#duke of albany

[mysticgalsworld]

a timeless encounter

a/n: this is my first Leopold Mountbatten fic you guys !! i’m rlly excited but disappointed bc i haven’t seen a lot of fics under this tag :( im sad cause he’s my dream man and i NEED more of him (that’s why i made this 😋) anyways lovelies, as always i take requests but lemme know what you think💕

summary: as the owner of a small cafe in New York that you hate, you don’t expect anybody to change your mind. But the strange-dressed man who wonders into the cafe one day may change your mind…

warnings: Leopold Mountbatten x f! reader, southern! reader, not spellchecked

The line in the cafe is piled up. When you hear the bell ding tediously, announcing another customer, you almost groan. You keep your head positioned on the lady in front of you, half listening as she drones on about what she got last time.

You continue conversing, almost forgetting about the person who just walked in, when an accented voice pulls you out of your thoughts.

“Good day. I am Sir Leopold Mountbatten. How do you do?”

Your head turns to the side as you look to him. Surprised that he has walked to the front of the line, skipping about 10 waiting people, you almost scoff.

When you glance at him more closely and notice the strange clothes he’s wearing, your eyebrows crease. When he introduces himself and asks you, how do you do?, confusion rises to your face.

Keeping a calm, but confused face, you go to respond. “I’m sorry sir, there is a very long line of people waiting. Do you mind going to the back and waiting your turn?”

Leopold looks around, realizing the error he made. He turns back towards you with a sheepish expression on his face. "I apologize, I was not paying due attention."

He glances around, noticing the queue of people waiting. "It appears there are quite a few individuals waiting in line. I shall take my place at the end of the line. Do forgive my oversight."

You nod your head in confusion, agreeing to whatever he’s saying so he listens to you. You watch as he retreats to the back of the line. Shall? Do forgive? You think in your head as you question his strange choice of language. It’s nothing like the people in New York. You were lucky if you even got a thank you, which is nothing like the south, where you were raised.

Meanwhile you continue helping the female customer who’s still gabbing on about what drink she got from the menu last time. Still your mind wonders to the strange man who walked through the cafe doors.

Leopold patiently waits in line, studying the establishment with a mixture of curiosity and wonder, taking in the scents of hot drinks, the lone woman behind the counter.

As he waits, he can’t help but wonder what you think of him, your confusion evident in your expression. He glances at you every now and then, waiting for his turn to approach the counter.

Nodding as the woman finally decides what she wants, you move to take the next customer’s order. You continue this until the line dwindles down, the next person in line being the strange man.

Putting a small smile on your face, you’re sure he can read that it’s not entirely genuine due to your stressed and frazzled appearance.

“Hey sir, what can I get for you today?”

The strange man—Leopold was his name, right?—glances at you with a kind smile. “Good day. I shall have a cup of your finest black tea please, if you would be so kind.”

He glances across the counter to you, taking in your stressed appearance, his expression betraying a hint of concern.

You nod and jot down the order on your frayed notebook before telling him the total. He reaches into his pocket, retrieving a few coins to pay for the tea.

Looking up to him, your mind is baffled with curiosity and wonder. He notices your confusion and gives you a small questioning smile. Your mouth moves before your brain can tell it to stop.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

His eyebrows furrow in surprise before he clears his throat gently. “Indeed, I travel from afar. I hail from the city of Albany originally... Why do you ask?"

Your eyebrows raise in surprise as you turn around to prepare the tea on the counter behind you. Glancing over your shoulder absentmindedly but still curious, you respond.

“The clothes. Oh and the accent. But you do know Albany’s the capital of New York? So that wouldn’t make you a traveler from ‘afar’… Or British.”

Leopold chuckles at your abruptness, amused by your observation. You zone in on his face, the small crinkle of crows feet in the corners of his eyes as he smiles widely. "Ah yes, my attire. I am quite well aware of Albany's status as the capital of New York. I was referring to the era I originate from. I hail from the year...”

He pauses, a little uncomfortable as the next words come out of his mouth. You urge him on silently, turning from preparing the tea to instead lean against the counter.

He continues with a slight gulp, “—1876. That is what I meant by saying I am not from around here."

Your body pauses as you lean against the counter. Hoping to not show a reaction, you go back to the forgotten tea, starting to pour it. Your mind is reeling, wondering if he’s being truthful or if he’s just a strange crackhead that managed to wander in.

Blinking a couple times, you place the pot down once you are finished pouring and turn to him incredulously. “1876. You’re from 1876.”

Leopold stands straighter at this, wanting to see your reaction and more importantly wanting to see if you’ll believe him. He tries to put on an easy smile, boarderline smirk to suppress his nerves. “Indeed, I am. I assume you do not believe me, my lady?”

Blinking rapidly, you turn back around to grab the ceramic teacup from the other counter. Grabbing it and placing it in front of him, your voice almost wobbles as you place your hands on your hips.

“You’re not goin’ through some sort of psychosis or somethin’, right? Or you’re not like a really good street performer in character?”

Leopold takes the mug daintily from the counter, lifting it to his lips and taking a sip as he nods. He hums as he takes his first sip of the tea, almost distracted by how good it is. “No, my lady. I assure you I am neither a person dealing with mental illness nor a skillful street performer. I am very much real, and am not pretending in the slightest. I can provide you with further proof if you require it.”

A teasing scoff comes out of your mouth before you can stop it. A small smile appears on your face as you cross your arms. “I don’t need your whole life story, hon. I just met you.”

Leopold nods a little, the tips of ears ears almost reddening as he almost doesn’t catch your teasing tone. When it registers, he can almost scoff at your comment, but can’t help himself from smiling at your wit.

You glance down at the glass counter, an idea popping in your head before you can stop it. Before your brain can tell your body to stop, you bend down and grab a blueberry muffin. Placing it on a small plate, you hand it to him with a soft smile. “Well I’ve always wanted a man from the 19th century to try my desserts. On the house.”

He accepts the blueberry muffin with a gracious nod. “I appreciate your generosity, my lady. However, I must insist you allow me to pay for it. It doesn’t seem right, accepting something ‘on the house.’”

You shake your head, biting your lip to hold back a giggle. Smiling widely at him, you lean back on the counter. “Please just take the muffin and sit down…”

Leopold takes his muffin, tea, and your instruction to sit down, and finds an empty table in a quiet corner of the cafe. He sits down, taking a moment to examine the surroundings, his eyes landing on you, busy at work at the counter.

Looking down at the muffin, Leopold’s stomach grumbles in response to the delicious scent wafting up to him. He takes a small bite, the sweetness of the blueberry muffin filling his mouth. He lets out a satisfied hum, savoring the taste.

Now wiping down the counters, you watch the customers eat peacefully as the full cafe comes to a lull. You turn to restock inventory and leisurely take customer orders, almost forgetting the strange man supposedly from 1876.

Glancing down at the wall clock that’s nudged in the cozy wall of the cafe, you sigh knowing that you need to clean this entire place before you can go home. While you know working at the cafe may be a dream for some people, you are too busy with the hope for something better.

Owning this cafe was just a enclosed way for your late father to trap you. After he passed, he left it to you instead of your mother. Since they had been divorced for a while it made sense, but it was his last wish to spite her. Now this place is just a constant reminder of the crippling debt, unpaid loans, and quitting employees he left.

Taking out your troubles on the counters as you go back to wiping, you barely notice a pair of eyes on you. Leopold watched you as you work, observing your routine in the cafe. The slight tick of his pocket watch indicates that it's getting late. He takes another sip of his tea, watching as the last few customers start to trickle out of the cafe. Once they're gone, he steps back up to the counter.

"Excuse me, my lady. You'll be closed soon, yes?"

Emerging from around the counter, you pass him and walk to the space filled with tables. You move gracefully, picking up empty dishes and cups that people have left. Leopold walks behind you, watching as you gather the dishes.

His mind urges him to take the dishes from your hands, anything to help make it easier for you. He stills, patiently waiting for his answer while holding his hands out to assist you. Absentmindedly you nod, not noticing his outstretched hands.

“Yep, in about 20 minutes.”

He nods, clearing his throat gently. His eyebrow raises curiously before answering. “I see. And you’ll be closing up and cleaning by yourself? Where is your waitstaff?” You sigh, your chest rising and falling with exhaustion before answering with a teasing lift.

“No waitstaff, I own it. Currently taking applications though if your friends from the 19th century wanna help out…”

A small smile played on Leopold’s lips at your comment as he let out a small chuckle. Your eyes lift to his, listening to the deep rumble of his chuckle. Through his small laugh he responds, “I doubt any of my acquaintances from the 19th century would be able to assist even if they wanted to. Their knowledge certainly won't be up to standard here."

You nod with a small smile on your own lips, noticing as the plates start to get heavier in your arms. You adjust them, wanting to continue your easy conversation with Leopold, but he easily notices your discomfort. He steps closer, his arms outstretched.

"Might I offer my assistance, my lady?"

Your arms, filled to the brim with dishes, quake. Before you even nod your head, he moves to take the dishes from your hands. The huge pile of dishes seem almost small in his huge hands. You have to stop yourself from gawking down at them, instead moving to a small closed door that leads to the kitchen.

Turning slightly to the man with a smile, you try to open the small doorway wide so he can get in easily. The door sticks, giving you a hard time as you try to open it. You speak over your shoulder to him, half embarrassed and half frustrated.

“Thank you so much—I’m sorry, this ole thing gets stuck all the time and it’s annoying when you carrying a load’a dishes.”

Leopold just nods, a patient smile on his face as he waits. You open the door with a harsh pull as you open it enough for him to pass. He looks to you with a question and you guide him to the sink where the dishes go. After he sets down the dishes, his eyes remain on you, an earnest and determined expression on his face.

"Is there anything else I can assist with? I am at your disposal, my lady."

You almost flush at his words, used to honey, ma’am, and even sugar from your hometown, but my lady seeming completely different. Wiping your hands on your worn apron, you shake your head with a smile.

“My lady, huh? You sure do know how to make a lady feel special… But no, I got it. You should be focusin’ on how to get back to the 19th century. Seems a more pressin’ situation to get back to where you’re from..”

Leopold grins at your response, standing with his hands clasped behind his back as he listens to you. He question softly, his eyes fixed on you.

“Perhaps it is a pressing matter to get back to one’s home, but what about yourself? Earlier this evening, you asked about my own accent, but now I am wondering about yours.”

Turning away from him, you go to the large sink. You turn on the water, starting to wash the dishes, not noticing Leopold coming beside you. You stare down at the dishes as you respond, “I’m from Georgia.”

He nods, humming with sincerity. He goes to open his mouth to ask another question, but you turn to him, holding up a soapy hand to stop him. “Y’know you don’t have to stay here, I can’t pay you. You should be goin’ on your way.”

He shakes his head with a neutral smile on his face. He stands with his hands clasped behind his back as he leans forward towards you. “Perhaps. However, I simply cannot leave you to close and clean the cafe by yourself. It wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me.”

You wipe your hands on your apron and they find their way to your hips. Your southern accent slips out heavily, frustration evident. “I assure you, I’m fine. You should be goin’ on your way Mr...” You pause, hoping for him to repeat his name.

“—Sir Leopold Mountbatten.” Leopold raises an eyebrow at your stubborn insistence, amused by your southern character. He continues, his voice lifting with a smile.

“And I have no doubt you can handle closing up on your own, my lady. But that does not mean you should have to.” He pushes off the doorframe, taking a step closer to you.

"Please, allow me to help. I cannot leave knowing you'll be here for the next few hours, finishing up all by yourself."

You almost smile at his insistence, but push it down. You walk past him towards the heavy, brown door which leads to the main entrance. You open the door with a grunt and hold it open for him. With a small smile, you place your hands on your hips. The twang comes out of your voice when you speak softly to him.

“Well, yes you can and you will. Thanks for the offer, hon…” Leopold looks at you with a mixture of disappointment and acceptance in his eyes. He nods, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.

"Very well, my lady. If you're certain you don't need any aid, I shall take my leave then."

He takes an unnecessary large step in your direction before pausing in front of you, his eyes lingering on your face for a moment. Without a word, he lowers himself into a deep bow, his eyes never leaving your face.

"Farewell, my lady."

Your eyes narrow with confusion as he bows, but you nod and laugh softly in response. “Bye-bye Leopold…”

You watch as he hesitantly walks through the door to the main entrance. He turns back to you with doe eyes, giving you another opportunity for you to accept his offer, then leaves when you shake your head with a smile.

Leopold gives a final wave before stepping outside, the heavy cafe door closing slowly behind him. He pauses for a moment outside, gazing at your silhouette through the glass, a hint of reluctance in his eyes.

With a resigned sigh, he forces himself to turn away from the cafe, his footsteps heavy as he starts walking down the sidewalk. He mentally scolds himself for his impulsiveness and foolishness.

While you clean, you think of the strange man. You wish you accepted his offer. Or his telegram number.. you laugh to yourself at your stupid joke as you continue to scrub the counters.

Hours later, you finally finish. Grabbing your purse, you go to your house, and fall into a deep sleep. Filled with dreams of the 19th century and a man who is almost 150 + years older than you, you sleep more peacefully than you ever had before.

For Leopold, as the evening descends on the city, he finds himself unable to sleep. His mind is consumed with thoughts of the lady from the cafe. He tosses and turns in his bed, the events of the day replaying in his mind over and over again.

He wonders what she is doing at the moment. Is she asleep in her bed? Is she also lying awake, thinking about him? The questions plague his mind as he continues to lie in bed, struggling to find rest.

With a frustrated sigh, Leopold finally sits up in his bed. He throws the covers off and gets up, pacing restlessly in his room. The clock ticks loudly in the background, mocking his insomnia. He runs a hand through his hair, trying to ignore the thoughts of the lady that seem to be etched in his mind.

As the next day approaches, you continue your routine. You get out of bed, your feet cold against the unwelcoming tile of your small apartment. As you walk towards the kitchen, you continue your morning routine; making breakfast, showering, changing, and leaving.

When you finally make your way to the cafe, your anxious and somewhat excited. Secretly, you hope the mysterious man from the past comes back.

As the sun slowly rises, Leopold has still not gotten any sleep. He spent the rest of the night pacing in his room, his thoughts consumed by you. Eventually, he gave up on sleep, seeing as he wouldn't be able to get any.

While he goes about his day, his thoughts still drift back to you. He finds himself missing the warmth and homeliness of the cafe. He knows that he shouldn't, but he can't help it. He decides to pay the cafe another visit, hoping to see you again.

a/n: hey you guys, lemme know what you think pls !! i love Leopold so much so i am so excited to write more (he is my Mr. Darcy) also don’t forget i take requests.. anyways lemme know if u want a pt. 2 💕

[roehenstart]

Prince Leopold, Duke of Albany. By Carl Rudolph Sohn.

[royalty-nobility]

Prince Leopold (1853-1884)

Artist: Heinrich von Angeli (Austrian, 1840-1925)

Date: 1877

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: The Royal Collection, United Kingdom

Description

Prince Leopold, Duke of Albany, is shown with head and shoulders to the front in evening dress with the Riband and Star of the Order of the Garter. The eighth child and fourth son of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, Leopold was later created Duke of Albany, Earl of Clarence, and Baron Arklow. Leopold had haemophilia, which led to his early death at age 30. This portrait was painted for Queen Victoria.

[fiction-quotes]

How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell; Striving to better, oft we mar what's well.

  —  King Lear (William Shakespeare)

[foreverinthepagesofhistory]

Sweet moments with Leopold ❤️‍🩹

1st photo: Crown Prince Frederick of Prussia with his brother-in-law Prince Leopold of Great Britain

2nd photo: Alexandra Princess of Wales showing a picture of the recently deceased Prince Albert to her brother-in-law Prince Leopold of Great Britain

[loiladadiani]

Prince Leopold, Duke of Albany (1853 - 1884)

I recently read a book (Queen Victoria's Youngest Son: The Untold Story of Prince Leopold, by Charlotte Zeepvat) about this remarkable young man and have wanted to pay some sort of homage to him, as he had a difficult, short life but accomplished much during it.

This cousin of the Romanovs, the eighth child and youngest son of Queen Victoria and her consort Prince Albert was born with hemophilia and might have also had epilepsy. During his childhood, he was under the constant supervision of staff and physicians, and his activity was severely restricted. He had numerous hemorrhagic crises.

Leopold was an extremely bright individual. Prince Albert and his early teachers noticed his intellectual gifts when he was very young. Leopold attended Oxford University. He was eventually made a privy council member and became a patron of the arts and literature. He also served as the unofficial secretary to his mother. Although he could not pursue active military service, he had an honorary association with various regiments. He was a Freemason.

His illness was first described in medical journals in 1868 and subsequently in the London and provincial newspapers. Since they could not conceal all information about Leopold's illness, the royal family carefully managed news about his health (as they did about all royalties); many newspapers reported widespread public sympathy for the queen's illnesses and her children's illnesses.

At the time, physicians recommended that hemophiliacs spend as much time as possible in warm climates, a suggestion that Leopold followed as much as possible throughout his life. The fact that this royal young man had the illness spiked much research on hemophilia at the time. Although the information aided comprehension by the general public, overall, however, very little could be done to save hemophiliacs from painful experiences and early deaths.

Prince Leopold married Princess Helen of Waldeck and Piedmont, and they had two children, a daughter and a son. His son was born after Leopold's death. Prince Leopold died at the age of 30, after a fall, apparently from a cerebral hemorrhage.

Trivia:  Through his son, Prince Leopold is the great-grandfather of Carl XVI Gustaf, the current King of Sweden (I took a good look at Gustaf while writing this and I see a resemblance.)

[longitudinalwaveme]

Chapters: 17/17 Fandom: SHAKESPEARE William - Works, King Lear - Shakespeare Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Lear (King Lear), Goneril (King Lear), Regan (King Lear), Cordelia (King Lear), Fool (King Lear), Albany (King Lear), Cornwall (King Lear), Gloucester (King Lear), Kent (King Lear), Edmund (King Lear), Edgar (King Lear), Original Characters Additional Tags: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Pre-Canon, Dysfunctional Family Summary:

As King Lear plans the marriage of his oldest daughter, the storm clouds that surround his dysfunctional family grow ever darker and more ominous.

His three daughters can see the writing on the wall. So can the Fool.

King Lear himself? Not so much.

[rwpohl]

carl eduard herzog von sachsen-coburg und gotha

[queenalexandraofdenmark]

Queen Victoria blends in so much with her kids in the first picture lol😂

Queen Victoria, Princess Helena, Princess Louise, Prince Leopold and Princess Alice, August 1860, Balmoral.

[gifsbysimplysonia]

This is an autumnal look and GOD BLESS the wardrobe folks! Crazy how I can have watched something a bazillion times and not noticed things. I'm obsessed.

[pastrypr1nce]

Hugh Jackman as Leopold (Kate and Leopold 2001)

[themareverine]

Hi!! For your valentines day event I was hoping to get a drabble with Charlie Kenton or Leopold! You pick! I'm leaving this totally up to you and PG-13 is okay, I'm 23 and use she/her pronouns o7

tysm!!

— Renaissance

Leopold Mountbatten x fem!reader

tags: fluff, some backstory added in for context, reader is an ex-girlfriend of Stuart's, Kate x Stuart mentions, definitely some blue balling of a kiss.

a/n: this definitely got away from me, honey! I haven't ever played with Leopold, and it was so much fun! This was quite the challenge. I've kinda been in a writing funk the last few days, so I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this, but, please enjoy it anyway, if you can!

☆ ── 💌FROM MARE WITH LOVE

They don’t lie about the city that never sleeps. 

It doesn’t, not truly. Sunlight may exit left and give way to starlight, but the city’s blood never stops pumping in its concrete veins. Forever time starved and anorexic in the thrumming life of a big city, there’s never enough of the twenty-four seven left.

The clock always spins out of control, there’s always a redline, nothing is ever on time but somehow, also, never truly late. 

Anonymous faces are millions among millions, rubbing elbows and fighting to look away all while never really accomplishing the task – one is truly nameless in a neverending current, without really even having to be anyone at all. 

New York is a Goliath that breathes unlike any other giant of its kind, and she didn’t really realize how right Hollywood got it until her sneakers had scuffed Jamaica Station’s dirty pavement three weeks ago, feet throbbing as her calf muscles all but lacerated from bone.

Still, the chill of spring cutting through her clothes kissed her in the early mornings, watching the fingers of skyscrapers reaching from the earth into flat, gray sky.

It had taken an hour tracking her luggage, fighting the hive of bodies at JFK on a Friday – that crushing feeling of being packed into open air like a sardine had her head spinning, buildings and street signs blurring together like watercolors. 

Veins of taxi-yellow had conquered her dreams the first night she’d dreamed, curled under comfortable blankets in her college best friend’s apartment — she’d lost a cab to a local, who’d all but shoved her off the curb with nothing so much as a by-your-leave. 

Cabs mocked her, public transportation chuckled and would shake its head, if possible, at the naive little lamb behind her eyes, taking in the wilds of the urban jungle all too much of the first time. 

Her first day alone in the city, Stuart had warned her not to venture far from the apartment without escort – his vacation from his mad scientist work didn’t start until the weekend. “We’ll go out and you can get your first taste of the city, just you wait — but stay here. Bart needs the company anyway,” he’d offered nothing else, naturally. Stuart never had felt a need to share important details. 

Simply just thrust the half-abandoned coffee in his Back to the Future mug into her hand as she took up the doorway to his room, speaking around the pencil between his teeth as he wrangled into a jacket.  

And Bart was quiet enough, sure. She liked dogs — her parents had four of them at the farm, coupled with the flocks of geese and chicken, horses and the odd smattering of dairy cows laying around the lazy sunlight of spring. 

They’d all but donned black in grief when she announced she would be taking time in New York to see Stuart, the man she was supposed to be married to, if heaven allowed. 

Overwhelmed at the prospect of their progeny returning to the only man who had ever bothered to date her romantically, they’d deflated as soon as the evidence became irreconcilable — Stuart’s girlfriend, Kate, would be only a phone call away if she needed anything. 

Her mother had gasped so audibly it could be heard from the team currently bunking at the International Space Station. 

But where Bart was good company she could handle, Stuart’s unexplained roommate — Leo, no, Leopold right? –  was not.

Very much unexplained, actually, his presence in her ex’s apartment.

Stranger things certainly happened within the lines of New York City, she knew. And Stuart hadn’t felt it necessary to share this information with her the first night in.

What a guy. 

She’d almost felt her heart eviscerating into atoms when she’d padded out of Stuart’s room in socks, a too-big Batman T-shirt and sleeping shorts — thank God she's opened to sleep clothed. Looking like hell warmed over and in desperate need of caffeine, to boot.

Stuart didn’t possess a mirror in his room, and a passing glance by the TV offered somewhat of a reflection that confirmed she’d slept like the dead. Hair similar to something from the 80s, wilding in every direction – hadn’t even bothered.

Why would she? This was Stuart’s apartment, he confirmed he lived alone. Or, well — had. Past tense. 

Last night’s booze from Stuart’s tragic supply of in-apartment food still lingered in the back of her mouth, threatened to make a reappearance when Leopold had just  stood up from the couch in the living space, stretching long arms over his head in a catlike, very-much-there stretch. 

Stars aligned and her anatomy reborn in places you don’t confess, in the blink of an eye. As he’d come about sharply on his foot, wide eyed and milk white with surprise, as if she were the unexpected intrusion into Stuart’s little apartment. 

Three weeks ago she’d thrown War and Peace at the Duke of Albany’s head, all but threatening decapitation. An offense that, in Leopold’s time, surely, would have her head rolling. 

She believed him, of course. Why would he lie about time travel? Why would Stuart have scientific evidence and K-Mart photographs, all for lies? Stuart didn’t even like K-Mart.

He could barely carry on a conversation with the same barista he’d been getting coffee from for three years. 

It wasn't unthinkable, time travel. God himself had parted seas, held the sun in place for Joshua. Time travel was not beyond the realm of the Almighty, reasons aside.

How and why didn’t really matter, not in the blip of a grand scheme of a person’s life — Leopold had stumbled into the modern age for a reason, bless him. For what, who was to know? 

Divisions of her were grateful, three weeks into the arrangement, to not be the only one in the city not from here. To have company that understood the shock and awe of new wonders, of a city with it’s own voice.

Leopold was as naive and innocent to this world as she was to New York, a combination she found riveting and more thrilling than she’d admit in therapy. A renaissance man in an era that had forgotten renaissance. 

What a trip. “Lost in your thoughts again, hm?” 

Jarred by the light brush of Leopold’s hand against the back of her own as they cut through the bodies clogging  the afternoon sidewalk, she tucks a little closer to his side. Rests a stabilizing hand on his arm, trying not to knock into those waiting at the crosswalk. 

Often during these last three weeks, she got so lost thinking not only about Leopold’s situation, but him — how he takes up more space than God, but not in an aggressive way. A smile as bright and lovely as any Monet, that races the sun.

How his otherworldly charm cracks like a whip when he wants it to but isn’t cutting or belittling to those without — and the way he moves. Regal and alive in a way that’s as raw and natural as the world beneath her feet. 

He’s more alive than any man she’d ever known, so otherworldly. 

Reading a thousand fantasy manuscripts in her nine-to-five had ruined her for most men in the world, the idea so far away in between pages font choice. Nobody of Leopold’s caliber existed outside of fiction, she’d stake her life on it. The upper echelon was an understatement—people just didn’t dare dream about men like him.

A prince charming on a white horse— minus the horse and the Cinderella-esque backdrop. 

“Yeah, just a little,” her spine straightens a little more as his hand comes to linger at the low of her back, a sort of medieval courtesy that’s only ever written about. It sparks low embers in the fire of her gut as they cross the street with the others, she nods towards the subway stairs cutting down into the earth,  “Sorry, just—thinking. We’re going this way, I think,” puffing out a breath, “if my sense of direction is right.”  

He hums quietly, taking to her left to allow her access to the stair’s rail, “You possess more of a head for direction than any other woman I’ve had the pleasure to know,” he chuckles, his elbow extending politely, the nod of his chin gesturing for her to loop her arm through his.

“I trust you implicitly in this, my dear.” 

My dear.

Her heart kicks like a mule against her ribs.

“Such blind faith you have, Leo,” her nose scrunches, and she dips her gaze to her feet lest he notice the pop of color on her cheeks, “Could be leading us to Timbuktu for all you know—I’ve never been to New York. You probably know this city better than me, my lord.” 

His chest rumbles with a low, pleasant chuckle that’s almost growling.

“A venture to Timbuktu does not sound so unpleasant, such company considered."

His smile is genuine, nearly flawless—wrinkles around his eyes deepen with the effort as he leans in to whisper in her ear, “And—do be careful about such flattery, my lady. I’m prone to blushing under the attentions of the fairer sex.”  

Heat pouncing into the pit of her stomach, she swallows the gaps that threaten to knock her back teeth.

For all of a few seconds she expects to be speechless, but his endlessly charming wink produced a wry little smile of her own. 

“Is that right?” Elbowing him gently in the ribs, she giggles, “You don’t strike me as the type to blush, Leo,” brushing a curl behind her ear, “especially not with the ladies—not with all that suave charm. I still can’t believe you’re not married in your world,”

It's a topic she’d been hesitant to address, but he’d assured her he didn’t mind discussion the affairs of marriage over the course of their quick and blossoming companionship.

“But I understand. To give your heart away is a divine act. To love, well — that’s selfless. And hard.” 

He nods, once. Firmly. Too firmly for a man of his stature.

“Indeed. If I recall my uncle’s frustrations properly, ‘tis one of my many fiercely tiresome flaws, I’m afraid,” the venom behind his words is contained, but on a blade’s edge. Wlilling to fly at any moment.

The muscle in his jaw ticks with effort, “And to love is to be selfless, certainly, though in some cases it demands more of us than we think we can bear.” 

Weighty shadows behind his eyes shoves her into silent corners. 

Her arm slides through his proffered one like it’s the easiest thing in the world, more at home at his side than she’s ever felt. Leopold leads her down the stairs graciously, hand over hers on his arm in a sort of protection she’d only ever seen depicted in period films.

The landing comes up quickly, and he guides her a little closer to his side in the crowd, until her hip brushes his. And how the fibers of her jacket kiss the little pull of Stuart’s leather jacket draped across his frame may as well topple mountains in her soul.

The maw of the subway track looms beyond them, dark and ominous, more dungeon-esque than she’d ever imagined.

People pile in. Open air shrinks around them rapidly, forcing her to a snug against Leopold’s side that, by all counts, is far too intimate for her conservative liking.

He doesn’t seem to mind, however, too busy watching people and eyeballing for the train. She can feel the thrum of his heart from here, the bite of aftershave he’d borrowed from Stuart so alive on his skin it may as well reach out to smack her. 

His hand firms over hers still looped through his arm, the rumble of an engine in the darkness signaling the arrival of their train.

“Extraordinary,” he shakes his head, marveled as the subway comes up quickly in a burst of light and steel. It pulls to a sharp stop as the doors pop open with a static hiss, and Leopold is frozen in an airy, almost fond, wonder. 

“Whoever would have thought, beneath this very city. Boggling, simply wondrous.”  

Taking her arm, he tugs her forward into the car not at all unlike an eager child. A sweeping gaze down the length of the car and Leopold decides they will stand, reaching above his head for the standing bar.

His chest opens to a broad that empties her mouth of any and all moisture as she collects her breathing, straightens the line of her long jacket. 

She situates her purse when Leopold’s arm gently slips around her shoulders, drawing her into his chest beneath his arm. His smile down at her is soft, a tender gaze considering the features of her face as she shyly peers up at him through her lashes.

Here against his ribs, she can feel the throb of his heart, how his lungs fill with breath and empty steadily, like the rising of the sun. 

And he’s so beautiful, so everything she’d only ever wrote about in diaries and film and poetry she’d never showed the world. 

His warmth intoxicates her blood, she’s keening beneath his quiet shadow — she can’t breathe properly when his gaze drops from her eyes to her mouth.

It’s that Hollywood moment everyone talks about, but few ever experience, and her skin explodes with chill when he manages to pull in a sharp little inhale that straightens his spine, squares back his shoulders. 

Gnawing on the inside of her cheek, her toes curl within her sneakers — it’s almost surely that moment. Her brain laps with the thought of kissing him, wondering how he’d taste; experiencing for the first time how a kiss could shatter the very glass ceiling of the known universe. 

At one point in her life, she’d never imagined kissing anyone but Stuart—the man her parents loved like a son. How long ago that felt, almost as if it were another lifetime, on another planet. 

She can’t fathom how, in any time, he’d be the right man when the right man stands right in front of her. 

His arm around her shoulders shifts to gently skip his thumb along her arm, tenderly. “Do you know you are beautiful thing?”

A small smile forms around the words when her eyes snap up, breathlessly, and Leopold drops his hand from the standing bar above them to tip her chin up with tender fingers, “I have seen many women in my time, but few so fiercely beautiful,” his eyes hold hers, and she can’t help but notice he swallows a little breath.

“Stuart is a foolish man, letting you slip away if he truly once possessed you as his own. Unimaginable.” 

Tears well behind her lashes, his warmth pounding at walls around her heart. The way he looks at her, his eyes soft and so deeply honest, rattles her places she can’t quite identify. It’s like ripping open heavy curtains to a darkened room deprived of sunlight, flinching at pervasive light. Hurts, but in a good way—like removing a thorn. 

And there are thorns to remove, many of them — Stuart had contributed little to what the world has done. 

Looking away, she goes to step out from beneath his arm. Leopold retaliates, pressing her closer, his arm firm along her shoulders. Unyielding, like a sentinel pillar.

Wanting to rest a hand on his chest, she pulls it away as if he is a furnace — the heavy throb of his heart beneath her hand is all too hot, all too intimate, to fathom. 

His brow lifts, curiously, “It would please me if you’d allow me to kiss you,” with all seriousness he graces her with title, breath shallow and even.

He edges her a little closer, and almost mindlessly, she lifts on her toes to meet his angle.

“I’ve wanted to do so since the first moment I heard you say my name.” His lower lip rolls in, tempted, “Say my name. Speak it, and I’ll be yours.” 

It escapes her, suddenly, how many times she’s said his name in the last three weeks — but it doesn’t matter. Now it takes on an entirely new meaning, a weight that threatens to change the small universe between them.

Only able to be reborn beneath his gaze, she feels her chest swelling with warm pride—with a riotous joy that rattles her all the way down. 

Never had she imagined hearing such words, such love. In seconds, she’s Aphrodite, lost to the ages in the weight of his gaze, adrift in his words. Who even spoke like that, anymore? Nobody, she knows — nobody here, nobody like you. It only could be the words of a man out of time, a man in renaissance.  

Weighing the weight of his name on her tongue, she swallows how wrong the short of Leo feels, now.

He can never be Leo again — Leo was a man shacking up with her ex boyfriend in New York City, starry eyed and funny in his innocence. A friend, someone she could enjoy talking to. 

He no longer existed. Leopold took his place, burying any boyish fantasy between them.

He was a man, standing like the sun, extending to her a sort of thing only ever envisioned. Where Leo was a boyish wonder, Leopold was a man of purpose, driven. Powerful. Man enough to bend the very boughs of time and space. 

Her lips form around the syllables and consonants of his name. And it tastes so good, a sweet thing that she’ll dine on with every breath God decides to lend.

How many times does she say his name to make him hers? A hundred? A thousand?

Uncountable lifetimes of him would never be enough. 

So she says it again, again, again and again. 

“Leopold.” 

@sidkneeeee

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[loiladadiani]

A poignant picture. The future Empress Alexandra Feodorovna, who would suffer greatly because her only son and heir to the Russian throne had hemophilia, sitting for a portrait with her mother's younger brother Prince Leopold, Duke of Albany, who was also born a hemophiliac and died from complications of the disease.

Prince Leopold, Duke of Albany with niece, Princess Alix of Hesse, later Tsaritsa Alexandra Feodorovna of Russia. Late 1870s

[caelestis-cherie]

GO GET EM BOYS

[krasivaa]

Vintage engraving of Prince Leopold, Duke of Albany with wife, Princess Helen of Waldeck and Pyrmont, and daughter, Princess Alice (Countess of Athlone). ☺

[lilyseverina]

The people with hooked noses really made them got famous lovers eh?