#hungarian kingdom

[diemelusine]

Self-portrait (1925) by the portrait painter Philip de László. Private collection.

[stupidjewishwhiteboy]

Ethnicity is about shared culture, which usually (but not always) involves shared ancestry. Freaking Mormons are apparently considered an ethnicity, so it makes total sense for Jews to be an ethnicity (yes, even if people convert in)

[dreamconsumer]

Archduke László Philipp of Austria (1875-1895).

He was the second son of Archduke Joseph Karl of Austria, Palatine of Hungary.

In 1895, Lasdislaus Philipp was accidentally shot while hunting and died on 6 September 1895 at the age of 20.

[roehenstart]

Kossuth Lajos (1802-1894). By Gyula Terebesi.

[dora-papp]

I thought I knew myself quite well, but ever since Good Omens Season 2, my priorities went out the window, and now my top 3 dreams are:

Travel to the UK and see David Tennant in a play

Travel to the UK and see Michael Sheen in a play

Meet Neil Gaiman (not necessarily in the UK)

[vampirecookiesupporter]

Moonlight Cookie has always looked like a Hungarian folk tale princess to me.

I like the idea that her clothing constantly changes patterns as she moves just like in those cartoons.

[telogreika]

1944 Honvédség River Brigade.

During 1944 Some hussar units, who had lost all their equipment, were incorporated into the River Brigade.

[ah-xun]

原作：神北克 •《穿越效應》

https://www.facebook.com/share/p/RUVRnvVedvMsY1or/

如果看不懂漫畫原文，請將圖片下載下來用谷歌翻譯來進行逐張翻譯。

改編：陳郁勳

西元1914年，奧匈帝國之子奧匈帝國二世遭到塞爾維亞激進分子當街刺殺，按照原本的歷史演進，這場事件將會引發第一次世界大戰，但由於大清帝國的強行介入，使得這件事情一直處於得以控制的局面，奧國與賽國雙方與其盟國展開了長時間的會談，最終雙方各退一步，避免了第一次世界大戰的爆發，這場會談史稱「歐務」。

而歐洲諸國也經由此次事件意識到他們是時候放下彼此之間的爭鬥，共同面對他們真正的敵人—大清帝國。

註：奧匈帝國二世的原型就是法蘭茲斐•迪南大公。

未完待續…

[illustratus]

The Battle of Lechfeld 955 by Michael Echter

The Battle of Lechfeld in which the Kingdom of Germany, led by King Otto I the Great, annihilated the Hungarian army led by Harka Bulcsú and the chieftains Lél and Súr. With the German victory, further invasions by the Magyars into Latin Europe (Western Europe) were ended. During these military campaigns (Hungarian invasions of Europe), the Magyars had threatened much of Western Europe; therefore a common saying at that time was "A sagittis Hungarorum, libera nos Domine" (Lord, save us from the arrows of the Hungarians")

[mothmonologue]

A vashiány előnyei: az őrült fémhajlító antikvárius néni nem tud megölni

Nézem a Shadow and Bone 2. évadát, ahol a fantasy-kínai néphez mennek megszerezni a pengét egy őrült fémhajlító nénitől. A nő azzal kerül fölénybe, hogy felhasználja a vasat hőseink szervezetében.

Namost, én vashiányos vagyok...

Őrült fémhajlító antikvárius néni, gyere rám! Amint kiveszem a piercingjeimet, leveszem a fémékszereimet és kialszom magam, ezzel a két karikás szememmel győzlek le!

[sheltiechicago]

Scarborough, UK

The installation Lillies by the Hungarian artists Réka Magyar and Péter Koros glows at Peasholm Park as part of the North Yorkshire town’s lights festival

Photograph: Christopher Thomond/The Guardian

[bobemajses]

The Synagogue in Subotica, Serbia. Photo by Boris Ivanovic.

The Subotica synagogue was built between 1890 and 1902 under the Hungarian Kingdom and is the second largest synagogue in Europe. One of the finest surviving examples of Art Nouveau religious architecture, it is decorated with fine ceramics, paintings, and carving based on Jewish and Hungarian folk art.

[theonottsbxtch]

BABY, BABY | MV1

an: max verstappen you are a four time world champion!!! here's a little fic to celebrate that. i started writing it while watching the race, then had to mourn the loss of the battle then went back to writing it and my back hurts because my posture is shit. anyway enjoy!!

wc: 3.3k

Max Verstappen lived for speed. The roar of the engine, the blur of the track, the thunderous applause of the crowd—this was his kingdom. At twenty-seven, he was already a legend, a three-time Formula One World Champion whose name was etched into the annals of the sport. And this season? It was shaping up to be another triumph. Four wins in the first five races, podium finishes for all of them, and whispers in the paddock that he was untouchable.

He had every reason to be confident. The car was a beast—precision-engineered, relentless in its power. His team was operating like clockwork, every pit stop a perfectly executed ballet. But above all, she was there. His fiancée. She didn’t need to speak to make her presence known; her calm, unwavering gaze from the paddock was like a talisman. He could feel her watching, believing in him, and it drove him forward.

After his most recent victory in Japan, he leaned against the garage wall, sweat still beading on his forehead. She approached him, her smile soft and private, meant just for him. The cameras flashed around them, capturing their moment, but he hardly noticed.

“You’re unstoppable,” she murmured, low enough that only he could hear.

“For you? Always,” he replied, brushing a gloved hand over her cheek before he was whisked away to interviews.

Everything was perfect. The season was his to lose, and he had no intention of letting that happen.

Six races later, the Max Verstappen that stood on the grid in Barcelona was not the same man who had claimed victory in Japan. His car was still strong, and his team still flawless. But the man behind the wheel was... distracted.

The cracks had started to show at the Monaco Grand Prix. A clumsy lock-up during qualifying left him sixth on the grid. In Hungary, he was slow off the line and struggled to match the pace of the leaders, finishing fifth.

The press was quick to pounce.

“What’s happening to Verstappen?” the headlines screamed.

Max shrugged it off, his trademark confidence still on display. “It’s the car,” he said with a wry smile after Hungary. “We’re making adjustments. It’ll come good.”

It was a convenient excuse, one his team begrudgingly accepted because of who he was. But the truth was far more complex—and far more personal.

She wasn’t here.

She hadn’t been at the last couple of races. At first, she’d said she wasn’t feeling well, and Max had brushed it off. But then the phone call came.

“I’m pregnant,” she’d whispered, her voice trembling. “I—I want to tell you in person, but I don’t think I can travel.”

In that moment, his world shifted. Joy, fear, and an overwhelming need to protect her collided in his chest. The image of her radiant on their wedding day-to-be now came with another—her cradling a newborn, their newborn. And with that came a thousand anxieties he’d never anticipated.

At every moment since, his thoughts weren’t on the track but on her. Was she eating enough? Was she getting rest? What if something went wrong, and he wasn’t there?

But no one knew. Not his team, not the press, not even his closest rivals. To them, Max Verstappen was still the king of the circuit. He could never let them see otherwise.

It was lap 32 of the Hungarian Grand Prix, and Max was battling for third with Charles. The two cars screamed through the corners, inches apart, but Max hesitated. He felt it—his grip loosened, his focus wavered. For the first time in his career, he wasn’t sure he could make the move stick.

Charles darted ahead, and Max watched as the gap widened. His engineer’s voice crackled in his ear.

“Max, you’re losing time in Sector 2. What’s going on?”

“Just the car,” he lied, jaw tight. “It’s sluggish through the corners.”

He crossed the finish line in fourth. As he stepped out of the car, he pulled off his helmet, running a hand through sweat-soaked hair. The cameras were on him, the journalists waiting. But all he could think about was her.

He needed to call. To hear her voice. To know she was okay.

The season was far from over, but the battle raging within Max was one he’d never prepared for. And as he watched his championship hopes start to slip through his fingers, he knew one thing for certain: no race, no trophy, no accolade mattered more than the life he was about to build off the track.

The Belgian Grand Prix was a race Max Verstappen wanted to forget. He’d spent the entire weekend battling the car—or so he told anyone who asked. But deep down, he knew the problem wasn’t mechanical. The fault lay within himself, his mind a chaotic swirl of worry and love that refused to quiet, no matter how fast he drove.

When he was finally allowed to go back to the hotel, the first thing he wanted to do was go home. Not the sprawling apartment in Monaco that everyone assumed was his sanctuary, but the smaller, quieter house tucked away in the English countryside. The place where she was.

It was just after midnight when his car pulled into the gravel driveway. The house was dark except for the soft glow of a single lamp in the living room window. She always left it on for him. He slipped inside quietly, leaving his suitcase in the car.

She was asleep, of course. Seven months pregnant and glowing with a beauty that stole his breath even in her most unguarded moments. He found her curled on her side in their bed, one hand resting protectively over her rounded belly. Max dropped his coat on the chair and toed off his shoes before slipping into the bed beside her.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, careful not to wake her, and then rested his head gently against her belly. The warmth of her skin, the faint, rhythmic thrum of her breathing, and the thought of the tiny life growing inside her—it was everything he needed to feel whole again.

“Hi, little one,” he whispered, his voice soft and filled with wonder. “It’s me. I’m finally home.”

As if in response, there was a small kick against his cheek. Max grinned, a tear slipping down his face as he chuckled quietly.

“Already a fighter,” he murmured. “Just like your mum.”

Her hand came to rest in his hair, threading through the blonde strands. He startled slightly, realising she was awake, her sleepy smile illuminated by the faint moonlight streaming through the window.

“You’re back,” she said, her voice thick with drowsiness.

“Always,” he replied, turning his head to kiss her palm. “How are you feeling? How’s our little champion?”

“Both fine,” she reassured him. “We missed you.”

“I missed you more,” he said, shifting up to lie beside her, wrapping an arm protectively around her waist. His hand settled over hers on her belly, and they stayed like that for a long moment, the world outside forgotten.

The days that followed were a gift—a rare stretch of time without races, press obligations, or the relentless demands of the championship fight. They spent their mornings in the garden, her feet propped up on his lap while he read aloud from the parenting books she’d stacked on the table. Afternoons were lazy, filled with naps, quiet conversations, and the occasional moment when he leaned down to kiss her belly and whisper to their unborn child.

One evening, as they sat together on the couch, her head resting on his shoulder, she turned to him with a thoughtful look.

“You should tell them,” she said softly.

“Tell who what?” he asked, though he already knew.

“Your team. The press. Everyone.” She tilted her head, watching him carefully. “You’ve been carrying this alone for too long. They’ll understand.”

Max sighed, leaning back against the cushions and closing his eyes. “I like it like this,” he said after a moment. “It’s ours. Just ours. I don’t want them to turn this into... headlines or speculation. I want to keep it safe.”

She reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his. “You’re not just keeping it safe, love. You’re keeping it locked away. And it’s hurting you.”

He kissed her forehead, a slow, lingering gesture that spoke more than words could. “It’s not hurting me. It’s the only thing keeping me sane. When I’m out there, and it’s all chaos and noise, this is what I hold onto. You. Our little one. It’s my anchor.”

Her expression softened, and she leaned into him, her hand resting lightly on his chest. “You know I’ll support you, whatever you decide. But you don’t have to carry this alone.”

“I know,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her hair. “But for now, I want it to stay ours. Just a little longer.”

The break passed too quickly, as it always did, but for Max, it was enough. The air in Austin was electric. Max, back from the summer break and seemingly rejuvenated, had shown flashes of his old brilliance in the first half of the race. But a controversial move during a heated battle for second had earned him a twenty-second penalty. The disappointment was palpable.

In the press conference afterward, he faced a barrage of questions, his jaw tight as he fielded them with his usual composure. But his heart wasn’t in it. He hadn’t seen her in weeks, and the gnawing ache of being apart was beginning to wear on him.

The penalty stung less than the silence in his hotel room later that night. The upcoming triple-header—Austin, Mexico City, São Paulo—meant there’d be no chance to go home. Three weeks without her, without hearing the steady rhythm of her breathing as she slept beside him or feeling the flutter of their baby’s kicks beneath his hand. He stared at his phone for hours, tempted to call, but stopped himself. She needed rest. He could wait.

The race in São Paulo had just wrapped up. Max won, a result he should’ve been thrilled with, but all he could think about was getting back to England. The charter flight to London felt endless, the hours dragging as he stared out the window, replaying every voicemail she’d left him over the past week. Each one sounded more tired, more distant, and it made his chest tighten with unease.

When he finally arrived home, the house was eerily quiet. He dropped his bags in the hallway, calling out her name. No answer. He checked the bedroom, the nursery—they were empty. Panic began to rise as he pulled out his phone and dialled her number.

She picked up on the second ring.

“Hello?” Her voice was soft but carried an edge of exhaustion.

“Where are you?” he asked, his voice tinged with worry. “I’m home, and you’re not here.”

“I’m at my mum’s,” she replied.

“Why?” His voice dropped, laced with confusion. “What’s going on?”

There was a pause, a beat of silence that stretched too long. And then, she said it.

“I had the baby.”

The words hit him like a jolt. He froze, his breath catching in his throat. “You what?” he whispered, as though saying it louder would make it less real.

“I had the baby,” she repeated, her tone gentle, but firm. “Two weeks ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice a mix of hurt and disbelief.

“You had a job to do, Max,” she said softly. “I didn’t want to distract you.”

“Distract me?” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the kitchen. “You’re my family. How could you think I wouldn’t drop everything to be there?”

“I know,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “But I also know you. You’ve been carrying so much this season, and I didn’t want to add to it. You were halfway across the world, love. There was nothing you could’ve done.”

He wanted to argue, to tell her that she was wrong, that he would’ve found a way. But deep down, he understood. She was protecting him in her own way, just as he always tried to protect her.

“Is he... okay?” he asked finally, his voice softening.

“He’s perfect,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “Healthy and beautiful. I wanted to surprise you when you got home, but we needed a bit of extra help, so I came here.”

“I’m coming now,” he said immediately. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

The drive to her mother’s house felt like an eternity. When he finally pulled into the driveway, he barely remembered turning off the car before he was at the front door. Her mother greeted him with a warm smile and a quiet, “She’s upstairs.”

He took the steps two at a time, his heart pounding in his chest. When he reached the bedroom, he paused in the doorway.

She was sitting on the bed, her hair tied back loosely, her face glowing with a tired kind of happiness. And in her arms, wrapped in a soft blue blanket, was their son.

Max stepped inside slowly, his breath catching as he took in the sight. “Hi,” he said softly, his voice almost trembling.

“Hi,” she replied, smiling up at him. “Come meet him.”

He crossed the room, sitting beside her on the bed. She shifted the baby gently, placing him into Max’s waiting arms. For a moment, he could only stare.

Tiny fingers peeked out from the blanket, curling slightly as the baby let out a soft sigh. His nose, his chin—so small, so perfect.

“What’s his name?” Max asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“We agreed on Emilian,” she said, her eyes shining. “Emilian Lucian Verstappen.”

He looked up at her, his throat tight with emotion. “You gave him my name?”

“Of course,” she said, reaching out to touch his cheek. “You’re his dad. And he’s going to know how much you love him, even when you’re halfway across the world.”

Max pressed a kiss to his son’s forehead, a tear slipping down his cheek. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “Both of you. More than anything.”

As Emilian stirred slightly in his arms, Max smiled. He’d missed the moment of his son’s birth, something he’d carry with him always. But here, holding his son for the first time, he knew he was exactly where he needed to be.

For two precious weeks, Max stayed home. It was just him, her, and Emilian. Those days blurred into a haze of quiet moments—feeding, changing, and rocking his son to sleep. He wasn’t just a racing legend at home; he was a father, learning the delicate art of swaddling and singing lullabies off-key at three in the morning.

His fiancée was radiant, even in her moments of exhaustion. Max found himself watching her more than ever, in awe of her strength. At night, they talked in whispers, Emilian nestled between them in a bassinet. For once, the championship felt like a distant dream.

But as the days passed, reality crept back in. The Las Vegas Grand Prix was the next race and the stakes couldn’t be higher. His rival, Lando Norris, was trailing him by just a decent amount of points, but if Max bottled it, it wouldn’t go well for his title. A strong finish could secure Max his fourth championship, but it would be a fight to the very last lap.

The night before his flight to Vegas, Max sat beside her on the couch, Emilian cradled in his arms. He had spent the entire day rehearsing his pitch, trying to strike the perfect balance of persuasion and sensitivity.

“You know,” he began, his tone casual, “Vegas is going to be a big deal. Probably the biggest race of my career.”

She glanced up from her tea, raising an eyebrow. “I thought every race was the biggest of your career.”

“This is different,” he said, grinning. “If I beat Lando by a certain amount of points, I get the title. My fourth title.”

Her smile softened. “I know. And you will. You always find a way.”

He hesitated, bouncing Emilian gently as the baby dozed. “Come with me,” he said suddenly.

Her eyes widened. “Max—”

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” he cut in quickly, “and I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you could handle it. But the doctors said you’re fit to fly, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Please,” he said, his voice earnest. “I need you there. Both of you. It’s an important race. The biggest one maybe. And I want to share it with my family.”

She hesitated, biting her lip. He could see the worry in her eyes, the motherly instinct to keep their baby safe and away from the chaos of the paddock. But then he reached for her hand.

“Win or lose, none of it matters without you. You and Emilian are everything to me. And if I do win... I want you there to celebrate. I want the world to see what really matters.”

After a long pause, she sighed, her resolve softening. “Fine. But only if you promise to keep us far away from the press circus until it’s over.”

He grinned, leaning over to kiss her. “Deal.”

The Las Vegas Grand Prix was a spectacle like no other. The bright lights, the roaring crowd, and the tension in the paddock made it a night to remember. Max felt his nerves hum as he stepped into the garage, but knowing she and Emilian were somewhere safe in the hospitality suite calmed him.

The race was brutal. Max fought tooth and nail, battling it out with Charles and Lewis in a chaotic, tire-shredding 50 laps. In the end, he crossed the line in fifth place.

For a moment, he thought it wasn’t enough. But then Christian’s voice crackled over the radio.

“Max Verstappen, you are a four-time world champion!”

Relief and joy flooded through him, and he punched the air, his voice shaking with emotion as he shouted his thanks into the radio. The garage erupted in cheers, but Max’s mind was already on her and Emilian.

As the celebrations began, he climbed out of the car, waving to the crowd before pulling off his helmet. He turned toward the pit lane and froze.

There she was, standing at the edge of the barriers, Emilian in her arms. They were both wearing ear defenders, her smile wide and proud. Emilian’s tiny shirt caught his eye, and his heart melted:

My daddy is a 4-time world champion.

He laughed, running over to them as the cameras swarmed. When he reached her, he didn’t hesitate, pulling her into a deep kiss. The crowd roared, and the cameras clicked furiously, but he didn’t care.

He looked down at his son, who blinked up at him with wide, curious eyes. Carefully, Max took him into his arms, holding him close.

“Hey, little man,” he said softly, his voice trembling with emotion. “Your daddy did it.”

Emilian gurgled in response, and Max’s grin widened.

For the first time, the world saw Max Verstappen not just as a champion, but as a father. The images of him holding his son, his fiancée beside him, spread like wildfire. The press clamoured for details, but Max ignored them, too lost in the moment to care.

“This is your victory too,” he said to her, his voice quiet. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, her smile radiant. “We’re so proud of you.”

As the champagne sprayed and the cheers echoed around them, Max knew this was the pinnacle of his career—not the trophy, not the title, but the family he held in his arms.

the end.

[withnofreetime]

HETALIA ☆ WORLD STARS (521)

Is there a problem/error? Please say so! And thank you for your support!

Spanish version ↓ and T/N.

T/N:

P.1.

"Cazzo", "f*ck!"

"Bastardo", "Bastard"

About Cost. (GDP; millions, aprox.)

Austria -> € 447 - $ 526 182

Netherlands -> € 941* - $ 1,092,748

Hungary -> € 188,443* - $ 203 829

Romania -> € 278,005* - $ 300,691

Bulgaria --> € 83,529 - $ 90,346

*not official, conversion ($ -> €)

P.2.

"Schengen Agreement" Overview, a kind of timeline.

"Conflict Bulgaria & Romania and Austria". Due to the increase in illegal inmigration and corruption in both countries, Austria had refused Bulgaria's entry many times.

"Schengen Area" because it was signed in Schengen, Luxembourg.

Another timeline! (2023)

Extract from Wikipedia: "On 8 December 2022 the Justice and Home Affairs Council voted to admit Croatia to the Schengen Area, but rejected Bulgaria and Romania. Austria and the Netherlands voted against the inclusion of Bulgaria and Romania, with Austria claiming that there had been a rapid increase in the number of migrants using the West Balkan route to enter the EU illegally. 20 On 30 December 2023 the EU agreed to include Bulgaria and Romania in the Schengen Area, with Austria no longer vetoing the enlargement of the area. Air and sea ports no longer conduct border checks from 31 March 2024, while the end of land border checks require further discussions."

"About Hungary & Bulgaria". If the information is correct, there was a "threat" from the Hungarian government to vote against Bulgaria's entry into the agreement if they didn't solve the Russian gas problem, yeah, taxes.

But they did it! Press realese, European Comission.

"Romanian Industry". Talks more about Poland and Romania's future struggles in the industry.

"Bulgaria, and 'rich kid' allegations" Probably talking about the Golden Age of Bulgaria, first Empire in the mid 19-century. Or the Second Golden Age. The Bizantine Empire and the Italian Kingdom had economic relationships with the first Bulgarian Empire.

P.3.

"Netherlands & Bulgaria". The Netherlands government was against Bulgaria and Romania's entry. And then not.

P.4.

"yправител" in Bulgarian. It might mean "general", "manager" or "administrator".

SPANISH VERSION

Italia habla de Bulgaria y Romania como si tuviera 80 años. Me saqué un 85% en mi examen de C2 de Español... no es una parodia por COMPLETO, pero tampoco lo tomen en serio.

¿Hay un problema y/o error? Por favor de comunicar, ¡y gracias por su apoyo!

[mapsontheweb]

The Austro-Hungarian compromise of 1867.

The Austro-Hungarian Compromise of 1867 established the dual monarchy of Austria-Hungary, which was a military and diplomatic alliance of two sovereign states. The Compromise only partially re-established the former pre-1848 sovereignty and status of the Kingdom of Hungary, being separate from, and no longer subject to, the Austrian Empire. The compromise put an end to the 18-year-long military dictatorship and absolutist rule over Hungary which Emperor Franz Joseph had instituted after the Hungarian Revolution of 1848. The territorial integrity of the Kingdom of Hungary was restored. The agreement also restored the old historic constitution of the Kingdom of Hungary.

by theflagmapguy_2.0

[zvhiux34]

(the pics aren't mine obviously)

(Read the subtitles of the song to enjoy the plot)

Pairing: YN (An Empress of Austro-Hungarian Empire ) x König as a knight/Imperial Captain of the Guard

Plot: König is the Imperial Captain of the Guard, and he posseses everything a man could desire, but he lacks the most important: you.

w.c: 1.9k

Warning: Fluff and angst. Small sexual inuendo. Maybe some inaccurate history for the sake of plot lol. English it's not my first language.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

König is the captain general of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Born into a family belonging to the low nobility, he forged his own path as a notable warrior and in the name of the empire he conquered new lands, leading battles like the good strategist that he was.

Throughout the territory and even beyond the border, his bravery on the battlefield and his achievements were well known.

With his great military bearing and an appearance that inspired fear and security, diplomacy and rudeness at the same time, from the noblest of princes to the most dishonorable of the most swindlers wanted to have him as a friend, and were wary of having him as an enemy.

In his homeland the crown deservedly rewarded his great achievements.

He certainly had everything a man could wish for: noble titles, a growing fortune, the respect of all who looked at him and above all, many women who would wish to have him as a husband.

Some would even settle for being the woman who warmed his bed for just one night, even with the risk of lost their honour and being repudiated the next morning.

But with all his virtues, König caused surprise among his subjects for not having the reputation of requiring the presence of the most daring women of the court, as other men did, whether of equal or lesser position, whether married or single.

There, kneeling where he was, in front of the thrones of their royal highnesses, König, dressed in his armour, raised his head and saw for the first time in months the main reason why no woman could capture his attention enough in this life and the next.

That place in his heart had already been reserved for years, by you.

The Empress of the empire that he had been willing to give his last breath to so many times.

König looked at you as if you were a divine apparition.

But the other subjects were not surprised by the intensity of his gaze towards you, because today you were dressed in a perfectly fitted ivory organza dress and the most brilliant jewels no other ruler had ever worn, which was a pleasant reflection of the prosperity of the empire.

In part, thanks to the knight in front of you, who, like so many times before, had today placed at your feet the loot he obtained by conquering the new lands snatched from enemy hands: A prominently treasure trove filled with shiny precious stones and gold coins that were overflowing.

Everyone was amazed at such a find, the trove was so tempting that anyone would want to put their hand in to take out anything that came out of there, and they did not take their eyes off it.

They did not realize König never looked at the trove, because he was looking at something that was much more valuable to him than a thousand conquered kingdoms.

—Your imperial majesties —König finally spoke —I give you at your feet the treasure found from the last successful conquest in the name of this magnificent empire, I wish nothing more than for it to be pleasant for you.

He thought for a moment you had detailed him to make sure he was not injured, as so many other times.

But what caught his attention the most was how your characteristic smile appeared on your face, a smile with hints of tenderness and complacency.

König would be willing to return to the battlefield and fight until death finally reaches him, if that would guarantee that you would never lose your smile.

— As usual, we are very pleased with your work and your effort —You assured. It was well know to you König is a great knight and captain, he has been quite helpful to this empire during all his years of service.

At least this way, you can see him from time to time.

Your voice in his ears was like a sweet melody to his ears, like a lullaby in the middle of the storm... But said melody was finally interrupted by another voice, König turned his attention to it out of respect while masterfully hiding the look of reluctance that tried to dominate his face.

—For your last work for the imperial crown, I, the Emperor of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, have decided to grant you for your faithful work and commitment to the kingdom... the Duchy of Prague, congratulations —Announced the man who was sitting next to you, the man who owned the only thing König longed for.

The rest of the subjects were impressed by such a concession, especially by the Emperor's gesture, which indicated anything but complacency.

Although he recognized the work of the captain in charge (and found it difficult to admit it out loud) it was known he was not entirely happy with it.

Through the halls of the palace, rumors were circulating that long ago, when you were still a princess...you had maintained a friendship with the current imperial captain, there was even talk of courtship and even wedding plans.

But all that fell apart thanks to the advisors, who found König unsuitable for such plans. However, the friendship prevailed over all these years.

And that's why, most of the duchies the captain general now possessed were thanks to your intervention, as a thank you for König's hard work.

Any of the subjects present would kill anyone to wear the fine leather shoes he was currently carrying.

Internally, König laughed quietly.

Firstly because of the slight discontent his Emperor let slip by granting him the title of one of the most important counties.

Second, because despite all this time, you still thought... by granting him lands and properties he could one day fill the void of not being able to be by your side, and be the man with the legitimate right to be called “Your husband” and to walk arm in arm with you, as you were doing right now, as you and the Emperor stood up to head for the exit on the fine red silk carpet, while your attendant staff followed faithfully behind.

Night fell on the Hofburg Imperial Palace, and König could still hear from the rococo-style room that had been arranged for him, the murmur of the melody of the instruments and the people dancing to their rhythm in the great ballroom.

Tonight, a party was being held in honor of the new conquest, but after the banquet where König never took his eyes off your face, he successfully excused himself by assuring that he would like to rest after the busy days he had lived.

The Emperor, delighted he did not have to fight before him for the attention of others, did not insist and allowed him to leave, instead you looked at him with a certain concealed concern, while you wondered if perhaps the wounds from the battle were responsible for his tiredness.

Already lying on his soft bed, in the company of the candlelight that contrasted with the cold light of the moon that peeked through the window, König could finally accept to himself that he would have liked nothing more than to be able to attend the celebration.

But only to be able to dance the traditional Austrian dances with you, and see you laugh and enjoying the dance while he took advantage of the glorious moment to be able to be close to you, inhale your soft rose scent and touch your silky skin even if it was through the fabric, without running the risk of receiving repression from others.

But that was a thing of the past when you were still a princess and he was "The simple son of a Baron" as he once heard someone refer to him, in these times before you married the current Empeoror.

Since then, protocol reserved that privilege only for him, as well as being able to talk about thousands of things for hours in the privacy of the rooms of this palace and walk until you got lost in the beauty of the gardens.

He remembers how, on one of those walks, he discovered one of the most wonderful beings he had ever met, listening to the way you see life through your eyes, the way you express yourself towards nature, towards other people and the beauty of things... and the way you blushed when he confessed he's feelings for you.

König longed for those beautiful moments with you that were left in a past he did not want to let go.

Now he could not do any of those things without it meaning a lack of respect for your honor... and for that Emperor.

If he could have had the honor of being your husband, he could thus send to hell the hundreds of rules of protocol that involve the treatment of you towards him, and they could do so many things under this sky...

He would fight to give you entire kingdoms with their wonders included simply for being who you are, without having to disguise the fact as a consideration of a knight towards his Empress.

Together you would go to see the parts of the world you two have only known through books and paintings. Now, he is the only one of you two who has known those places.

He would show you the thousands of diversions that exists out there, you would dance all night long until your feet give out, and above all...

You would no longer walk alone through the gardens with only your ladies as your company, nor would you spend even one lonely night in your cold bed... As you do now, and as you probably will tonight, while the Emperor is busy having fun with the ladies that König rejects all the time at court.

But all those wishes were just that, an impossibility for his heart.

And all because you became the first in the line of succession, and the position König had at that time was not important enough to be worthy of being the man who accompanies you, making their union impossible forever.

That's why he decided not to marry.

Why? He didn't want to agree to marriage if he couldn't do it with the only woman he ever loved and the only one he'd ever want to be able to do it with.

He conceived the marriage with some other woman for whom he barely felt any appreciation as something unnatural, despite the pressure from his family and everyone around him to silence the rumors of the court, of the alleged jealousy the Imperial Emperor felt towards a simple captain of the guard.

«What an irony» he thought, the most powerful person in this kingdom felt intimidated by him, the captain of the guard.

While the only thing he wants from the emperor is not his dynasty, his power or his treasure chests...

He simply wants his wife.

Not the empress of this damned empire.

He only wants you.

In his heart he will die being married to you, since this cruel and vain world did not allow it.

It was the last thing König thought of until his tiredness was stronger than him, imagining you dancing in your majestic ivory dress while you sketched the smile that you showed to your subjects, to hide the misfortune that reigned behind your gaze.

Sadly for him, he has also heard the rumors about you.