Author's note: Tumblr holiday request (quatrequartiers) « Could I put in a request for some Spain/Monaco, maybe? ;u; ~*LOTS OF HISTORY*~ together-yet-still-a-rarepair OTP -you probably hear the same heartstring-tug reasoning from a lot of people making requests, hahaha. :'D But I'd love to see what you'd do with them, if you're ever so inclined! » I adore Monaco and history so here you go, Spain/Monaco, France, Habsburg Spain/Austria, and hinted Austria/Monaco.
Roca de Mónaco
I.
She walks from her brother's house with her head held high, wearing a dress of beautiful cream and rose colors. Camille's blonde hair is piled atop her head, her blue eyes shining when they fall upon him standing at his carriage.
"I hear you have your independence from the French king now," Antonio murmurs, bowing deeply. "My compliments, Your Highness. May I accompany you on your journey home?"
Camille's face, so much like Francis with something eternally smug about it, betrays an inner argument before a dainty hand takes Antonio's rougher one, stepping into his carriage.
II.
"It is for the better," Antonio murmurs in Camille's ear as they sit by the fountain. "To protect Monaco. You understand, don't you my love?"
Blue eyes, fierce and angry, flash at him before the sharpness leaves and a softness comes over Camille. The Spaniard isn't sure he understands what he just witnessed but forgets about it when a soft hand reaches out, Camille leaning forward to kiss his lips chastely. "Of course I understand, Antonio," and she practically purrs his name.
III.
The letter from Francis is simple: "She's my sister so believe me when I say, she will have the last laugh yet. Camille is no fool and even less so some helpless woman." Antonio shakes his head, chuckling as he drops the paper onto the window sill.
"Your brother seems to think very highly of you," the Spaniard murmurs as he crawls across his bed to where Camille is lounging beneath the sheets.
"Oh?" and she runs a hand over his tan chest. "He seems to only do that when I am gone."
"As if you've released him from your spell," and Antonio rolls her atop him, Camille straddling his hips. Her skin is like milk, so untouched by sun, and smooth like exquisite silk.
The woman smiles coyly. "You could say that, I suppose."
IV.
They stroll casually along the coast, Antonio enjoying seeing the Spanish military presence in Monaco. Camille's eyes stay on the ocean, never looking at him, so he kisses her cheek to steal her attention away for himself.
"You know nothing," she breathes. That takes Antonio aback before laughing, sure this was another one of her challenges.
"No, my love, I suppose I don't."
V.
She's been reading two letters out in the garden for hours now, over and over, pacing back and forth from the fountain to where the land drops off into the sea. Antonio watches from a balcony, contemplating.
Everyone Antonio knows has by now written to be careful when it came to Camille de Bonnefoy, Princess of Monaco. The Italians wrote of how Camilla's intelligence matched her beauty, the Hungarian had attached to Roderich's letter a plead that Kamilla not be seen as a helpless woman for she was anything but, and Roderich himself had written that if Antonio wished to be a fool he need only continue on the path he had chosen and Camille would see his wish through. That one stings even more than Francis's rants that have, as of late, dropped off.
Looking out into the garden again Antonio feels the need to call out, "Camila?" The woman turns, approaching the castle and looking up to where Antonio stands on the level above her.
"Yes Your Highness?"
"Who are your letters from?"
The woman takes a moment, looking at the two letters in her hand, before looking up and smiling mischievously. "It's a secret, my love."
VI.
He's flabbergasted at the letter in his hands from his officials, informing him of ongoing negotiations to remove Monaco from Spanish control. The sides of Antonio's vision go a little red, his fury all consuming, until he finds himself marching through the house to the garden where Camille is feeding birds. "Bonnefoy!" he shouts and the woman drops the rest of the crumbs in her hands, turning slowly and smiling elegantly.
"Yes, my love?" she purrs, stepping slowly towards Antonio in contrast to his long strides to reach her. He grabs the sides of her arms, holding her still, furious.
"You–" he starts, stops, then starts again. "Do you know about this?"
"About what?" and one of her pale hands reaches out to stroke his cheek, pushing a lock of hair behind Antonio's ear. "I only know what you tell me Your Highness, you know that." Brows furrowed together the Spaniard tries his best to resist as Camille's hands palm up his chest, around his neck, and she pulls him down to her. "So whatever is the matter today my love? Tell me so that I may make it better."
"They write me that Monaco is seeking independence from Spanish rule."
"Oh? Let me calm you then."
VII.
"Marry me," Antonio pleads as Camille stands at the window, breasts illuminated by the afternoon light streaming in. The Spaniard is half-drunk on his bed, having shirked his duties all day in favor of laying up with his beautiful little principality.
"Marriage?" Camille laughs, coming back to sit beside him. "Antonio, have you not had enough of marriage yet?"
"I'll divorce Ruy, our marriage is only political and he's an awful husband."
"And what makes you so sure I'll be a better wife?"
Tan hands pull Camille to Antonio's chest, the woman clearly shocked at that, as the Spaniard whispers, "Because you cannot leave me. I have forbidden it."
The woman pushes out of his grip, sitting with a look of hideous contempt on her face, before it melts away to be smooth and relaxed. "More wine, my love?"
VIII.
"I have a riddle for you," Camille says suddenly over dinner. All around them people speak in rapid Spanish though Camille chooses to make her statement to the man beside her in Italian. "If you can answer it, I will marry you."
"A quest," Antonio chuckles. "I love a good quest. Go on, tell me what it is."
The woman purses her lips, eyes going over everyone at the table, before she says more to her plate than to Antonio, "What do you call something neither French nor Italian nor Spanish, taken for granted but dearly in love?"
To their left a man laughs. To their right men argue. "I don't know."
"Thought not," and Camille goes back to eating.
IX.
Francis waits at the other side of the long room, Roderich in the middle acting as officiator on behalf of their kind. Antonio doesn't want to let Camille go though, his grip tight on her waist, his nose pressed into her hair.
"Stop it Antoine," and he doesn't miss that now she's gone back to using his French name, "you are acting like a child."
"You can't leave, I forbade it." At that Camille's hand rises, smacking him. Shocked Antonio lets go of her, staring at this woman he thought he had perhaps at last come to understand.
"You," Camille spits, already taking steps away from him; her back is to her brother but they both know it is to he that she's walking. "You know nothing."
When she turns her back, half-way across the room, Antonio suddenly realizes something from several years earlier. "Monegasque!" he calls out. "The answer is Monegasque!" The people of Monaco were neither French nor Italian nor Spanish, completely taken for granted but dearly in love with their culture and little principality. Camille used to sing soft songs in her language about her history, though she never tried to teach it to Antonio; he never even thought to ask her about it.
Camille pauses, turning elegantly and smiling like she used to smile, before finally crossing the room to Francis and exiting with him. Roderich, shaking his head, comes to stand beside Antonio.
"My husband, the fool," he whispers, pulling the Spaniard out the other side of the room.
X.
Now Monaco will return to French protection though Francis has granted Camille the right to remain in her land by herself. Antonio calls one day on his way to the Italian states, finding Camille in her back garden. Roderich is already there, sitting beside her and speaking in a hushed but passionate tone.
The woman walks slowly to Antonio before kissing each of his cheeks and pulling him away from Roderich towards the water's edge. "Do you see over there?" she asks, pointing into the distance. "Italy. Oh how the boys have grown." She smiles for the far-off place and unseen Italian brothers, but Antonio has a question to ask and he needs his answer before he goes.
"Was any of it real Camila? Did you ever love me? Really love me?"
Camille's blue eyes reflect the massive sea behind her and expansive sky above, taking in the Spaniard she once lived with for so long. "I don't know, Antoine. I simply don't know."
"Then why?" He doesn't need to explain the what.
"I told myself, long ago, that I would never fall in love with someone who controls me. I must have my independence to be free, and that includes to love freely." Camille strokes the side of his face. "Perhaps at another point in time, my love. Do you understand?"
And for the first time in a long time, Antonio thinks that maybe he does.