#polish monarchy

[royalty-nobility]

Portrait of Stanislaus Augustus Poniatowski in Coronation Robes

Artist: Marcello Bacciarelli (Polish-Italian, 1731–1818)

Date: c. 1790

Medium: Oil paint on canvas

Collection: National Museum in Krakow, Poland

Stanisław August Poniatowski

Stanisław August [Stanislaus Augustus] Poniatowski was elected king of Poland in 1764. Especially at the beginning of his reign, he was neither very popular with the nobility nor as influential as his rich family, the Czartoryski Familia. Therefore, he needed a formal portrait emphasizing the special significance of his person as the king of Poland and strengthening the conviction about the lawfulness of his rule, actually assumed with the considerable support of Russia. Moreover, European courts, for example in Vienna and Versailles, were interested in possessing a portrait of the new Polish king. The newly elected monarch sought a talented portraitist, familiar with the latest trends in Western European art, who would be able to paint a splendid formal portrait. He wished to entrust this task to Marcello Bacciarelli, an Italian painter who had stayed at the court of Augustus III the Saxon in Warsaw for several years, leaving in the country a large number of excellent portraits of aristocrats. The king did not want to be portrayed in armor, but in the formal dress that he was wearing during the coronation ceremony: a coat lined with ermine fur, decorated with Polish eagles, a frock coat and trousers, with his hand rested against the baton of the military commander and royal regalia lying on the table beside him. Taking the king's instructions into consideration, Bacciarelli painted the portrait following the en gala pattern dating back to the time of the French absolute rulers, but in the more recent Rococo style. The king's pose was light, refined, elegant and graceful, which was in tune with the fashion of the day. The monarch noted down in his diary that the portrait caught the best likeness of him.

[youngroyals3456]

I keep seeing people saying that they don’t understand why Wille was so ready to fight for Simon last season, but won’t now that they can actually be together in season 3, and y’all do realize it’s all because Kristina is sick rn right? Wille even outright asks at one point if her being sick is his fault and he saw how she broke down after he and August fought. She’s still his mother and he doesn’t want to cause her pain, even if it is for Simon. There are more pressing concerns and more serious consequences to Wille acting out in this season than there were last season. I get that it was so frustrating to watch Wille make some of the decisions he did this season, but he’s never been perfect, and he’s under an insane amount of pressure rn.

[lady-of-ice]

The Royal Castle in Warsaw, Poland.

[graveyarrdshift]

*slowly backing away bc i've read marxist literature once or twice* 😔

NOOOO DON'T GO PLS I LOVE YOU BESTIE PLS DON'T HATE ME 😭😭😭😭

[itallbecameablr]

@gallusrostromegalus

Top Row:

John II Casimir Vasa

Mieszko II Lambert

Sigismund II Augustus

Middle Row:

Stanisław II August

Michał Korybut Wiśniowiecki

Sigismund III Vasa

Bottom Row:

Władysław II Jagiełło

Bolesław II the Bold

Boleslaus I of Poland

New Meme Alignment Chart came to me in a fit of Mania this morning. Have fun kids!

[elbiotipo]

I'm always criticizing eurocentric fantasy worldbuilding, but one thing I think it's underused are city-states and trade republics and leagues. Not that they don't exist, but they're often in the background, the fantasy genre is so focused on monarchies and dynasties and noble drama, while those systems have so much room for intrigue and stuff without getting into "who's the TRUE heir of the super magical monarch" (yes, I know they had aristocratic families that ruled almost as monarchs, but trust me, Medici drama is another beast from regular feudal stuff)

Venice with its stupidly complex election system and their eternal rivals in Genoa, Florence home of the Rennaissance, the Hanseatic League, and lesser known examples like Novgorod, the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, the Taifa of Córdoba, the Consolat de Mar (technically not a republic but kind of an Iberian Hansa) and if we go farther back, the leagues of city states of antiquity... you know what, I'm bored of feudalism. Next time I do a fantasy setting, it will all be city states and republics. Fuck feudalism.

[chaberkowepole]

Hey Tumblr, there's a new historical/period comedy series on Netflix which you will love! It's called 1670! It's about Polish nobility and their peasant-thralls. However, Netflix is not promoting it to international audiences, bc it's Polish, even though there are subtitles available in so many languages!

It has:

Great Humour

Amazing Polish Folk Music

Historical Costumes that are not Western!

CANON LESBIANS

One of the said lesbians is a repressed lesbian w religious trauma & the subplot lasts longer than one episode

Priest Jakub

A really good combination of making historical and ahistorical jokes

And much more!

Seriously, give it a watch bc I'd hate to see only my Polish mutuals watch it, it's new, it's fresh, it's witty, not another remake, and it shows another culture & history! (aren't you tired of watching yet another show on the English monarchy, then 1670 is there for ya)

[more-mara]

Here’s an old WIP of mine that I have yet to finish.

Only now did Oscar actually get a good look at the captain's face. The man who had basically ruled the seven seas for the last 8 years, the man whose name alone could send a man trembling to his knees. Oscar didn’t think he’d ever get the misfortune to meet him.

Oscar bowed his head, looking away from the scarred yet shockingly young looking face of the captain. He flexed his hand in his binds, feeling the rope start to burn and chafe against his damp skin.

“What is your name, boy?” The captain asked as Oscar raked his eyes up from the pristinely polished boots to stare at the sword hilted in the captain's belt.

Oscar bit the inside of his cheek, knowing that giving his name would probably be the last thing he ever did, no one survived a run in with Captain Sainz- it’s why no one knew for sure what he looked like. Oscar felt a little defiant, wanting to at least die with dignity.

Suddenly, a booted foot was planted against his back, Oscar fell forward with a groan as his face planted straight into the wooden floor of the ship, his hands still tied behind him.

“Answer when the captain speaks to you,” A voice said. He sounded French, maybe. Oscar struggled to place it exactly but as he turned his head to look at the man, he had an amused glint in his eye- as if he was enjoying Oscar’s guts for defiance.

“Oscar,” He grunted, gaze fixed on the man behind him- decidedly not at the captain. The man’s face lit up. Yeah, he was definitely enjoying this.

“Oscar? Not a very nobel name,” The man said with a smirk.

“I am not a nobel,” Oscar said, straining in his confines. The man behind him seemed to take pity, removing his foot from Oscar’s back to haul him back onto his knees. Oscar was faced with the captain once more, whose face was deep in a frown.

“What are you, then? You don’t look like you can fight,” The captain said, his eyes raking across Oscar’s figure, taking in the tattered clothing and overall dishevelled appearance.

Oscar bit his bottom lip, eyes meeting the captain’s once more. He tried not to let his voice shake as he spoke.

“Women are prohibited on our ships by the articles, sir, bad luck, you see?” Oscar said, looking almost a little desperately at the captain- praying he knew what he meant without having to explain.

“Are you seriously explaining pirate code to me?” The captain asked. He looked completely unimpressed and almost angered. Oscar winced a little, straightening his back.

“The men- they need…they are still men, and men have needs…”

The wave of silence crashed over them quicker than the ripples on the ocean. Oscar could see the tension in the captain's face and he heard a small gasp coming from his left- another of captain Sainzs crew.

“If I spare your life, will you be useful to me?” The captain asked, his gaze narrow and steely. Oscar swallowed thickly- he had done this ‘job’ for years now, a different crew would be no different. He knew how to please- how to be of worth.

“Whatever you ask, I will do, sir” Oscar said and he hated how his voice shook. When his previous ship was attacked, he thought he was saved. They flew the flag of the navy and Oscar felt his heart lurch in his chest when he spotted it. Freedom, at last, after 6 gruelling years. But no, it appears Captain Sainz had flown the flag of the monarchy as a ruse to capture their cargo. And it worked, with Oscar being captured along the way.

“You will help the men clean their weapons, you can start tomorrow morning,” The Captain said, and Oscar felt himself frowning.

“I thought-“

“You said you will do whatever I ask, correct?”

Oscar nodded.

“Well, this is what I am asking. Charles, keep him straight,” The Captain said, nodding to the man behind him. So Charles was his name, good to know, Oscar supposed. Charles gave him a smug grin before unsheathing his sword, cutting away Oscar’s binds with swift accuracy.

“Welcome aboard, matey,”

[sanakimohara]

[ DANGEROUS DEVOTION ] - S. C.

master lists <> + CHRISTMAS EVENT: day one < > day three (n/a)

pairing: Changbin x fem! reader

summary: Changbin is hired to protect you from a dangerous enemy, but his overprotective nature becomes suffocating. Is he protecting you from harm, or is he the danger you must save from?

date: December 23rd, 2024

playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3JprLj2NsxJRdY8zsLGoqs?si=wXUixpC2ReC6q5rkKMru4g&pi=u-ljo4I4p8RPOb

warnings: MDNI + NSFW + SLIGHT ANGST + MENTIONS OF DEATH + MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE + MENTIONS OF ALCOHOL + ANAL + SHOWER SEX + TOXIC RELATIONSHIP

Being the youngest daughter of a high-ranking diplomat came with its perks and expectations. From private jets and designer wardrobes to exclusive events and world-class education, your life was a whirlwind of privilege that seemed extravagant to outsiders but was simply part of the norm for high-profile families. Beneath the polished surface of gala dinners and international travel, though, lay the weight of unspoken rules, constant scrutiny, and a life lived under the shadow of diplomacy. For better or worse, your world was one of luxury, security, and the quiet understanding that everything came at a price.

Sometimes, that price puts your life at risk, so your father insisted you accept his proposal of a personal bodyguard capable of protecting you and you alone. After many rounds of debriefs, debates, and deliberations, a decision was made, and a candidate of your father's choosing was hand-picked to fill the role.

He addressed him as First Captain Seo.

You’d grown to know him as Changbin-Binnie when you felt exceptionally comfortable with him.

He was loyal from the start. Trained to handle most, if not all, situations that involve a risk to your safety. There wasn’t a time in the last two years you could remember ever feeling unsafe or unsecured in his presence. His job was your life, and Changbin did not take his responsibility for you lightly.

Although that very virtue of his could be rather tenuous to engage or shift.

Especially at the height of your family’s public appearances and the holiday traveling frenzy. Press tours, interviews, shopping trips, long flights, and tedious schedules were enough. But now came the pending and deliberate threat of opposition to your family's legitimate rule.

A faction of society had deemed royalty or any other form of monarchy within government as useless and disposable. The first to perish at their will was your closest cousin. Passing away in a terrible car crash, only a country away during a diplomatic venture. Their sudden and proclaimed death at the hands of flightless revolutionaries put your father on edge in every aspect, which meant Changbin had a much harder job than usual.

December 23rd, White House Gilded Gala. 10:25 PM

Changbin was counting. He always counted.

How many doors and exits were there?

How many heads were within an 800-foot radius of himself and those in his charge?

How many seconds had passed until the next minute?

How many openings were there for possible intruders or aggravators?

He was always counting.

But as of now, he was tallying the number of champagne flutes you were tossing back.

You’d started early in the night, promising your father that you wouldn’t get as tipsy as last time, but Changbin was well aware you couldn’t keep your word while grieving over your lost cousin.

One drink turned into three, and those three spiraled into…

Changbin minced his train of thought, watching you take the last sip of rose from the clear glass before adding it to his mental scoreboard of your alcohol intake.

That was number eight for you now, and it looked as if you wanted a ninth to follow it from the way he saw your gaze trail after a waiter walking by with a full silver tray of new drinks.

He couldn’t let you keep doing this.

Not tonight, and not for the entirety of it.

Partly due to your father’s wishes but caused mainly by his partiality to you in general….

A particular emotion that hung over his head constantly when you were in his presence that he wished for a while would disappear and never return but had recently come to terms with upon the news of your relatives passing. No bodyguard, well-intentioned and capable or not, should feel the attachment Changbin accepted the moment he saw you crumble to tears in your father’s arms hearing the news.

He knew falling in love with you wasn’t a part of his job description, but it drove his obsession with keeping you safe from harm to new heights. He wouldn’t fail your father and wouldn’t let you slip through his fingers as quickly as your cousin had slipped through her protector's reach.

So, just as you moved to follow the waiter and ask for a ninth glass of champagne, Changbin stepped into your path and caught your dazed gaze with a tilt of his head. “I think you’ve had enough to drink for one night, Miss Y/n.”

His voice was firm yet gentle, starkly contrasting the chaos around the room. You blinked owlishly, trying to focus on his words. “But I’m just getting started,” you responded, slurring slightly, playfully trying to step past him. Changbin's expression softened as he placed a firm yet gentle hand on your left hip. "I'm afraid you'll have to pace yourself," he murmured, steering you away from the waiter's direction.

Your lips part to protest his guidance, but they quickly snap shut as Changbin eyes you with a pointed stare.

The one that made you stop and think.

The one that made your heart race and your cunt throb without warning.

The only stare that told you exactly what was on his mind and why you shouldn’t even attempt to question his actions.

You gulped down a bratty statement, woozy from the alcohol and now aware of the few stares settling on the both of you. A single breath left your lips before you eased into Changbin’s lead, following his heavy and assured steps with your heeled and barely steadied ones, but the security of his hand on your lower back kept you upright and formal to anyone who looked away.

You were tempted to trip yourself up. Make his hand slip a bit lower to graze the curve of your backside hidden underneath the dress you wore to fit the Gala’s modestly endeavored theme of excellence during the season of cheer.

You felt anything but cheerful, sound of mind, or happy. The gleaming lights looked dull. The chatter you suffered through with grace felt like more of a burden. Not even the prettiest of lies and gossip could occupy your mind.

You felt miserable. A doll trapped in a glass box and puppeteered to be perfect when you felt anything but.

Changbin could see it written across your face, looking right past the small smiles you flashed by-passers and keen to the lack of energy you emitted on the trek back to your designated rooms within the government household. Seeing your spirits torn to shreds pained him, and he considered how to cheer you up. He did security checks throughout your private room while you shuffled into a warm shower.

He could read poems…that seemed to work on you often.

He could let you vent if you had the energy to do so again…

He could…

Changbin paused his train of thought, braced by a sudden idea that morphed into a dangerous confidence as he listened for the shower head to turn on.

You stood beneath the water in solace. Upset, that waterproof makeup never smeared with tears that hadn’t seemed to stop coming from your eyes for a week straight now. Nothing helped. Not shopping. Not talking and not hiding.

And god, did you hide…

Forced to live a stricter life and reminded every day that no matter how secure you may feel, the real enemy, family, never rested and grew restless at the simple thought of your existence.

But that was the cost of it all, and you wished occasionally to share the burden with someone who understood you.

Your fears.

Your hopes.

Your life.

And the one person you had begun to let in was now buried six feet under with a branding of rebellion ragged on their mauled body.

You cried at the very thought, whimpering sobs into the running water as if to go unheard, but knowing Changbin could hear every single sound. In a start of shame and embarrassment, you turned to face the wet shower wall, arms raised to hug yourself for a send of comfort as hot droplets of water pattered your bare skin and steam rose from the marbled shower floor to your pouring eyes.

You sniffled, staring at your feet and hoping your heart would cease to ache for a mere second so you could breathe without wanting to fall to pieces; your hopeful thoughts were halted as a much more significant presence came between you and the rushing water.

You knew who it was without a singular glance back, able to feel the ever-present tension in his body a mile away even when he never strayed a foot from you, and you thanked god he never did. Changbin was careful with his approach, hearing you cry softly under running water while undressing from his monochromatic black suit and tie before slipping into the shower with you.

The grey and silver watch on his writs ticked softly, counting the thirty seconds it took you to register his looming presence and measuring the minute and a half of comfortable silence that hung in the steamed room when you did.

This was rare.

This was special to you.

This was indefinitely crossing a line for him.

But he’d done it before on your behalf many times. More often than not, it was as innocent as lingering stares when he should be casing your surroundings, and you should be paying attention to your current task. Sometimes, it was a smooth touch of his hand across parts of your body he had no reason to touch when escorting you from one spot to the next. Other times, it was your quick and chaste kisses on his cheek when you thought something he said was particularly funny or sarcastic -but this only occurred within the utmost private of moments.

And then there were times like this.

Where you both knew so much better.

Where a secret was just that.

A secret between the both of you.

Just like the rest you kept.

Adding to the growing pile of things you’d seen Changbin do and say in the name of your protection.

Killing men with his bare hands -once in front of you for no other reason than him overstaying his welcome in your hotel room during a private trip to Milan.

Threatening reporters who dared to scrutinize you with a charming smile and a promise of eminent destruction if they didn’t retract their statements about you.

Openly unimpressed with your choice of public relationships with various champions, he stalked in the shadows until they eventually felt too unsettled by his constant presence in your life and broke their line of acquaintance with you as a natural result.

First, Captain Seo Changbin was, by all accounts, obsessed with you.

It was painful, to say the least, and intoxicating at most.

You’d thought of saying something. Doing something to alter his fixation on you, but your resolve crumbled to dust at the thought of never having his eyes on you so intensely again.

He paid attention to you.

He sought you out.

He would pay for it, and so would you, but you could care less feeling his warmth, breath fan across the damp skin of your right shoulder all the way up to the crook of your craning neck.

You relaxed, breathing in the musk of his evaporating cologne as his toned front melted into your soaked back. Your hands found a wet wall at the familiar contact, manicured nails digging into the smooth surface as his warm skin electrified yours, and your lips falling apart at the hardened length he pressed into the curve of your ass and lower back.

“Binnie…” you whined quietly, too shy to look him in the eye, and hardly assured of yourself when he snapped you out of your crying fit so abruptly. He hummed deep within his chest, strong hands lowering to knead the fat of your hips and the dip of your stomach, “I hate hearing you cry so much…tell me you know that, Princess..”

Your heart jumped at his sincerity, and before a logical barrier rose in your mind, your mouth was open to shaking him: “I know. I'm sorry…I can’t help it.”

Changbin sighed, planting a kiss behind your left ear as he swept your hair to the right and rested his head against your own, coaxing you to keen and meet his eyes. You obeyed, lovingly seeing his steady gaze look through you like crystal-clear glass. “You need my help..” he uttered, and you knew the statement was far from a question, simply nodding in response to him and blushing as he smiled softly at your wordless confession. “Tell me you need it, sweetheart…” his voice dipped lower in volume, a low rumble as he gently kissed your trembling lips before speaking again. “Tell me you need it to stop…all that pain and…suffering…” Changbin kept you waiting for one kiss after the next as he spoke, barely grazing his tongue into your mouth with each pass and his hips unmoving against yours that began to slowly circle in an attempt to ease the throbbing between your shaken legs.

He caught your jaw with his right hand, fingertips melding into your dampened skin as he angled your head back on his shoulder to force your smaller weight closer to the wall with his impactful stature. You didn’t refuse the new position, blinking slowly as your brain finally began to shut off and delve into a mindless desire for him. “Tell me you need me to fix you again…” He stifled a groan, hips urging forward into yours on his own accord, and his gaze lowering to watch his cock press into your lower back.

You shuddered, finally finding your voice and recapturing his attention with a dazed answer. “I ….need you …t’fix me…please.” Hot tears pooled at your bottom lashes, but you couldn’t care enough to wipe them away as the admission slipped off your tongue and into the steam filling the air. “O-one last time,” you rush out in a whisper, knowing it wouldn’t be but still drawing the imaginary line.

He’d cross every time, and you’d let him.

It was too easy and so much better than pretending he wasn’t the only one capable of doing it.

As if he weren’t the only man to place you in a steady headlock, bicep trapping your throat, and his head tucked into your neck to place lingering wet kisses on your skin as he slid his cock along your plush ass in slowed thrusts.

As if he weren’t the only man to press a hand over your mouth, muting the whines and shouts you gave while his girth slid up and down your most sensitive area, gripping your gaping jaw tight to quiet the inevitable half scream and half moan of his name as he pushed the head of his length past your trained rim.

As if he weren’t the only man to whisper little praises in your ear while nearly splitting you in half with his cock, easing thick inch after thick inch into the tight space as he’d done so many times before, and in a near mess to rival your own when he’d successfully stuffed your ass with what it could take of him.

As if he weren’t the one to wrap a hand through your hair in a tight fist, pulling at the wet strands in practiced strength, manhandling whatever part of your more petite body he could as his length plunged in and out of your fluttering hole.

As if he weren’t the one grunt and groaning profanities and discreet assurances in your ear, tempted to mark up your skin but aware that doing so would ruin all the forbidden fun in your shared future.

As if he weren’t the one, panting into your neck, thankful for the running water dousing you both and keeping your entrance slick and undeniably ready for him.

You had no will to confront him. In love with the pain and elation of it all and tempted to shout it out loud the moment he slipped a hand to settle on your dripping cunt. Changbin knew his way around you just the same way he did any obstacle. Disarming you with slow and tight circles of two fingers on your clit, using them to spread your folds before diving them deep into your entrance and curling them forward to hit a spot that brought stars to your eyes.

He switched between thrusting his cock into your ass and pumping his fingers into your drenched cunt. You reeled at the sensations, wanting to go limp as they overlapped, and urged the coil in your core to tighten minute by minute.

Changbin stopped counting.

Abandoning his vigilance entirely as his high inched closer and entirely too caught up in the tension of your perky rim around his length and the steady flutter of your cunt’s warm walls to keep track of anything else.

This was fixing you.

This was his way of protecting you.

This was your way of thanking him for it.

Even with cum dripping down your thighs for the rest of the night.

A/N: I’m sick so this is late but whatever

Other Links: Tik Tok + Instagram + Discord

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[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

🗣️ Credits to creator 💚

[lee-laurent]

Fairytale - Quinn Hughes

Summary: Quinn, a commoner, falls for the princess of his kingdom

content: monarchy (?), fluff, angst, arranged marriage

wc: 9.5k

notes: this is kinda cheesey. i can't tell if it's cringe or not... also i had to use translator app a bit because idk the english words for some like fairytale stuff

Princess Francesca shifted restlessly in her bed, the dawn light casting pale strips of light through her curtains. She could hear the faint, familiar creaks of the palace as it stirred awake--the footsteps of the early-rising servants, the rattle of dishes from the kitchens below, the swish of brooms across the marbled halls.

Today was a court day, and soon her maid would enter with a dress stiff with embroidery, layers of silk, and delicate lace. She'd be expected to sit for hours in the throne room beside her father, listening to noblemen, landowners, and advisors drone on. A long day of diplomacy and keeping her shoulders straight, her chin lifted just so. The thought alone made her itch for escape.

Francesca bit her lip, her heart pounding as she crept to her wardrobe and reached for her plainest, dullest dress. She slipped it over her nightgown, pulling the rough woolen fabric over her head, the fibres scratching against her skin--a small price to pay for a taste of freedom.

She sat at her vanity, shaking her golden hair free from its nightly braid, her curls falling in soft waves past her shoulders. Reaching for her ribbon, a pale blue one that she used almost every day, she grabbed the front strands of her hair, securing them in the back with a bow. The ribbon was her favourite touch--simple, delicate, and nothing like the polished tiaras or heavy jewels she was used to. With a final check to ensure her face was free of any telltale signs of royalty, she drew up her hood and made her way toward the door.

Frankie's maid, Alice, a warm-hearted woman with wise eyes and a knack for knowing precisely when not to ask questions, waited outside her chamber door. She raised an eyebrow as Frankie slipped into the hall, unable to fully hide her smirk. "And where will you be going this morning, Your Highness?"

Frankie rolled her eyes. "Out."

Alice's mouth quirked into a smile. "Just 'out,' is it?"

"Just out," Frankie confirmed, trying to sound nonchalant. She fidgeted with her hands, giving her maid a sheepish smile.

"Right. And if anyone asks, you're...?"

"Visiting the royal library," Frankie said with a practiced innocence that didn't fool anyone. She laughed softly, her excitement showing. "Or perhaps just getting some fresh air."

Alice's face softened. She was the one person in the palace who knew the princess's longing for life outside the walls, for glimpses of the world where people's lives weren't spent writing royal decrees or following courtly schedules. She reached out, tucking a stray curl behind Frankie's ear. "Be careful, my lady."

"I will. I promise." They shared a silent look--a small, loyal moment--and then she hurried down the corridor, her heart racing as she slipped down the servant's staircase.

Once she reached the palace gardens, she held her breath, feeling the crunch of the gravel path under her shoes. She walked briskly, drawing her cloak tightly around her as she slipped through the gates at the side of the gardens, making her way out of the palace grounds and into the village.

Everything around her felt a little brighter. She watched the vendors set up their carts, the farmers unloading barrels and crates, children running along the cobblestone paths with shouts of laughter. She smiled to herself. Here, no one would spot that she was Princess Francesca. Here, she would be just another face in the crowd.

The hum of the village felt so much different than the hum of the palace. Here, people smiled and waved to each other, calling out their familiar greetings. A woman walked past with a basket of freshly picked apples. A dog barked as it chased after a boy in a patchy coat. For the first time in days, Frankie could breathe.

Stepping into the heart of the market, she allowed herself to slow down, to wander without purpose. Here, she was just a girl in a hood, taking in the sights and sounds.

~~

The market hummed with energy, the cobblestone paths busy with villagers setting out baskets of freshly baked bread, bundles of herbs, and gleaming fruits and vegetables. Frankie weaved through the stalls, occasionally glancing over her shoulder, though no one gave her a second glance. Her father ruled the lands with a firm but fair hand, and his face was well-known. But she, safely hidden beneath her cloak, remained unrecognized--a mystery among the townsfolk.

Drawn by the warm glow of a blacksmith's forge near the edge of the square, Frankie approached a modest shop where the rhythmic clang of hammer against metal rang out. She slowed her pace, intrigued by the broad-shouldered young man working within.

He had thick, dark hair that caught in the morning light, and his hands moved with practiced ease, shaping a piece of iron with each strike of his hammer. He face was focused, intent on his work, and she watched him with quiet fascination, feeling like she'd stepped into another world.

Suddenly, his voice interrupted her thoughts. "Do I have something on my face, or are you just that interested in the fine art of smithing?"

Startled, Frankie's eyes snapped up to meet his. His expression held a bit of amusement, the slightest lift of his eyebrow acknowledging the fact that he'd caught her staring.

"Oh, I--no, I mean..." Frankie stammered, momentarily flustered. She tried to regain her composure, pulling her hood down a little lower. "I was just... watching."

"Watching, were you?" His tone was light, teasing, as he wiped his hands on a rough cloth and stepped out from behind the forge. Up close, his face was warm, with sharp blue eyes that seemed to see right through her. "You don't look like a smithing enthusiast, if I'm being honest."

"No, I suppose I'm not," she replied, feeling her cheeks warm. "But it's... interesting. I've never really seen it up close."

"Ah, I see. A newcomer, then," he guess, smiling in a genuine way. "You're safe here, don't worry. No one's going to bite." He extended his hand. "I'm Quinn."

For a split second, Frankie hesitated, but then she placed her hand in his. His grip was rough and firm, completely devoid of the etiquette and delicacy she was used to. It felt real.

"Frankie," she replied, keeping the introduction simple.

"Frankie," he repeated. "Well, Frankie, nice to meet you. And welcome to our fine little village."

"It's lovely," she said earnestly, glancing around. "Much more... lively than the palace."

She caught herself too late, realizing she'd let slip more than she meant to. But if Quinn noticed, he didn't show it. He was looking at her with the same warm smile, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners.

"What brings you to this side of town?" he asked. "It's rare we get visitors who find the blacksmith shop 'interesting.'"

"Oh, I, um..." She scrambled for an explanation. "I wanted to see a bit more of the kingdom. Sometimes you see things more clearly when you... step outside of your own walls."

Quinn tilted his head, considering her answer. There was a glint of something--understanding, perhaps--in his eyes. "Well, then, you picked a good day for it. And if you're looking to see the world from outside 'your walls,' let me know. I've got a pretty good tour of this place. It's not much, but it's home."

Frankie couldn't help but laugh. "A tour? Do you always offer guided tours to strangers?"

"Only to the ones who seem a bit... lost." He crossed his arms, clearly trying to read her, but without the prying curiousity she had expected.

"Well then, perhaps I'll take you up on it. After all, it's not every day you meet a blacksmith willing to show you around."

A gust of wind swept through the square, lifting her hood slightly. Without thinking, she reached up to pull it back into place, but not before it slipped just far enough to reveal her face fully.

Quinn's eyes widened, recognition flickering across his face as he took a step back. "Wait... you're--"

Before he could finish, he hastily lowered himself into an awkward bow, his expression suddenly formal and full of embarassment. "Your Highness. I'm so sorry, I didn't know--"

"No, please, stand up," she tried to stifle a laugh. "I'm not a princess here. I'm just... Frankie."

He straightened slowly, clearly uncertain. She could tell he was grappling with how to speak to her now that he knew her true identity. A few tense moments passed, before Frankie took a deep breath.

"I really mean it," she said softly. "Out here, I'm just another face in the crowd. Not Princess Francesca. Just Frankie."

"Just... Frankie," he echoed, testing out the words. A small smile played at his lips, and she could see his confidence returning, though there was a newfound hint of respect. "I think I can manage that."

They stood there, quietly holding each other's gaze as the bustling world continued around them. They were both fully aware that something had changed in the brief exchange. Frankie felt even more excitement.

"Well," he said, grinning, "shall we start that tour, then, 'just Frankie'?"

"Lead the way, Quinn."

As they turned and began to walk through the market together, side by side, Frankie felt a lightness that had been missing for so long. And she allowed herself to wonder what it would be like to live like this normally.

Quinn showed her everything--the quiet back gardens of the town's inn, where flowers grew wild and fragrant; the bakery where the owner let her sample fresh pastries; the hidden creek just beyond the town, where they walked barefoot along the edge of the water.

Every place they visited had its own small charm, a piece of the world Quinn knew so well, and Frankie was mesmerized. Her world was expanding with every story he told and every laugh they shared. It was a freedom she'd only dreamed of.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, they found themselves in a quiet clearing outside the village. They sat on a fallen log, listening to the rustling of the leaves in the wind.

"It must be nice," Frankie finally said, looking out at the trees. "To have this kind of life. To belong to a place like this."

"It has its charms," he agreed. "But I don't think it's as simple as it seems. I have my own responsibilities, even if they're different from yours. Sometimes you don't need a crown to feel trapped by what people expect of you."

Frankie glanced at him, surprised by his honesty. "I suppose you're right. I sometimes think... maybe it doesn't matter who you are. Everyone has a role to play, whether they chose it or not."

Quinn nodded. "But at least you're out here. Maybe that's a sign that you want something different. Something... real."

"I think you might be right," she murmured. "Thank you, Quinn. I mean it."

He reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing against her cheek. For a breathless moment, they were both still, each daring to imagine something beyond the lives they'd known.

"You're welcome, Frankie," he whispered. "Anytime."

~~

The forst clearing outside the village was quiet, except for the leaves and the occasional call of a bird in the distant. Frankie and Quinn sat together on the soft grass, a small spread of bread, cheese, apples between them, a makeshift picnic Frankie had prepared in secret before leaving the palace again. She didn't know what had made her brave enough to bring it--perhaps her desire to spend just a few more moments in his world instead of hers.

"Not much of a royal feast, I'm afraid," she said, laughing as she held up a piece of bread.

Quinn accepted it with a grin. "For someone who's 'just Frankie,' I'd say it's perfect." He took a bite, savouring it as if it were the finest meal. "Besides, it's not every day I get lunch with the princess. I mean... with Frankie."

She chuckled, though she felt a thrill each time he spoke her name, as if it were a secret shared only between them. She lay back in the grass, stretching her legs and looking up at the patches of sky between the treetops. Quinn joined her, lying down, his head tilted to watch the clouds drift by.

"You know," he began, after a few minutes of silence, "you never told me why you started sneaking out of the palace. Not that I'm complaining about it, of course," he added quickly, giving her a lopsided smile.

She paused, gathering her thoughts. "I just... needed to feel free. The palace is so beautiful, but it's also... confining. Every moment, every decision, it's all made for me, like the path of my life was laid out long before I even had the chance to imagine anything else."

She turned her head, meeting his gaze. "Out here, I can be someone else. Not a princess, not the king's daughter. Just... me."

"I think I understand. Growing up in the village I've had people tell me who I'm supposed to be, too. What I should become." He shrugged, staring at his roughened hands.

Frankie smiled, comforted by his words. It was something she'd never shared with anyone--not even Alice, though Alice likely understood more than anyone. She reached out, her fingers brushing his hand, as if she could draw strength from his touch.

"Thank you, Quinn."

He turned his hand over, his fingers entwining with hers. "For what?"

"For letting me be me. I don't think you know how much it means to me."

Their eyes met and the world around them started to fade. The line between their lives disappeared, and she found wondering if maybe--just maybe--she could have this. A life where she was more than just her title. A life where she could be someone like Quinn.

But the thoughts felt too dangerous, too tender and fragile, like a spark that could go out at any moment. She looked away, her face flushing. Yet, she didn't pull her hand from his.

"Frankie," Quinn murmured. "I think... I feel the same way."

She didn't dare move, her heart caught with the knowledge that this was more than just a simple friendship. This was something else, something deep and precious--and terribly risky.

But lying with Quinn in the clearing, she decided that some risks were worth taking.

~~

Back at the palace, Frankie tried to carry on as usual, performing her duties, attending dinners, and studying the various treaties her father was eager to discuss with her. But her mind lingered on those stolen moments with Quinn, on the way his hand felt in hers, the gentle way he listened to her. She felt lighter. She was carrying a secret so precious that she wouldn't trade it for anything.

But that feeling grew harder to hold onto as her father's plans began to solidify. King Eric had summoned her to his study one evening, a summons she knew would not bring good news.

Frankie took a deep breath and knocked on the heavy oak door, the quiet creak that followed her entry filled her with unease. Her father was seated at his desk, papers and maps spread across the surface. His face was set in its usual stern expression, his fingers tapping impatiently as he gestured for her to sit.

"Francesca," he began, folding his hands over the papers before him. "I've made a decision about your future. It's time to take your rightful place in securing the future of our kingdom."

She swallowed, her hands twisting in her lap. She had heard this line before, but something about the look in his eyes filled her with dread. "My rightful place?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "The alliance with Lathora has been in negotiation for some time now. Their prince--Prince Edmond--will make a fine match for you. The marriage will bring stability to both kingdoms and ensure our people are secure for generations to come."

Her heart sank at his words. She'd heard her father discuss the prospect of alliances before, but never with such finality. She felt a surge of panic, her fingers clenching as she fought to keep her composure.

"Father, I..." she hesitated, searching for the right words. "I understand the importance of alliances, but perhaps there's another way. A marriage--"

"Is not negotiable," he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I am not blind, Francesca. I see the way you slip from your duties, sneaking off into the village like a commoner. You are a princess--one day a queen. It's time you understand your life is not your own. Your choices affect the entire kingdom."

Frankie looked away, her throat tight. She wanted to tell him about Quinn, to show him that what she'd found was worth more than every alliance, that her happiness could be valuable too. But she knew it would fall on deaf ears.

"Yes, Father," she forced herself to nod.

"Good." He straightened, satisfied with her compliance, and shuffled the papers in front of him. "Prince Edmond will arrive within the month. I expect you to show him the respect and hospitality befitting a future queen."

~~

Late that night, after her father's announcement, Frankie sat by the windows in her chambers, her heart heavy. The palace walls, once merely confining, now felt suffocating. She couldn't bear the thought of marrying a man she barely knew, let alone someone she didn't love.

As if sensing her turmoil, Alice slipped into the room. She had a knack for appearing at the right time, and this was no exception.

"Frankie?" Alice's voice was soft as she approached. "You look troubled, dear."

"It's my father. He's... he's arranged a marriage for me. To a prince from Lathora. It's final--there's no way out."

Alice sat beside her, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I thought something like this might happen. But I had hoped he would see that you're still young, that you deserve a chance to find happiness on your own terms."

A tear slipped down Frankie's cheek, and she quickly brushed it away. "Alice, I don't want this. I don't want him. There's... someone else."

"Quinn?" she asked quietly.

Frankie nodded, unable to hide the longing in her eyes. "He's... he's everything I never thought I could have. He listens to me, sees me--not as the princess, as me. And I know... I know I could be happy with him. Truly happy."

Alice squeezed her hand. "Then, my dear, you owe it to yourself to fight for that happiness."

"But how? My father would never understand. And Quinn... he's a commoner. Father would never allow that."

Alice was silent for a moment, then gave her a gentle smile. "Some things are worth the risk, Frankie. Love is one of those things."

The words lingered and stirred a flicker of hope in Frankie's heart.

~~

The grand meeting hall was dressed to the nines. Banners bearing the royal crest hung from the towering stone walls, and the crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow across the table set with gleaming silverware and fine china.

At the far end of the room, Frankie stood with her father, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She'd been in formal attire countless times, but today her tiara felt heavier, its sharp edges pressing into her temples. She glanced at her father, who was watching the door with a look of satisfaction, and she couldn't shake the growing dread within her.

"Stand tall, Francesca," he murmured. "Today is important. The kingdom's future depends on it."

She swallowed thickly, straightening her shoulders as the doors opened to reveal Prince Edmond. He was a nobleman, that was for sure. Tall and fair, with a solemn expression and regal posture. Dressed in royal blue and silver, he carried himself with an air of practiced decorum, bowing slightly to her father before moving his gaze to Frankie.

"Princess Francesca," he greeted, extending his hand to her. His tone was formal, his words rehearsed. "It is an honour."

Frankie forced a smile and took his hand, allowing him to lead her to the table. Advisors exchanged approving glances as they sat, and her father looked on with unmistakable pride.

Dinner began, and Frankie found herself struggling to follow the stiff conversation. Edmond seemed nice enough, but he hardly spoke beyond polite small talk and formal questions. He was painfully proper, never once breaking his composure or expressing anything remotely personal.

"Princess, I hear that your kingdom is renowned for its gardens," he remarked between bites, his tone void of warmth. "I would be delighted to take a tour."

"Yes, of course," Frankie replied, trying to match his formality. "Our gardens are... nice."

She felt like a stranger in her own life. She was a performer playing a role that didn't belong to her. Every forced smile, every polite reply, drained her more. With each moment she felt herself drifting further and further from the person she was with Quinn.

She looked around the room, catching Alice's sympathetic gaze from the far end of the room. Her maid offered her a warm, encouraging smile, and Frankie felt a pang of gratitude. But even Alice's support couldn't shake the ugly feeling she had.

As the dinner dragged on, Frankie found herself longing for the forest clearing, the bustling streets of the village, and Quinn's gentle smile. She wondered what he was doing at that very moment, likely enjoying a meal with his family, laughing happily.

Just as she thought she could endure no more, the dinner came to an end. Edmond rose and gave another polite bow, his expression unreadable. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Princess Francesca. I look forward to continuing our... alliance."

"Likewise, Prince Edmond."

As people began to leave the hall, her father took her by the arm, his grip firm. He led her to a quiet corner. "You did well tonight, Francesca. Prince Edmond is an ideal match. Solid, dependable, and the alliance will secure the future of our kingdom."

Frankie wanted to protest, to tell him that there was more to life than alliances and duty, that there were things she couldn't find in a forced marriage. But she knew better than to voice those thoughts.

"Yes, Father."

"Good," he patted her on the arm. "We'll continue with the arrangements. Soon, you'll see that this was the right path."

As he left, Frankie glanced at Alice again, who had quietly made her way over. "Not quite the fairy tale, is it?" the maid mumbled.

"No, not quite."

"Come, I'll take you back to your chambers. And I've got something for you--someone left a note."

Her father's expectations and Prince Edmond's impersonal formality faded into the background as she clutched the note that Alice handed her. With trembling hands, she unfolded it, soft handwriting scrawled across the page:

Stay strong, Frankie. I'll be waiting

The words were simple, but they filled her with courage. She would stay strong. For herself. For Quinn. For the future she really wanted. She would stay strong.

~~

The moon was bright as Frankie slipped through the palace gates and made her way to the forest clearing. She needed to feel free, even if it was only for a few minutes. After hours of gross formalities, she couldn't bare the idea of returning to her chambers. She needed to see Quinn, to be near someone who saw her as more than just a bargaining piece in her father's plans.

When she reached the clearing, she found him waiting, his familiar silhouette illuminated by the glow of the moon. Quinn sat on their fallen log, staring at the stars above, lost in thought. At the sound of her footsteps, he looked up, a smile on his face.

"Frankie," he said quietly, standing to meet her. "I wasn't sure you'd come tonight."

"I had to." Without thinking, she closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him, seeking comfort in his embrace. Quinn barely hesitated before returning it, holding her close. She could feel his heartbeat, steady and reassuring, and she could finally breathe.

They stood like that for a while, until Frankie pulled back, looking up into his eyes. "It's hopeless, Quinn. My father has decided everything for me. There's a prince--Prince Edmond. He's the one my father has chosen for me. The one I'm suppoesed to marry."

The words tasted bitter on her tongue, and she saw Quinn's face darken, his expression pained.

"Prince Edmond. And you're just supposed to accept it? No choice?"

She shook her head. "That's the way it's always been. To my father, marriage is a contract--a way to secure power and strengthen alliances. He doesn't see it as anything more."

"So, that's it then?" Quinn looked at the ground. "You'll marry this prince, while I... I go back to being a commoner with nothing to offer you?"

The pain in his voice cut through her, and she held his hand tightly. "Quinn, please. You have to know none of that matters to me. Titles, crowns, alliances--none of it matters when I'm with you." She looked into his eyes, her voice pleading. "You're the only one who makes me feel like I'm more than a princess. With you, I can just be myself."

"But, Frankie... what can I give you that someone like him can't?"

"You've already given me everything," her voice broke. "You give me the freedom to be myself. To be... happy."

Frankie could see the conflict in his eyes, the battle between his feelings for her and his fear that he could never be enough. She could feel her heart breaking at the thought of losing him.

Finally, unable to bear the distance between them, she reached up, cupping his face in her hands as she whispered, "Please, Quinn. Don't pull away from me. Not now."

Slowly, he raised his hand, covering hers. He drew her closer, his forehead resting against hers, their breaths mixing. "I'll try, Frankie. For you... I'll try."

She leaned up, pressing her lips to his in a gentle kiss, one that quickly turned desperate. Slowly, they sank down to the forest floor, their fingers intertwined.

"Stay with me tonight?" she whispered.

"Yeah, let's forget about the rest of the world for a bit."

Just them, beneath the stars, in a world where only they existed.

~~

Frankie stood by the window, focused on the gardens below, though her mind was far from the flowers and fountains stretching across the grounds. The dinner with Prince Edmond still lingered in her head, a reminder of the life her father wanted her to live--bound by duty and sacrifice, devoid of choice. She just clung to the fragile hope that somehow, she and Quinn could find a way to be together.

She didn't hear the door open until her father's voice broke her from her daydreaming.

"Francesca, I have news."

She turned, hiding the worry that twisted her stomach.

"The negotiations with Lathora have failed," he announced, his voice clipped. "Prince Edmond's advisors were unreasonable in their demands, and I will not tolerate such arrogance, not even at the sake of an alliance."

"I see," Frankie replied, her worry replaced by excitement. "Then... there will be no alliance?"

"For now, no. But rest assured, we will find a suitable match. I will not allow this kingdom's future to remain vulnerable."

He studied her, searching for resistance, but she just nodded. She nodded like she always did when her father told her something. She nodded and it made her feel weak. "Of course, Father. I trust you'll make the best decision for the kingdom."

"Good. I have already reached out to another kingdom. Prince Trevor is well-regarded, and his kingdom is both powerful and influential. He's charming, highly capable, and exactly the sort of match we need."

And just like that, the excitement she felt dimmed. Prince Trevor. She'd heard stories of him--a confident, bold young man with a reputation for his charm. Unlike Prince Edmond, who had shown no personal interest in her, Prince Trevor was rumoured to have his own reasons for a royal match, and her father had always spoken highly of him and his father's kindgom.

"He will arrive within the week. Prepare yourself. Remember... respect and warmth befitting of a queen."

Frankie sank back onto the velvet-cushioned bench by the window. Her brief hope was dashed, replaced by dread at the thought of yet another arranged meeting, another prince who would see her as only a political prize.

"What is it, dear?" Alice slipped into the room, a freshly cleaned nightgown in her arms.

"Prince Trevor. Another visit. He's supposed to be a good... match for me."

"Another suitor already? That was fast."

Frankie nodded, a bitter laugh leaving her throat. "Apparently, the kingdom's future can't afford any delay. I thought... maybe I'd have more time between suitors. But now it's worse--this prince, Trevor... he's everything Father could want."

"Time is precious, dear. And it sounds like you'll have to make the most of what you have."

"I just wish... I wish I could talk to Quinn. He's the only one who understands."

"Then talk to him. Don't let this prince or anyone else stop you from finding what matters."

She would talk to Quinn. Make the most of the time she had--no matter what her father's plan was.

~~

Carriages rolled through the gates, flanked by royal guards. Frankie stood up straight and tall as the entourage approached. It took everything in her to maintain the mask of dutiful obedience.

In the lead carriage, a young man stepped out, tall and impeccably dressed in rich, dark fabrics embroided with the crest of another kingdom. His presence was immediately striking--confident and sharp. His blond hair caught the sun, and he wore a self-assured smile.

He crossed the courtyard easily, bowing deeply before the king. "Your Majesty. Thank you for inviting me to your kingdom. It is an honour."

"Prince Trevor," King Eric replied. "We are delighted to have you here. Please, allow me to introduce my daughter, Princess Francesca."

Frankie dipped into a small curtsy, keeping her gaze neutral. To her surprise, Trevor offered her a grin, one that felt genuine and a bit too confident. He took her hand and bowed over it, never taking his eyes off hers in way that made her feel exposed.

"Princess Francesca, I must admit, I was eager to meet you."

"Welcome, Prince Trevor. I trust your journey was pleasant?"

"It was long," he replied with a small chuckle. "But well worth it, if it means meeting such... esteemed company."

King Eric seemed pleased with the exchange, just as he had with Prince Edmond. "Good, good. Let us retire to the main hall. I trust you two will have much to discuss."

Frankie found herself side-by-side with Trevor as they followed her father, his presence uncomfortably close. The palace staff had arranged for refreshments in the main hall, where soft music played, and light filtered through the stained-glass windows.

Trevor leaned in slightly, his voice low enough for only her to hear. "I've heard many things about you, Princess. But none of them seem to capture the... charm of your presence."

Frankie didn't sense any malice in his words--if anything, he seemed genuinely interested in her. But there was a smugness, an unspoken assumption that made her wary,

"Thank you, Your Highness."

"Oh, please," he waved her off dismissively. "There's no need for such formality between us. Call me Trevor."

"Very well, Trevor."

They took their seats in the centre of the room, and as refreshments were brought in, Trevor continued talking. He talked about his kingdom, his travels, his fondness for sports, even sharing an amusing story about an ill-fated hunting trip that had everyone laughing and nodding along.

Trevor was charming--she couldn't deny that. But it was the practiced charm of someone who knew his own worth, who was accustomed to admiration. It only made her think about how different he was tha Quinn, whose honesty was comforting and not... whatever this was.

After a while, Trevor turned the conversation to Frankie. "And tell me, Princess, how do you spend your time in the palace? Surely you must find ways to escape the routine of court life."

"I do enjoy some time in the gardens and reading in the library. Occasionally, I take walks beyond the palace grounds."

"Beyond the grounds?" he raised an eyebrow. "You must be quite adventerous, then. I'm impressed."

"I enjoy the fresh air," she said simply, hoping to deflect his interest.

But Trevor grew even more curious, and he leaned closer. "Perhaps you could show me these spots. I would love to see more of the kingdom--from a local's perspective, of course."

"Perhaps," she replied, though she knew it was unlikely she would bring him to her favourite spots.

Finally, the gathering drew to a close, and Trevor turned to her. "Thank you for your time, Princess. I look forward to seeing you more during my stay." His words held an unspoken promise as he took her hand once more, pressing a kiss to it.

She forced a smile, but it was hollow. Why did her dad get a say in her life and she didn't?

~~

Quinn walked alone, his thoughts heavy. News of Prince Trevor's arrival had swept through the kingdom, carried by rumours and whispers that painted him as the perfect suitor for the beautiful Princess Francesca. Quinn had heard the villagers speak about Trevor's charm, his looks, his power. He was everything a princess could want, everything Quinn felt he was not.

He shook his head, pushing back the growing ache in his chest as he made his way to their forest clearing. He knew Frankie would be waiting for him, but he wasn't sure what he'd say. The thought of her standing beside a prince, a man who could give her the security and life she deserved, made him feel helpless. He could he compete with that?

He found her there, sitting on their log, her face lighting up when she saw him. She rose, coming to meet him, her arms reaching out to pull him close. But he took a step back, his hands tucked in his pockets, his gaze fixed on his shoes.

"Quinn?" Her voice was soft, confused. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, I just... I heard the news. About Prince Trevor."

She hesitated, her expression turning guarded as she nodded. "Yes, he arrived today."

Her confirmation made his fists clench in jealousy. "So, he's... he's the new one, then? The prince your father wants you to marry?"

Frankie reached out, her hand resting on his arm. "My father thinks he's the right choice. But I don't."

He shook his head, pulling his arm away, and looked past her. "Frankie, I'm not... I can't compete with him. Or with any prince. I'm just... me."

She stepped closer, reaching for his hands, her eyes pleading. "Quinn, don't say that. You're everything to me."

He let her take his hands, but his grip was loose, uncertain. "Maybe you think that now, but I'm not blind, Frankie. I know what you deserve. Someone who can give you the life you're meant to have."

"But I don't want that life. Not if it means losing you."

Quinn looked down at their hands, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "But you deserve someone who can be by your side... someone who can stand with you, not behind you."

"Please, Quinn. Don't say that. Don't push me away."

"Frankie, I love you. I love you more than anything. But maybe... maybe loving you means letting you go. So you can have the life you were born to have."

He was saying what she'd feared all along--that he felt he wasn't enough for her, that he would only hold her back. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she could no longer keep her voice steady. "So, that's it? You're giving up on us?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw tightening. "I don't want to, but I can't ignore reality, Frankie. You're a princess. And I'm..."

"Don't," she interrupted. "Please, don't finish that sentence."

The quiet of the forest around them was thick with tension. She wanted to scream, to beg him to stay, to make him see that he was the only one for her. But his resolve was unshaken despite the pain in his eyes.

"If you leave, Quinn... I don't know what I'll do."

"I'm sorry, Frankie. I wish... I wish things were different."

He turned, his figure retreating back towards the village, and Frankie watched, tears streaming down her face as the one person she loved more than anything disappeared into the night.

~~

Frankie felt numb. She stood by the stone fountain in the garden, watching the water cascade over the edges. The fresh air did little to ease the weight of her heartbreak.

Quinn's words cut at her heart like sharp blades. She could still feel his hands in hers, see the sadness in his features as he said goodbye. How could she even begin to think about marrying someone else when her heart was in a million little pieces?

However, she couldn't afford to avoid Trevor forever, though the thought of pretending to be interested in him felt almost unbearable.

"Princess Francesca?"

Trevor walked over, his charming smile in place. She forced a polite smile, hoping it didn't look as strained as it felt.

"Prince Trevor. I didn't expect to see you out here."

He chuckled, coming to stand beside her by the fountain. "Oh, I've always been a fan of gardens. My mother keeps one back home, though I'll admit, yours puts ours to shame."

Frankie glanced at him, uncertain of how to respond. Why did he care so much?

"You looked lost in thought," he continued, studying her face. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything... important?"

"No, just... enjoying the peace."

Trevor nodded. "I suppose a princess doesn't get much of that, does she? Not with all the demands, the expectations, the responsibilities..."

She glanced at him, trying to gauge his intentions. "You seem to know a lot about it."

He shrugged, folding his hands behind his back as he looked out over the garden. "My life may be different from yours, but it's also very similar. I get what it's like to have your path laid out for you. But I've always believed that duty and happiness don't have to be mutually exclusive."

His words were well-spoken, maybe there was more to him than she'd assumed.

"Your father told me much about you, Princess," his tone dropped to a more personal level. "But I'll admit, I really didn't expect you to be so... captivating."

She tensed, feeling her face flush. "You don't know me, Prince Trevor. Not really."

"Not yet," he remained undeterred. "But I'd like to. I see something in you, Princess. A strength. A desire to be more than what others expect of you."

She wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that her heart was already spoken for, that the life she wanted was far from the one he was offering her. But she bit her tongue, knowing it would only complicate things further.

"You think you see me. But there's more to me than... strength."

"Than show me, Francesca. Show me who you are."

"I appreciate your... interest, Prince Trevor. But I don't think I'm what you're looking for."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I... I already know who I am. And I'm afraid I may not be able to meet the expectations that you or my father have for me."

To her surprise, Trevor's smile only grew. "Perhaps that's exactly why I'm here, Princess. To help you realize that duty and desire can coexist."

She didn't respond and he gave her a respectful nod. "I'll give you time, Francesca. I'm not here to force anything--only to show you that it's possible."

With a deep sigh, she looked to the edge of the garden, where the forest stretched out for miles and miles. She wished she could run to Quinn, that she could hold him despite her world falling apart. But for now, all she could do was stand there and listen to Trevor's footsteps as he retreated back into the castle.

~~

The day had been exhausting--her father's pointed glances during the afternoon, Trevor's persistent charm, and the unshakable ache in her heart left by Quinn's absence. She was stretched thin with no clear way out.

She found Alice waiting for her in her chambers, preparing the room for the night.

"Oh my! You look exhausted! Come, sit!"

Frankie sat heavily on the edge of her bed, running a hand over her face as she struggled to keep her composure.

"What's troubling you now, Frankie? You're going to give yourself a heartattack."

Frankie was unsure of where to begin. But as she looked at Alice, the words began to spill out, her voice barely a whisper. "It's... everything, Alice. My father, Prince Trevor... and Quinn. I... I love him, Alice. But it feels like everything in the world is trying to tear us apart."

Alice nodded.

"Trevor won't give up and Father loves him. He's so certain that he can make this work, that I'll come to accept it. But I can't... I can't just pretend my heart isn't with someone else."

"And what does Quinn think of all this?"

"He... he think he's not enough. That he can't give me what I need or deserve. He said... he said maybe it would be better if we didn't see each other."

"The heart can be a stubborn thing, Frankie. It often tells us we aren't worthy of people we love most."

"But he is worthy, Alice. He's everything I could want. Kind, honest, and loves me for me and not my title."

"Be brave, Frankie. Like I've said a million times before, be brave."

"What if... what if I can't convince him?"

"Then you'll know you tried. But don't bear a life of regret."

"You're right. You're always right."

"That's what I'm here for, no? Now, get some sleep. You need it," she pulled back the blankets, a smile on her face.

"Thanks, Alice."

"Let me know how it goes," the maid winked before retreating into the hallway, leaving Frankie to figure out how to win back the love of her life.

~~

Frankie held her head in her hands. For days she had felt a deep fatigue that tugged at her bones, combined with spells of nausea and dizziness that seemed to come and go. She had tried to dismiss it, assuming it was the stress of her upcoming marriage to Prince Trevor and the heartbreak of losing Quinn.

"I always feel like I'm asking you what's wrong nowadays," Alice said, approaching with a warm cup of tea.

Frankie smiled, taking the cup in her hands. "I... I don't know, Alice. I just feel... strange. Tired, and unsteady." She paused, a wave of dizziness overcoming her, and took a sip of tea in an attempt to steady herself.

"Forgive me, but... have you considered there might be another reason for this feeling?"

Another reason? Frankie looked up, and the implications of her confidante dawned on her. She felt the room shift around her as the realization struck her like a bolt of lightning.

"Alice... you don't mean...?"

"It's possible, isn't it, dear? You've been feeling unwell, and it's not uncommon for these symptoms to appear under such... circumstances."

Frankie gasped, setting her tea aside. The memories of her night with Quinn flashed before her and her hand drifted to her abdomen.

"Alice... could I really be..." She couldn't finish the sentence. She couldn't speak it into existence.

"There's only one way to know for sure. Shall I walk down with you?"

Frankie could only nod. The palace daughter only worked a couple days a week, but luckily for her today was one of those days. Alice stood with her while the doctor moved around the room, poking and proding the princess. Eventually, he came to his conclusion.

"You're with child."

"It's true then," Frankie whispered. "I'm..."

This child was a symbol of her love for Quinn--a precious connection that bound them together. But as the joy she felt settled, it was quickly replaced by fear. What would her father say? How would he react when he learned the princess was carrying the child of a commoner?

"What am I going to do? My father... he'll be furious. He'll never accept this."

"Francesca, I know this is frightening. But this child is a part of the love that you share with Quinn. Whatever happens, you are not alone."

"What would I do without you?"

"You have the courage to face this, for you and your baby."

Frankie nodded. She would face her father, tell him the truth, and hope that somehow, he would understand. She would protect her baby--no matter the cost.

~~

Frankie took a long breath before she nodded to the butler to open the door to the throne room for her. She knew her face gave away her terror, but she had to face this moment for the sake of her child.

Her father was a solitary figure on the far side of the room. He was seated on his throne, reviewing a parchment with intense focus. He looked up, raising an eyebrow at her sudden entrance.

"Francesca. This is unexpected. What brings you here?"

Her courage wavered under his intense stare. But she felt a surge of strength at the idea that she could live a happy life with her child and Quinn. She looked her father directly in the eyes, inhaling sharply.

"Father, I need to speak with you. It's... it's important."

King Eric's eyes narrowed, his expression shifting to one of mild annoyance. "Very well, Francesca. What is it? You seem rather... grave."

"I... I have something to tell you. Something that I know you won't be pleased to hear." Her voice trembled, but she pushed on. "I am... carrying a child, Father. Quinn's child."

For a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of shock in his eyes, but it quickly vanished, replaced by a cold, piercing stare that made her feel small and insignificant.

"What did you say?"

"I am with child. The child is Quinn's. I... I love him, Father. I know this isn't what you wanted, but I had to tell you. This... is very important to me."

King Eric's hands clenched around the arms of his throne, his face growing hard with anger. He rose slowly, his gaze dark as he approached her. "Francesca," his tone was laced with fury, "do you understand what you have done? You, a princess, have disgraced this family by carrying the child of a commoner! You have risked everything I have worked to build--all for a fleeting, foolish romance!"

Tears stung her eyes, but she held her ground, unwilling to back down. "It's not foolish, Father. I love him. I want him to be part of my life."

"Love? This is not about love, Francesca. This is about duty. About securing the future of this kingdom! Do you realize the scandal this could bring upon us? The disgrace? No one can know of this--no one."

"Father, please. This baby is a part of our family. Can't you see that?"

"Leave! I don't want to speak with you about this further!"

Frankie didn't let her sobs escape her until she'd left the room, running the rest of the way to her chambers. She shoved her head in her pillow, screaming. How could he be so cruel?

~~

It had only been a day since their confrontation and her father had summoned her to his study. She tried to imagine what he could possibly want from her now, after everything he'd said.

She entered the room to find her father seated at his desk. Behind him stood two advisors and, to her surprise, Prince Trevor himself. The prince gave her a sympathetic nod as she entered, but she could sense the tension beneath his charm, as if he, too, were uncomfortable.

"Francesca. Sit."

Reluctantly, she sat across from him, stealing a glance at Trevor, who looked back at her with the same strange, calm expression. Whatever her father was about to say was definitely not going to be in her favour.

"After careful consideration, and after consulting with Prince Trevor and his advisors," the king began, "I have decided on the final plan that will secure our alliance and protect the reputation of our family."

Frankie knew whatever was coming was something monumental, something inescapable.

"You will marry Prince Trevor. And once the child is born, it will be recognized as his legitimate heir. This will satisfy the alliance and protect the throne from any scandal."

"Father... you cannot mean this," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You would have me marry someone I do not love and raise my child as if it belonged to another man?"

Trevor stepped forward. "Princess, please understand that I hold you in the highest respect. This is not a decision I take lightly, but as prince, it is my duty to my people to align with your father's wishes. It would be a... practical arrangement. One that serves us both."

Frankie looked at him, desperation filling her eyes. "And you agree to this? To pretend this child is yours? To live a lie?"

"If it means peace for our people, then yes. Sometimes duty requires us to make sacrifices."

"But this child is not yours, and I am not yours. I... I am bound to someone else, someone who loves me for who I am."

King Eric's face darkened as he listened to her protests, his patience wearing thin. "You are a princess, Francesca. Have you forgotten that? This marriage is not a matter of choice, it's a matter of duty. You will do what is expected of you."

She looked to Trevor again, but he looked away, his silence confirming his compliance. The future she'd envisioned with Quinn was slipping further and further from her grasp.

"What about my baby? What about the truth?"

"Your child will be the future heir, protected by the alliance forged through this marriage. You must set aside your personal attachments, Francesca. This is a sacrifice you will make."

Her father and Trevor had reduced her love, her future, and even her child's identity to nothing more than a means to an end. "Yes, Father. I understand."

"Good. This is for the best, Francesca. One day, you will see that."

She would not betray her love for Quinn, nor would she let her child's life be built off lies. She would find a way out.

~~

The palace was beautiful, with tapestries of gold and crimson adorning the walls and rows of white lillies lining the grand hall, their scent filling the air. Candles in chandaliers flickered above the gathered nobility and dignitaries. It was a sight fit for a royal wedding--a vision of perfection that would make any bride squeal. But Frankie only felt numb with dread.

Dressed in an ivory gown and a veil that trailed behind her like mist, she walked down the aisle on her father's arm. King Eric's face was stern but proud, as if the spectacle he had crafted would hide her sorrow. Frankie kept her head high, but her thoughts were miles away--on the life she would never have, on the man she loved, on the future that was being stolen from her.

At the end of the aisle waited Prince Trevor, standing tall in his ceremonial attire, his expression as neutral as it had been in the meeting. He, too, was playing his part in this theatre. Trevor was bound by duty.

The king's voice was low as he released her hand, a final, whispered warning. "Remember, Francesca. For the kingdom. Do what must be done."

She nodded, standing beside Trevor as the officiant began the ceremony, her gaze distant. This was the final nail in the coffin that was her life.

~~

Quinn sat hunched over a letter in his bedroom, his eyes fixed on Alice's handwriting. The truth hit him like a punch to the gut. Frankie was pregnant with his child. She had been forced into a marriage to protect the kingdom.

Setting the letter down, Quinn rose to his feet, his face pale. He couldn't let this happen. He wouldn't allow her to be trapped in a loveless marriage with his child by her side. Without another thought, he left his home, running through the streets toward the palace, each step fuelled by desperation.

~~

The officiant continued, his voice steady as he reached the vows. Frankie could feel the weight of Trevor's hand resting on hers, but the rest of her body felt numb... frozen.

Just then, the heavy doors to the grand hall swung open with a loud crash, and commotion erupted among the guards. Heads turned in shock as Quinn stormed into the room, his voice ringing out as he called her name.

"FRANKIE!"

Gasps rippled through the crowd, and the guards hurried to interept him, grabbing his arms to restrain him. But Quinn struggled against them, his eyes fixed on Frankie.

"Let me go!" he shouted. "I need to speak to her! Frankie, don't do this!"

Frankie's composure shattered as she saw him fighting against the guards. Her eyes filled with tears, "Father, please let him speak."

"Remove him. He has no place here."

The guards began to drag Quinn back, but he resisted, his voice desperate as ever. "Frankie, don't let them do this to you! You don't have to live this lie! I love you!"

Frankie felt a surge of defiance--a fierce determination to claim the life she wanted, even if it meant forsaking everything she'd ever known. But then, her father gripped her arm, his voice a harsh whisper. "Don't let him make a fool of you, Francesca. This is your duty. Your responsibility to all the people of the kingdom."

Her heart screamed for her to run with Quinn, to escape, but her father's will and the many eyes on her held her back.

"Remove him! This wedding will proceed!" King Eric's voice boomed.

"Frankie, please! You don't have to do this!"

"Let's... let's finish," she whispered.

Quinn was dragged out and the doors shut. The officiant resumed as if nothing had happened and before she knew it she was officially married to Prince Trevor.

~~

The festivities were over, and the palace was dark and quiet. Frankie was wearing the stupid white nightgown she had been forced to wear. She knew this day had been Hell. She knew Quinn was worth the sacrifices and she should've gone with him.

A soft knock sounded at her door, and Alice slipped in holding a small bundle. "It's time, my lady," she whispered with urgency.

Frankie nodded, rising from her bed and taking Alice's hands. "Thank you, Alice. I don't know how I'll ever repay you."

"You can repay me by finding happiness. Now, hurry. I've packed some things for you--just the essentials."

She draped a dark cloak over Frankie's shoulders and tucked the hood around her face, obscuring her features.

"If... if he ever asks, tell my father that this was my choice. That I left willingly."

"You've made the right choice, Princess. This child deserves a life of love and freedom--and so do you."

Frankie blinked back tears, then turned toward the narrow servant's door that Alice had left ajar. Silently, she slipped through the gardens scanning the edge of the woods for any shadows. She prayde that Quinn had received the message that Alice had sent him earlier that evening.

A figure emerged from the trees and she could've died from happiness. He moved forward, in disbelief that she was standing in front of him.

"Frankie," he whispered. "I didn't think... I thought..."

She silenced him with a kiss, her eyes filling with tears. "I couldn't stay, Quinn. I couldn't live that life, not when I knew what we could have together. I chose you. I chose us."

"We... We'll go far from here. Somewhere safe, somewhere we can be free."

"I don't care where we go, as long as we're together."

With one last look at the palace, the place she'd spent her entire life, Frankie turned her back on it, taking Quinn's hand as they disappeared into the forest, leaving behind the world of royalty and expectations. Together they were stepping into the unknown, choosing love and the promise of a new beginning.

[royalty-nobility]

Little Foot of Queen Jadwiga

Artist: Aleksander Kotsis (Polish, 1836–1877)

Date: c. 1859

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: National Museum in Warsaw, Poland

[pol-ski]

Polish actor Krzysztof Świłpa as Władysław III of Poland (31 October 1424 – 10 November 1444), also known as Władysław (Ladislaus) III Jagiellon/Władysław of Varna – King of Poland, Hungary and Croatia as well as Supreme Duke of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania

"[...] it was from his reign that the thinking of Poland as the “bulwark of Christianity” started to develop, so popular later in the 16th and 17th century. In the 15th century, during the reign of Władysław III, the term “bulwark” referred rather to Hungary, threatened by the progressing Turkish expansion, but it was precisely for this purpose that the young king of Poland accepted the Hungarian crown – in order to fight for defending the Kingdom of Hungary. Military successes during the so-called “long campaign” (1443/1444) resulted in the fact that he individually became to be referred to as a “bulwark of the entire Christian Commonwealth” – and not by somebody else but by Francesco Filelfo, one of the greatest snobs, but also the most outstanding erudite humanist of the Italian Renaissance, who was sought after by the most outstanding people of the time, including monarchs and even the pope. Prof. Janusz Tazbir correctly notices that it was at that time that the term antemurale Christianitatis – already widespread in Europe – was for the first time used towards the Polish ruler (!) and not the Kingdom of Poland. For the achieved victories, Władysław III as the first Polish ruler received from the Pope a blessed sword – a special distinction for rulers who distinguished themselves in fighting for the defence of Christian faith". (© Ewa Srebro, Maria Curie Skłodowska University in Lublin)

1) Władysław III depicted in a 15th-century prayerbook, 2) Władysław III by Izydor Jabłoński

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

William's only weak point is his terribly middle class wife, who is popular but still terribly twee (the colour coordinated outfits, the sentimental overly polished video, her yapping dog loving brother*) - if Charles can get his Royal son back into the fold, BP has a line of attack: noble steadfast Tradition vs pious Modernizing.

How valid is this argument tho? Does Britain really have a problem with a commoner wearing the crown?

No idea. I’m not British.

Frankly, I didn’t know how to respond to that post. It came off classist and snobby, and I don’t know whether that was the anon’s intent or if they were trying to be snarky.

Liking the Middletons’ values doesn’t make you middle class. Nor does dressing in color coordinated outfits, which Queen Elizabeth did - may I remind the anon - and I’m very certain no one called her middle class. And the Middletons’ communications style of speaking directly to one another and handle their issues privately is inferior to the royals’ preference to talk at each other through the press and make it national news? Wow.

Because from where I sit, over here in the rebellious colonies full of terrible middle class people, “tradition” is antagonistic brothers threatening the stability and security of the monarchy’s very right to exist (Edward VIII, Andrew, and Harry), so a little modernizing wouldn’t hurt if it means future generations of Windsor men aren’t warring with each other in your national newspapers.

[nothanksjohnny]

Seekers

Seekers are complex in their ways of existing. From how they define status between themselves beyond the standards of a theocratic monarchy or a more elective government. As the rest of cybertron had slowly shifted to unilaterally follow. No, they had a more refined way of presenting themselves. Not just limited to a blood given right but as a single being.

To a Seeker flying is every piece of them. Every wire and bolt was molded to aid in their obligation of living. Sleek forms that cut though weather and atmosphere alike. Silent in their hunt until they allow you to hear the hiss and rumble of their engines. Due to this it is no question that these features are used in everyday social mobility. One string of how to grasp their differentiated social ladder is to begin with their wings.

This is often a social cue used for more refined and noble status as well for more daily interaction with fellow airborne cybertronians. physique is another step for a seeker to pridefully present themselves allowing further chances to make oneself a eyesore. Another side connection to this is a polished and clean frame. While cleanliness is the basic standard for any species, seekers tend to use this as a social connection of sorts. This can allow someone to know how close they are to said winged mech or femme. Many will have to work up to the trust of a seeker giving full access to their back and wings. Believed to be close is hypersensitivity as a human's fingertips. Although further knowledge or suspicion has brought the hypothesis that it can further drift to more sensitive and personal areas. Crevices where the forearm begins to flow into the servo. Creating a wrist of joins and cogs as well as wires. As well as the metallic joints one's digit bends. A more stiff mimic to an organic flow of motion.

Gently clawing out stuck debris between shoulders and perhaps even freshening paint or polish can help strength or create a more solid bond. This is often found to be done between trines as well. Often subtly shown between the elite trine in more calmer moments While aiding a fellow cybertronian isn't that odd to see nor is it strange to witness a grounder and seeker clean each other. It does differentiate on how the cleaning is done between grounders,seekers,ect.

This is due to differences in sensor placement. Seekers,coneheads and fliers require more sensors in their back and heels of their peds due to wings and thrusters. They also seem to take a more smooth transition to blindness and become easier to bear. This is because they take better advantage of additional sensors. Aiding in being able to mimic sight allowing clear awareness of surroundings. Due to these sensor placements a fellow seeker or winged mech/femme would more than likely be sought out over a grounder. Although this may differentiate if said grounder is the seeker in questions Conjunxs. Wing sensors tend to become hypersensitive and sore. Like straining a muscle or the deep ache after working out to compare. Knots can form and cause great discomfort in not only daily activity but if left untreated can cause faulty flying

This can lead to crashes or just wires becoming too strained. Creating unbearable pain can hinder a seeker to the ground or their berth. Oftentimes this is caused by being without a trine,death of a train or a now broken bond. Leaving a seeker without aid. To aid in this pain frequent preening is necessary. While a fellow flier or seeker does more precise petting of the wings a trusted grounder could offer assistance if allowed to. Starting in the outer middle of the wing is a preferred way to ease into aches. Soft long oval shaped pets following the wings shape can offer a soothing beginning. Slowing edging more into the middle of the wing can begin further going into the aches and possible knots. Its best to move up to the tip of the wing before you attempt to go towards the base of the wing.

This may be considered personal and may be reserved for trine. Patience and kindness as well as understanding is greatly appreciated for seekers who find themselves only allowing preening to happen between trinemates or at least more harder and precise ones. This is simply the beginning of trying to understand our angels or herpes of cybertron. Gliding elegantly through the sky as their claws glimmer in the ever lighted city of Vos. Seekers are complex. Beautify complex.

[usssnarfblat]

Did Anastasia deserve to die for her family's crimes against Fieval's family?

I've always found it interesting that "Anastasia" and "An American Tail" were made by the same guy...

My mom got us "An American Tail" as kids, since we were Jewish, and a Disney-like movie with Jewish characters was a one-of-a-kind thing. ("The Prince of Egypt" was still a few years away. Yes, I'm that old.) More to the point, my dad's side of the family is largely Russian Jews, who immigrated in the early 1920s, for exactly the same reasons as the Mouskewitz. Being a child of this background and very literally obsessed with cats, I had mixed feelings about the movie.

When "Anastasia" came out a few years later, Mom didn't let that history stop us from enjoying the new princess movie, but she didn't shelter us from it either. We regarded it like we did the real history behind any sugar-coated princess movie. She even got us some history books about the real Romanov family, and we were fascinated by the subject.

Still, it's an odd elephant in the room, watching "Anastasia" and knowing that her granddad was the one who sent those Cossack cats after Fievel's village, and her dad himself continued doing it to the Jewish mice who didn't leave.

"Go, Pompom, Kibble and Fluff-Baron! Kill those Jew mice, and I'll give you extra catnip treats tonight!"

Don Bluth presents both the Romannov family and their victims with equal sympathy, even opening both movies with the family celebrating a holiday, with the kid heroes getting a plot-specific present, before being viciously attacked.

"Wow Grandmama! Fieval and Tanya could use this as a merry-go-round!"

*Cough* "Yes uh, about those Jewish mice Sweetie..."

Bluth's portrayal of the Romanov family is not entirely inaccurate. By all accounts, Nicholas II was a deeply loving father who both doted on his children, but raised them not to be spoiled. Despite being royalty, the princesses shared bedrooms and did charity work at hospitals.

It's a baffling irony that Nicholas was nevertheless was a tyrant, and not remotely just to his Jewish subjects. When I was about twelve, Mom got me the Dear America book A Coal Miner's Bride, about the Catholic Polish immigrants who also fled the oppression of the Russian Tzar. (Anastasia's family conquered part of Poland in the 1800s, banning the Pols from speaking their own language and drafting their sons into the Tzar's dick-measuring contest wars.) Anyway, that's what my mom's side of the family was fleeing when they immigrated. Yes, my family has double reason to hate the Romanovs.

So, I personally don't have a lot of sympathy for Nicholas II. But the horrors his poor wife and children endured in their final moments never fails to get the reaction from me.

The rationalization for the murder of the children and queen was that it was the only way to ensure that the monarchy never returned. But I assume most modern-thinking people would say that the ends do not justify the means in this case.

That said, millions of families like Anetka's and Fievel's suffered as bad or worse than the Romanovs, because of the Romanovs, and no one remembers them because they didn't wear tiaras. This no doubt was another factor that killed sympathy for the Romanov children. But they were still children.

The question today is, if we can feel for a family that was literal royalty, despite their father being an undeniable tyrant against our own families...can we also feel for Palestinian and Israeli families, during a conflict that is vastly more complicated than Imperial Russia?

Or do they need to be cute mice and glittery princesses to get our attention?

[uknwnnmr]

I don't really have much to post since I've been thinking abt Arcane 24/7 so have these refrence sheets I did (I have much more but they're pretty old)

Drop design requests

Here's the list of country's I've done

USA (Revolution/Civil War/WW1/WW2/Current)

Japan

Japanese Empire

Japan (pre-JE)

UK (Kingdom/1700s/Current)

France (Napoleonic Wars/Current)

Spain

Italy

Roman Empire

Athens

Sparta

Greece

North Korea

South Korea

Korea

China

Taiwan

Hong Kong

Macau

China (one of the dynastys)

Scotland (Kingdom)

Austrian Empire

Austro-Hungary

Habsburg Monarchy

Holy Roman Empire

German Empire

Teutonic Order

Prussia

Germany

East Germany

Third Reich

Kingdom of Hungary

USSR

Tsardom of Russia

Russian Empire

Russia

Azerbaijan

Duchy of Lithuania

Polish Kingdom

Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth

French Kingdom

Ireland

Wales

Northern Ireland