The Royals had always been well-respected by his own Citizens, and by the Country himself. He wouldn't call the affection for his princess love.

She had always been his favourite, though, and it wasn't uncommon for him to accompany her on a night at the opera or a play, courtesy of him.

He wouldn't dream of making her do anything she didn't want to, aside from her lessons. Which he often let her skip in favour of a quiet cup of tea, for her, and coffee, for him, in the palace gardens.

She took advantage of this. Often. He never reprimanded her.

Many would say he didn't even notice, but he did with subtle amusement, watching her through court intrigues and near-scandals. Always there.

As a child, she captivated him. As a young woman, enchanted.

Married, she haunted him. She was different after her time away, in a way all his careful watchfulness could not have foreseen. He supposed it was how one felt after giving their child away to a man who did not deserve her. Who watched all their hard work go to nothing in the span of years.

During that, he kept to himself. He was rarely in the palace, preferring the company of his instruments to the court. It was easier that way, he'd say. Genius did not come of mind games and double tongues.

After the news of rebellion, he didn't even play. The carpets grew worn in his study and master bedroom. He ate less and barely slept , but Countries do not need those to survive.

Then came the Glorious Revolution.

Her execution.

He never knew Countries could feel that kind of pain. The deep pining that hurt even his bones and made it impossible to get anything done.

He lost himself in his own city to forget.

Without her, Vienna seemed hopelessly large and unforgiving. He pulled out an old, care-worn map of the capital and tried to find the street address on both the street and map.
It was harder than it used to be, thanks to the new building and streets and side streets. He briefly considered getting a newer map, but the scrawling signature across the bottom told him he wouldn't.

A faint sigh escaped and a brief half-smile crossed his lips.

Because no matter what he called it, in the end, it was still love.