, and of his dogs waiting by the fire. He thought of music, of the flute he once played beside Voltaire.

As the snow covered Prussia in silence, the old king whispered, “Power fades, but ideas remain.” Then he smiled—a rare, gentle smile—and the King of Prussia set down his sword forever.

And though the palace lights dimmed that night, the melody of his reign continued to echo across history.