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"You've sold yourself," The words were biting, "Like cattle, ready to be served up as fresh beef to the vultures of Berlin. For a marriage I doubt you'll even be able to consummate."
He felt like a jerk.
But then again, “jerk” tended to be Saxony’s usual state of being. He breathed out a puff of smoke, tapping his fingers with agitation along the balcony of the Berlin Palace, the cicadas humming in the gardens, the trickle of fountain water slowly cooling his mind. His shoulders sagged.
Still, did Bavaria have to wait six months to tell him? And then, at the gala, half year anniversary of the empire’s ascension, Saxony learned of his best friend’s engagement when Prussia offered Bavaria a dance and had kissed his gloved knuckles, whispering sweet as honey into the man’s ear as they waltzed to the pull of the strings and the charm of the woodwind, while chandeliers twinkled above their heads, acting as if they did not notice the array of eyes upon them. Hesse had gasped. Hanover had immediately broken out into whispers with Anhalt and Oldenburg. Saxony had just stared, his face draining of color. When Bavaria had broken free, they’d met in the gardens.
“Prussia wanted a political ally.”
“And I am not such a thing?”
“It is not the same,” Bavaria had told him, “And you know it.”
God, he was sad, wasn’t he? His ancestors had at the very least been regional powers, on par with the electorates of Bavaria and Brandenburg, even if they were all second to the inbreeding stalk of the continent conquering Hapsburg Austria. There had been equality in such a state of affairs, his mother had saved the Protestant Reformation when sheltering Luther! Now Austria was focused on the south, Prussia had raised an empire of his own to dominate them all, and Bavaria had joined his ranks, forever beneath him, but a prized jewel nonetheless, prepared to spread his influence over all German lands.
He wished, secretly, that he was right. He knew Bavaria, he knew the man had never been one for romantic partnership, something Prussia would have to seek out eventually. Prussia was not a traditionalist, at least not when it came to marriage, but he’d been the subject of several rumours of romantic entanglements in Saxony’s lifetime, if his late electorate aunties were all to be believed. Bavaria, on the other hand, had no interest in anyone. Saxony had never seen a single soul catch his eye. The union was bound to fail. Wasn’t it?
And good if it did! Saxony chewed on the edge of his cigar, the tobacco bitter on his tongue, smoke curling beneath his nose. Bavaria had betrayed him, and that was that. He knew perfectly well that every single attempt Saxony had made in the past several months to cozy up to Germany had failed, every scrap of influence for the sake of his people, stripped from him. Even Hanover, who’d been in that horrible trifle with Prussia and Austria back in the 1850s seemed to have more of a say in how the new nation was run. Hesse, in her drunken state, probably received a more captive audience. Surely the empire had never gotten up to leave when Baden was on one of his long winded tangents about clockmaking!
“Good sir, are you quite alright?”
Saxony took the cigar out from his lips, stabbing it out on the ashtray. “Huh?”
“You were mumbling a bit to yourself, forgive me, I was just making sure…”
“It’s fine,” Saxony said, turning to look at the source of the voice.
“Good then,” The man before him clasped his hands awkwardly in front of himself, shrugging half heartedly, “I suppose one can never be too sure. ‘Tis a host’s duty.” Cornflower blue eyes crinkled at their corners, lips upturned in a little smile. He was stiff, but friendly, a rose red stripe over the top half of his face, bleeding into the gentle curls of his hair. From his nose to his chin was white, as were a pair of soft hands, only calloused on the top of his ring finger, where a pen might rest.
“Forgive me,” Saxony grunted, “I don’t know you, I think.” The man was familiar, certainly, perhaps from the background of a meeting at the Reichstag, maybe from court. His eyes, though, he knew them, certainly.
The man held out one of his soft hands, “Brandenburg, sir, the Province. Brother to Prussia, uncle to our dear Empire.”
Ah, that was why. He and his brother shared little features, but the eyes were the same. It was one of those unusual things about their kind, that eyes could tell you a nation’s entire family. Saxony grasped his hand, carefully, and was little surprised that Brandenburg didn’t flinch under his harsh grip. Well, he’d grown up around Prussia. How could such a gentle creature have survived such a life?
“Good to meet you,” Saxony forced out, still entranced in that doll-like face. “I’ve met your siblings, didn’t really know they had another brother.”
“Well,” Brandenburg waited for Saxony to draw back his hand before dropping his own. “I am not one for the battlefield. I did three years as an officer and never returned. My sister was far better suited to that life, and of course my brother has waged his fair share of wars.”
An officer? Saxony could not imagine it.
“Well,” he began, “It is not for everyone I suppose.” That was stupid. Brandenburg could easily take it as an insult- most men would, especially Prussians.
But Brandenburg, to Saxony’s great relief, laughed a little, “No it is not,” He eyed Saxony’s leg knowingly, “It was not meant for you either, clearly.”
Well, ouch. Saxony should’ve argued something nastier back, but he felt himself disarmed at that moment, and when Brandenburg walked away with quiet footsteps, Saxony followed.
It was in the gardens when he finally spoke again. “How do you feel,” he asked, glancing around for onlookers, “That your brother is to be married after all these years.”
Brandenburg shrugged, “It is not my business. I was a little surprised, I did not think he could ever give up his strict routines, he wakes at four-thirty every morning, winter or summer, washes his face in ice water, and eats ham and strawberries with three cups of coffee with,” he rolled his eyes, “-peppercorns. In the coffee. I hope Bavaria does not mind strong flavors.” Brandenburg strolled ahead, stopping only to pick a little flower from the gardens and cup it in his hands, “Or, hopefully, Prussia will learn to serve food that is tolerable to more people than him.”
Saxony chuckled, “I’m sure Bavaria will manage to have some influence over him.” His chest ached. “Or,” he added more darkly, “He’ll just stay in Munich.” He picked a little blue flower from the same bush as Brandenburg, rolling the stem between his fingers.
If Brandenburg noticed the resentment, he did not comment on it. Instead, he looked up at the moon, basking in its glow as the string melodies carried over the hedges from the palace. His eyes sparkled. “There is much to hope for,” he commented.
“I supposed there is,” Saxony conceded.
-
Saxony travelled to Berlin four times over the next four months, each for about five days. Every time, he saw Brandenburg. The man lingered behind Prussia and Germany, or whispered in the ear of considerably less friendly East Prussia. He’d even caught him conversing with Bavaria once, and had tried with great difficulty to conceal the stinging betrayal he’d felt in that moment when Brandenburg at last noticed Saxony observing them, waving him over with a gallant grin as Bavaria slunk away, rejoining his betrothed. It was not Brandenburg’s fault that Bavaria had made such choices, Brandenburg was just too friendly. Perhaps a bit naive, Saxony wondered as they again met in the library.
“It’s two months until the wedding,” Brandenburg wiped imaginary sweat from his perfectly smooth forehead, “I’ve got flower arrangements and catering, we’ve sent for an orchestra from Austria, I mean, it is a bit of a nightmare.” He collapsed in a plush chair, “I’m reading up on historical Bavarian coats of arms because symbolism is the entire reason this wedding is happening!” He laughed, “Poor Bavaria is terribly in over his head, the most random of Junkers keep rushing him all at once, expecting him to know their names!”
Saxony noticed, perhaps a little too much, that the buttons on Brandenburg’s collar were coming undone, revealing a sliver more neck than usual. It was as the rest of him was, unmarred, soft. Saxony picked up a ruby colored feather off the desk with fascination, fingers brushing the vane, his face heating. He shouldn’t be doing this. Grooming was intimate, even if the feather was no longer attached to the man.
“This yours?” He mumbled, holding the feather far from him.
“Oh!” Brandenburg exclaimed, nearly dropping his books, “Sorry! I’ve been molting terribly lately, I think it’s the stress, I meet with probably thirty people in a day right now! Only half of it’s the wedding, the rest is provincial duties. Sorry!” He snatched the feather from Saxony’s hand, the latter sorry to see it go, his hand feeling empty, cold, without it. “How are things at the Reichstag? I was seeing some local farmers from right outside the city so I couldn’t attend.”
“Oh,” Saxony leaned back in his chair, gripped by annoyance, “You know, same old same old. I can’t stand those meetings.”
“Why not?” Brandenburg asked, “Surely it is important to voice your concerns, you represent so many people.” He stashed his feather away in a drawer, pulling out a book. “This is the one you were looking for,” He passed it to Saxony, “The one on Swedish botany?”
“Thanks, really,” Saxony took it, smiling. In truth, he’d only asked for the book because Brandenburg went on long tangents about farming, especially concerning methods of chillier climates, and most of the time Saxony didn’t get a lick of what he was talking about. “I just…” he chose his words carefully. Brandenburg was kind and understanding, but he was still the uncle of the empire. “Maybe it is a feeling shared among several of us. I understand some states will have more influence, that is the way of politics.” He sighed, “I only wish my voice rang a little more equally in the choir, you get what I’m saying. Perhaps I should seek some better avenue to voice my grievances, it is my duty after all.” His shoulders sagged and he reached for a cigar, holding the tip to one of Brandenburg’s candles.
“Well that only makes sense I suppose,” Brandenburg pondered, “Perhaps a private audience could be arranged with the empire. She’s busy, but I am sure she would not mind something short. Surely it wouldn’t take much time to state your piece, if there are some regional matters that truly need tending to.” He snatched one of Saxony's cigars. “I could suggest it.”
“You would do that?” Saxony leaned forward, forearms on his knees, forcing down his excitement, “I mean, that is so kind, but if the empire is so busy-”
“Don’t worry about it, I know her schedule, I could slot you in the next time you’re here. It would probably only be a short twenty minutes, but it is better than nothing.” Brandenburg lit his cigar, the tobacco perched between gentle fingers. Saxony could’ve leapt from his seat with joy.
“I am in your debt,” he bowed his head shyly.
Brandenburg laughed, “Do not fuss over it. We are friends now.”
-
Friends, Saxony pondered on the train ride back to Dresden. He was friends with the uncle of the empire, brother of Prussia.
Perhaps Bavaria had the right idea. It did not lessen Saxony’s anger with him, which had grown in the long lonely months since their fight, but it made Saxony realize that perhaps he could gain what Bavaria had. Hesse and the others had laughed at the prospect of marrying a Prussian, but Brandenburg was not really a Prussian, was he? Legally, yes, of course, but in spirit? No. Brandenburg was docile, and while Saxony felt guilty for considering him so, as if the man was a deer in comparison to the wolves he lived beside, to the fox he had become friendly with, such were the ways of politics.
Surely Brandenburg, a simple province, would not refuse a kingdom.
It was only natural that Saxony try his hand at the marriage mart.
-
Unlike Bavaria, Saxony was good at flirting. He had seduced several people in his lifetime, from writers to actresses to another state from time to time.
The problem with Brandenburg was that Saxony was never quite sure if he was picking up on the advances or if he was just being, well… Brandenburg. Quiet and polite, passionate in his hobbies, cheerful despite his stresses, which were increasing as the wedding ticked closer.
Saxony still refused to speak to Bavaria, who seemed to time his frequent visits to Berlin to align with every time Saxony made his way to the capital. He panicked, occasionally, that Bavaria would warn Brandenburg of his intentions, fill his head with concerns about Saxony’s perhaps slightly less relatable hobbies. (It wasn’t his fault that the castle-raised province had such a strong fascination with agriculture!)
“Does Prussia ever travel to Munich?” Saxony asked as they strolled through Brandenburg’s section of the gardens.
Brandenburg examined the leaves of his flowers. “Once a month or so, Bavaria convinced him to attend a Catholic mass the last time I believe,” he laughed, “Prussia barely attends Lutheran services.”
That would be Bavaria, alright. Saxony could remember being placed in the same position himself, dragged to an old cathedral, the bishop giving him a strange look when he received communion.
“Perhaps I could take you to Dresden,” He offered, “There is this old Baroque style park you would enjoy, one of my mother’s electors had it built nearly two hundred years ago.”
Brandenburg’s eyes sparkled and he leaned over his messy desk, “Well that would be fun. You must take me, then. Cigar?”
They were his favorite, Saxony realized with a smile, perhaps he was getting somewhere. Perhaps Brandenburg had noticed him.
“You know,” Brandenburg sighed, “If I was not a province, I would move permanently out to the country. I own a horse farm, the herd there is where my family selects all of their steeds. I would live there and grow some crops and buy the rest at the local market. I would travel when my brother needed me to and I would bring back plants from every corner of the continent and craft a greenhouse suitable to all kinds of climates. One moment I would scent Spanish Bluebells, the next, lie beneath a Siberian Cedar.”
“It’s a beautiful dream,” Saxony told him, “I could supply you with some stock from my own travels, grow the collection. You’d need two of your greenhouses.” He passed the man a cigar and held the candle close for him to light it. “I think we’d travel finely together, you and I.”
“Yes,” Brandenburg summoned a servant, “Two beers.” When the man returned, Brandenburg raised his glass. “To friendship!”
Or perhaps Saxony was getting nowhere.
Brandenburg could just be playing polite, he reasoned, waiting dutifully for Saxony to make the stronger move.
-
So, it was the month before the wedding when he arrived in Berlin, a ring tucked inside his pocket, a box in one hand, a little bag in the other.
“You’ve been around frequently, haven’t you?”
Saxony stopped short, halted by a voice he was certainly less enthused to recognize.
“East Prussia,” he acknowledged politely, “It is good to see you.”
“Likewise.” She said dryly.
Ugh.
“Just dropping something off.” Saxony lifted the box, which she could certainly already see.
He knew his plan would involve seeing plenty more of East Prussia, the woman never seemed to be in Koniggsberg these days, lurking around the empire and her siblings like a vulture, readying to feast upon the remains of any poor soul Germany found distasteful or worse, disrespectful. Germany certainly liked loyalty, something Saxony had learned to appeal to in his brief meetings with his empire, organized by Brandenburg. Thankfully, she had lately shifted from observing him out of familial obligation to her kind hearted uncle to actual interest in the words that left his mouth. East Prussia, on the other hand, did not seem all too invested in showing tolerance to her brother’s friends. Quite the opposite. If anything, she scrutinized him with greater harshness.
East Prussia opened her mouth again, ready to unleash some barbed comment, before Brandenburg came barreling out.
“Saxony!” he greeted, “It is good to see you! Sorry, I know we made plans, I am just swamped lately.”
“Require any assistance?” Saxony asked.
“No need,” East Prussia patted her brother on the shoulder, “I shall handle the florists this time, it is only concerns about storage, yes?”
“The conditions must be perfect or the flowers will wilt.”
“Brandenburg,” East Prussia took him by the shoulders, “I have heard you speak of these things at such great length by now, that I could recite the perfect temperatures for about a hundred different botanical varieties in my sleep. If you’re that worried, I’ll use your notes.” She smiled, brushed a leaf out of his hair. Saxony wished he could’ve done it instead, the jealousy curling in his stomach.
Brandenburg sighed. “The notebook is on my desk.” He conceded, finally. “On the page with the blue bookmark.”
“Enjoy yourself,” East released him, “God knows we won’t get a wink of peace when the rest of the kingdoms arrive.”
The two of them retreated to Brandenburg’s salon. It was sparsely decorated in comparison to the Baroque gilting of the rest of the Berlin Palace, besides from the abundance of shadow boxes and herbarium sheets pinned and hammered through the floral wallpaper. Saxony knew the man was obsessed, but… good God. On the mantle sat a few horse figurines, each labeled with a name. He recognized Prussia’s steed, Alcmene, and Germany’s, as well as the fierce black mare that East Prussia had ridden at Koniggratz five years earlier, apparently christened Diana. Fitting, Saxony thought bitterly, rubbing the fabric over the gaping scar that remained from his one encounter with her on the field. The room’s lighting was natural, flowing in gently thorough green and gold curtains.
Brandenburg brushed aside a half-pressed flower, plopping down on the sofa, gesturing for Saxony to sit down next to him. “I see I have been brought a gift,” he said with a smile.
“Well,” Saxony drawled, “Perhaps it is for your sister.” He sat, passing the crate into Brandenburg’s lap. “Open, dear sir.”
He did. His eyes lit up almost immediately. “Alpine varieties?” He asked, “Saxony, that is a Bavarian Gentian? Those only bloom in August!”
“I have my ways.”
The ways, Saxony didn’t admit, were that Bavaria had once gifted him some some seeds at Christmas, back in the 1840s or so, along with instructions for his gardeners on how to construct an environment that might allow them to bloom.
“That is not a Gibraltar Campion, no I do not believe it. Do you know how rare these are?”
“I should,” Saxony laughed, passing him the bag next, “I did find them.”
“You are just…” Brandenburg took out one of the dried campions, carefully cradling it in gentle palms, “God, Saxony. Thank you.”
“Don’t forget the seeds. There’s environment instructions at the bottom of the crate somewhere for both of them. You wanted to build a greenhouse, right?” Saxony asked with a grin.
Brandenburg set the crate aside, grasping Saxony with his soft hands, “You are amazing.” Saxony watched those cornflower eyes twinkle, and rubbed his thumb over Brandenburg’s hands.
“What can I say?” He flirted, “I really want you to come to Dresden.”
A little more, just a small push.
“Well, how could I refuse?” Brandenburg laughed, pulling away to Saxony’s utter dismay.
“I mean it,” Saxony slid an arm along the welch of the couch, so daringly close above the heat of Brandenburg’s neck, “We would be great together. A team. I could aid you here in Berlin, once the wedding is over you could spend time building your greenhouse, or maybe help me in Dresden with my old gardens, spruce things up for the bicentennial.”
“We’re already a team,” Brandenburg said softly.
“I mean…” Saxony sighed, arm inching closer to the other, “A more official team.” His hand cradled Brandenburg’s shoulder, pulling him a little closer. “Think about it. Not just as Prussia’s greatest province and one of the empire’s most influential kingdoms. Think of greenhouses. Think of the Alpines and Gibraltar.”
Brandenburg’s mouth fell open a little, his head tilting to the side as if confused. How could he be? It had to be shock. Certainly Saxony had been clear about his intentions, you did not woo a man you desired only friendship with in such a personal manner. And he would be good to him, far better than most would treat such a delicate, gentle soul as the one inhabiting the kind figure in front of him, with his soft hands and relaxed curls.
“Saxony,” Brandenburg said quietly, his shoulders going rigid, “I… I think you have the wrong idea.”
“Why must that be?” Saxony asked, attempting to cradle Brandenburg’s face.
The province stood, raking his hands through the waves of his hair, “I just… I do not love you in such a way.”
“Who says it must begin as love?” Saxony pleaded. “Many unions start as friendship and blossom into greater things later.”
“It is not what I want.” Brandenburg shook his head, “I cannot commit to such a thing.”
“Your brother did.”
Anger, utterly foreign on that face, flashed across Brandenburg’s eyes, “I am not my brother!” He exclaimed, “I am not a kingdom, I am not a builder of empires. I am my father’s son and I wish to marry for love as he did, if I ever do marry. Prussia is fine with being subject to a political union and clearly Bavaria is as well, and that is their choice. I do not wish to make the same one.”
“This isn’t about Bavaria!” Saxony rose, filled with frustration.
Brandenburg sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Are you sure? I see the way you look at him whenever he is near. You want to hate him, but you cannot, he is your oldest friend. So instead you are trying to grasp at whatever he has with my brother for yourself, prove your worth as a kingdom in some twisted way. Perhaps I am a fool to have not grasped this sooner, but grasp it I have, and my answer to you is no.”
The ring felt heavy in his pocket. Saxony’s mind went in a thousand directions at once, his heart pounding. Brandenburg crossed his arms, staring at him defiantly. What had he done to turn the man against him? Was Saxony not allowed to have anything?
“Brandenburg-”
“I think you should go.” Brandenburg interrupted. “Please.”
-
There was no giving up, not when Saxony had been so close, tantalizingly so. He did return home to Dresden, taking the crate Brandenburg had insisted he no longer wanted with him. He smashed it upon returning, kicking the pieces of wood childishly across his private yard, leaving the mess behind as he collapsed into bed with a bottle of beer.
All he wanted was to be acknowledged. Was that so terrible? To take his place within the ranks of the German Empire, to truly belong to the family, to the nation Bavaria had effortlessly ingratiated himself into. He was right for that! Surely!
Brandenburg might as well marry now. Germany was powerful at her lonesome, but even she needed ties as Britain and France turned their hawkish eyes at the new industrial powerhouse making moves in their imperialistic spheres. Alliances had to be forged beyond the beginnings of friendship with Austria-Hungary and the persevering relations with Italy. A bond sealed in the blood of marriage and children would be even better, and Brandenburg was one of the most eligible German bachelors on the market. Germany could order him to marry, but she most definitely would not order him to divorce. Saxony could be a safety net, if only Brandenburg would see it. He drew up lists of arguments on his head, scratching them on parchment as his third bottle dribbled down his shirt, amber droplets soaking through to his skin.
He passed out soon after, awaking groggily with a raging headache and new sense of determination.
-
Two weeks before the wedding, the German states rolled into Berlin, taking up entire wings of the palace. Saxony nestled in his quarters, writing out a formulated list of reasons for marriage that was not stained with beer from his night of misery.
“Where are you off to?” Hesse questioned early the next morning.
“Seeing someone,” Saxony told her, dodging the question. If she knew, she’d tell Baden, who’d tell Wurttemberg, who’d announce Saxony’s prolonged and so far unsuccessful courtship of the province at dinner over drinks, and then Prussia would find out and he would then tell East Prussia and between the two of them, Saxony was not certain he would live to see that horrible wedding without Brandenburg’s protection. He needed to get that ring on his beautiful finger.
On the way, to his utter dismay, was Bavaria, fully immersed in the Prussian family’s wing of the palace.
“Saschen.” He folded his arms.
Saxony tried to dodge him, but the man moved to stand in his way. Saxony was, he could've shouldered him easily, but Bavaria had a few inches on him, and as Saxony had learned from experience, even peace-loving Bayern with his ill kings and funny little book bag could pack a considerable punch if angry enough. “What gives, Bavaria?” Saxony demanded.
Bavaria was different, Saxony realized. His spine was straighter, his glasses were polished to perfection, the toe of his boots had not a speck impeding their shine. He no longer gripped on to the fashion of three decades prior, redressed like a fashion doll in the windows of some Parisian boutique. Somehow he was both more prissy and more hardened than before. “Bavarian Gentians, Saxony, really?” He asked.
Fuck.
“Like it’s your business.” Saxony tried to go around him again, but Bavaria seized him by the shoulder.
“I am trying to make your life easier.” Bavaria hissed. “You are very lucky that Prussia isn’t aware of your little stunt. And for your information, this very much is my business, and if I was doing my duty, I would’ve told him. Brandenburg is my brother-in-law and he’s Prussia’s baby brother. If you were anyone else…” He sighed, “I would have.”
Anger flared in Saxony’s nostrils, “So you’re really one of them now,” he spat.
“If you push that man anymore, I can’t save you from the consequences. Leave him be. Find some noble to woo, God knows you’re good at romancing on most days.” He narrowed his eyes. “At least when you’re not asking for the impossible.”
“Oh, because I’m not good enough for him?”
“Because he does not love you!” Bavaria exclaimed. He covered his mouth, glancing around, before hooking Saxony by the arm and dragging him into one of the drawing rooms, shutting the door and locking it behind them. “You cannot force him to do so,” Bavaria said with a groan, “You’re not stupid, even if you act like it.”
Saxony crossed over to the window, overlooking the courtyard, the hustle and bustle as guest departed carriages and long separated friends embraced each other. He spotted Hanover, conversing with Prussian provinces like she’d been friendly with them for decades.
“I don’t need your protection,” he muttered.
“Fine then!” Bavaria threw up his hands, “Navigate the intricacies of Berlin on your own, I guess, I’m sure you’ll find it so easy when Prussia ends up furious with you.”
“You’ve taken to it well.” Saxony sat on the window ledge, leaning against the glass.
“I didn’t take to it. I’ve had about a hundred embarrassing incidents Prussia or East or Brandenburg had to rescue me from. I’ve learned, Saschen.”
Saxony watched a spider crawl down the window pane, launching on a thin string of silk down the length of the glass. “Piss off,” he grumbled.
“Ugh,” Bavaria stalked over to the door. “Fine then. Take my warning or don’t. It’s like you said I suppose, it’s none of my business what happens to you.” The walls trembled when he slammed the door. The spider leapt on to Saxony’s boot. He kicked it off.
-
“No.” Brandenburg said when Saxony finished reading his list. “I will not marry you.”
“Did you even listen?” Saxony asked.
“Yes.” The province closed the door on his face.
The festivities only made Saxony more miserable. He sipped on fine imported wines as the Austrian orchestra played a jolly tune, the melody mingling with clinking glasses and silverware, as well as the boisterous chatter of fifty or so guests, speaking between bites of fluffy potatoes, an apparent Prussian staple, and roasted ham and radishes, spiced with mustard. At the high table sat Germany herself, towering over her states in both stature and placement, large black wings resting behind her as she surveyed her nation with shrewd violet eyes. To her left was Prussia, speaking with abnormal excitement for so brutal a man, though still dressed in an officer uniform, albeit one fit for a parade. To the empire’s right, in Berlin’s normal seat, was Bavaria, trapped in contemplation as he ate, brow furrowed, clearly not hearing whatever Munich was saying into his ear. On Prussia’s side of the table was Berlin, then East Prussia, then Brandenburg, tucked away in his normal, unnoticeable corner, silent, occasionally nodding at whatever his siblings or capital said.
“I missed these days, while wars were raging,” Wurttemberg sighed, interlocking his fingers with Baden’s. “Just us, humble as can be, enjoying a meal together as friends, not just as nations. Of course,” he chuckled, “Normally Bavaria is here with us.” He waved up at the high table. “Too fancy to notice me now, I see.” But the jab was friendly, unlike anything Saxony had been able to offer.
“It is good,” Hesse nodded, surprisingly in a state of clear-headedness Saxony noticed. Perhaps she had at last recovered from the terrible demise of Hesse-Kassel. “We needed something like this, I think.”
“Well, that’s the point, isn’t it?” Saxony grumbled, “Lull us all into security, then shut us out when we try to rise to Bavaria’s level. There’s only room for one of us at that table.” He slumped back in his seat.
The other three exchanged glances. Baden whispered something to Wurttemberg, who fixed his attention on Saxony.
“Look, Saxony,” Wurttemberg said with uncommon carefulness, “This feud you’ve got with him… I mean… it’s been six months. Are you going to be angry on his wedding day?”
“It’s not like they actually love each other.” Saxony huffed. “When I get engaged, I’m telling you all first thing. I’ll love him.” He stood from his seat. “Excuse me.”
None of them called after him when he stalked away.
-
Four days before the wedding, Saxony could not take it anymore. Brandenburg had been driving him mad, in his view one second before slipping into the shadows, just as he always did, shielding himself behind his siblings. Coward!
He tried to track him down three separate times at the rehearsal dinner yesterday, then once this morning, the ring still sequestered in his pocket. It was only at that night’s pre-wedding gala, as the hall was lit by candlelight and dance cards were distributed, that Saxony saw him slipping away to the gardens, shedding his own card into the pot of a plant. Was it for him to retrieve? He didn’t wait to find out, striding around the ballroom, ignoring Hesse’s waves, brushing wet soil from the card with an unfortunate squelch as it dropped on the sparkling stone.
Oh, the night was like that in which they met! The moon illuminated every inch of the garden, casting slivers of light on every leaf and petal. Saxony could probably name half of them, he realized now, Brandenburg had left such a mark on him. He spotted a feather and followed it, then another. They increased as he walked, some bent or broken at the tips, as if Brandenburg had snapped them purposefully as he led Saxony away. Clever, truly, Saxony would have to commend him on such things. An intelligent spouse was absolutely a positive.
The sight that greeted him, however, was not what Saxony expected.
Brandenburg was pacing, violently, shoes digging grooves into the dirt, hands dragging through his scarlet wings, pulling out clumps of poorly grown feathers, his chest heaving, eyes darting frantically to the side, dancing under the moonlight. Had he even noticed him? For the first time, as Brandenburg appeared to have ripped his collar open, a button littering the ground, Saxony saw a shiny stretch of marred flesh across Brandenburg’s collarbone, reaching up to the base of his neck, slicing through the pearlescent white, shockingly ugly.
“Brandenburg?”
His head shot up, his entire body freezing, his own plumes crushed in his rigid grip.
“Why won’t you just leave me alone?” He pleaded, his voice breaking, “What did I ever do to you to make you hate me so deeply?”
What? Saxony stepped forward. “Why would you say such a thing?” he demanded, “I love you. I want to marry you.” He pulled the ring from his pocket. “See?”
“Stop saying that!” Brandenburg shouted shrilly, feathers scattering along the grass. “Stop it! Just stop it!” Tears stained his face, dripping down his cheeks, “Please!”
“Brandenburg?” There was a rustling in the bushes, “You left suddenly, are you alright?”
Two figures stepped into the clearing. One, to Saxony’s horror, was East Prussia, her face filled with concern. Well, until she spotted him. Her hands balled into fists. “You.” she spat. “I knew you were up to something.”
“Look,” Saxony raised his hands in defense, “It’s not as bad as whatever you’re thinking.” The ring flashed silver in the moonlight, still grasped between his fingers. Ever eagle-eyed, East Prussia saw it. Her face contorted then, shifting from anger to a storm of rage.
“Bavaria,” she said to the other figure, “Get my brother for me, would you?”
Bavaria emerged from the shadow, head bent, guilt written across his face. Saxony stared at him pleading. Surely he wouldn’t do it, surely he’d talk her down, tell her that Saxony meant no harm and clearly there had been some misunderstanding, because why was Brandenburg shaking like a fucking leaf?
Bavaria nodded, and for a moment Saxony thought it was at him, that he had last come to his senses and realized who his true ally in this world was. But then Bavaria turned around and disappeared into the night.
Traitor.
-
The next hour reminded Saxony of the aftermath of Koniggratz back in '66, the mix of sheer agony and proper embarrassment of not only losing the battle, but biting on a stick, pants cut off revealing legs he had not washed in a few days, as the doctors did their best to yank a hunk of metal out of his thigh, which apparently, was rather voluminous. It had been Austria, then, who loomed over him, seething with unbridled rage at the triumph of his arch-rival’s army.
Now it was Prussia who he was at the mercy of.
East Prussia did not wound him, per se, but she excelled at less destructively delivered pain. As Bavaria, stupid Bavaria, led Brandenburg away, she held him in some form of stress position, his shoulders twisted, his knees bent, yanking his head up by his dwindling hair to face Prussia.
“Look,” Prussia paced in front of him as Saxony’s thighs burned. He seemed exhausted, his sleeves rolled up, revealing a plethora of sword marks and bullet grazes, arms hung limply at his sides “I have no desire to hurt you.”
East Prussia snorted. “Speak for yourself.”
Prussia sighed, his shoulder slumped, “I am walking down the aisle in four days, Saxony, thus, I am unusually merciful.” He bent down, gripping Saxony by the chin, his talons unsheathed, dancing dangerously along the edge of Saxony’s skin. “But make no mistake. You hurt my brother. Dangers to my family are not something I take lightly.”
His grip tightened. Saxony winced, hissing through clenched teeth as one talon pressed into his cheek.
“If you ever,” Prussia forced him to look him in the eye, “And I do mean ever, so much as attempt to speak to my brother again…” Saxony’s gaze traced that weathered face, lined with dozens of nicks and scars, including that massive stretch which disappeared under his eyepatch. The rumour was that the socket was empty, only a pinkish gash in the middle of Prussia's face remaining. His teeth grazed Saxony’s ear, “I will gut you from throat to groin and toss your body in the Spree. That is a promise. Understood?”
“Understood.” Saxony sputtered out.
Both Prussians released him. He collapsed into the grass face first with a heavy groan. East Prussia’s boot collided with his side, no doubt leaving killer bruises. He rolled over, miserable, marinating in the silence of his own humiliation.
A shadow loomed over him, its owner observing with both morbid fascination and a small shred of sympathy, his boots still squeaky clean.
“Go away.” Saxony groaned, covering his head.
“I warned you,” was all Bavaria responded with before his footsteps retreated back into the night, back to Berlin Palace and a world that Saxony was slowly realizing he would never claim as his own.