Two of her oldest rivals, friends, enemies. She reflected sometimes that if you averaged them out, you might end up with a tolerable man. As it was… why did she put up with them? Well, what else could she do?
She'd slept with both of them. Austria… you didn't share a border with someone for seven centuries without ending up in bed a few times, whether you meant to or not. Then there had been the centuries of the intolerable Hapsburgs, and the wild few decades of the Dual Monarchy, and—well, she wasn't always proud of what they'd done, but she wouldn't take it back.
Despite what the rumors said, they'd never been lovers. They'd been in bed, and they'd ruled together, and Lord had they fought, but that kind of intimacy… They didn't have it, even now. She doubted they ever would—that they could, even if they wanted to. Some nights, when she was alone in bed and she couldn't sleep, she wasn't sure she hadn't once. But it hardly mattered now.
Prussia. They'd only really been close when they were both fighting Austria, but that didn't make it any less intense. She thought fondly of that last year before the Compromise; her rebellion had been suppressed by then—it had been nearly twenty years since Russia had allied with Austria to overrun her—so she couldn't join Prussia officially. She wasn't even directly involved in the conflict. But they had all known that in the aftermath of Austria's defeat, the man would have no choice but to recognize her. And Prussia, in those days… she remembered fucking him, wild and laughing, on the bloody field at Königgrätz.
The first time they'd all been in bed was during the Great War. They'd been thrown together by circumstance more than anything; it was late, and they were drunk and scared. It was near the end, and they all knew it. Not knowing if in a year she'd be even as sovereign as she was then, angry at them both and at herself, when Austria touched her, and she saw the look on Prussia's face… well, one thing had to another. Austria and Prussia barely met each other's eyes, let alone touched.
The War ended. During the intermediary years, they were all too concerned with rebuilding, regrouping to bother with each other. Then came the second War, and she hardly saw them. They were preoccupied with each other, and with Germany, the young nation who had finally formally absorbed Prussia. Most of her dealings were with this new nation; Prussia was fighting on the front lines, and Austria wasn't allowed to see her.
The agony of the fighting between the Germans and the Russians in her precious Budapest. Then the long decades of Soviet rule. She and Prussia—now the German Democratic Republic, a transition that none of them particularly understood—saw each other, but were too tired, too sad, to enjoy each other's company. There had been sex, but it had been simple, fast, nearly silent, and Hungary thought she'd seen tears in Prussia's eyes as he pulled up his pants and walked out. Austria was again off-limits.
The fall of the Wall, and the euphoria of sovereignty. Prussia, rejoining his brother, was too happy to worry about what it would mean for him as a nation. She remembered the first time they'd seen Austria; it was a Sunday, early afternoon, and the light against his government buildings had been beautiful. They'd been quiet, not meeting each other's eyes. Then Prussia had said, "Know what, guys? I think we should fuck."