Roderich lifted his hands from the piano, stopping abruptly in the middle of Beethoven's Für Elise. He looked at the empty sofa he'd had moved to his practice room and then to the savage beauty that stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, like a caged animal. One that he had caught. "I can't concentrate with you here. Stay and listen or get out."
Wyn was looking out the window wistfully, thinking. So much had happened; she didn't have time to slow down and think except for when Roderich ordered her to sit for his hours of practice and performance. She turned to the Austrian, fury in her eyes. "I'd love to get out, but of course, I can't," she snapped.
Wyn had been stripped of her sword and all her familiar belongings, what little she had from the battle, and was stuffed into the stiff dark purple and pale lilac crêpe gown that restricted her, even up to her neck. The lace edging on her sleeves were seven inches long. Seven! He wanted her to look expensive and well-cared for, nothing like before. She was caged in from the outside, a silent witness to Roderich's endless hours of music and the turning of the seasons.
She stormed down the hall to the kitchen, hoping to find wurst (1), which he obviously didn't have, but it was her excuse to get out of the performance where she was expected to sit and "appreciate" the fine arts. Pah, fine arts, Wyn thought murderously. But wurst was the one dish that was German, strictly German, which tied her to Gilbert and the Germanic family.
Roderich couldn't cook for the sake of his life; she had found that out within the first hours of her arrival at his manor. Even Alistair's disgusting haggis (2) was preferable to Roderich's imitation of a fried egg, which strongly resembled, well, shit. The only thing he could actually cook was sachertorte (3), and Wyn was sick of it. Did it even count as cooking? That was baking, not cooking, right? Naturally, Wyn took on a position of housekeeping and cooking to occupy her time, but she hated it slightly less than Roderich himself.
Roderich had also insisted that she wear her free-flowing silver curls in a "fashionable" knot with a bonnet or wide-brimmed hat trimmed with edelweiss, his favorite flower, whenever she wasn't sleeping! He'd even sent a hairdresser to her room every day, accompanied by a train of maids to dress her. She was a puppet, and every time she wanted to hurt him, punch him, kill him, he gave her a kiss and reminded her of their agreement.
The arschloch.
She hated him for everything, and at night, when she was alone, Wyn would pray to any gott that listened to protect Gilbert and let her live another day.
Wyn had no contact with the outside world at Schönbrunn Palace, where her days were filled with music and sewing and all tedious housewifery, all which didn't suit her. She began to see her immortality as a curse, and wished she, like any other human, could end her own life. That would be the only choice she could make herself.
It was early May when her usual schedule broke from its tedious, calculated routine. It started early in the morning, when the maids entered her room, scurrying around like rats, with their sharp Austrian noses and hoity-toity ways. They were cautious to gossip in low voices, lest she throw something sharp their way or be fired. But either way, they found ways to torture her.
Wyn was roused by the head chambermaid, who shook her awake. She blinked in the bright light from the open windows. The other maids, more than a dozen of them, were already straightening her room, gossiping in their Austrian dialect of German. She could hear her nicknames within their colorful dialogue- "Prussian bitch", "Edelstein's woman" among them.
Wyn scowled but didn't say anything, knowing full well how the maids could twist anything she said. With a grunt, the chambermaid heaved a half-eaten tray of breakfast onto her lap, as usual.
"Master Edelstein wants you dressed up twice as fancy today," she cackled. "Something important. Which means half the time to eat."
With that, she snatched a scone off of Wyn's plate, and Wyn growled deep in her throat, shoveling eggs, tasteless sausage, and a miniature fish pie down her throat. As she drank the strong black tea, she listened to her maids' gossip, hoping to catch some detail about the outside world.
"Another bitch arriving today," one muttered. "Hope she's not high-maintenance."
"Hungarian, they say," another said. "But straight from Prussia."
Wyn's breath caught in her throat. Gilbert. She hadn't heard from or about any of her family or friends since her arrival at Schönbrunn, where she was sheltered from the world. Who was coming? She knew of no other girls her age, or any countries, except Lili.
"Get up," the maid-of-the-robe ordered Wyn. She was a thin woman, with sharp lines etching her plain face. Wyn got up, pushing her tray away, and the other maids immediately pounced on her leftovers.
She was pushed to the ivory robing room, where more layers of skirts had been laid out than she had ever worn or seen. They were, as always, in shades of dark purple, ivory, and lace, colors of Austria.
The maids ripped off her nightgown, leaving Wyn in her chemise. They slipped two layers of stiff petticoats on her silently, to create the illusion of perfectly puffed skirts. Then came the garters, stockings, and violet heels that regularly tortured her with their pinching. The first underskirt, rimmed with expensive Spanish convent lace, went over the petticoats, then another ivory silk one, slightly shorter, went over the lace one. Wyn smirked at the thought of Roderich married to Antonio, even if it was only for a short time.
The maids snickered at her discomfort when they pulled her stays tight, far tighter than she usually had them. They jeered at her, saying they had smaller waists than her without wearing corsets! Wyn snarled but held firm as they laced her into the top layer of the dress, a garish dark purple satin and crêpe-flowered horror. The train was three feet long, and Wyn knew it was meant to hinder and break her.
Her hair was similarly treated, but all Wyn could think about was the prospect of seeing Gilbert again. She hadn't seen him for over four years, and her people had been under Austrian control for four centuries.
How would he react when he sees me like this? she wondered. Then she saw what the hairdressing maids were doing to her hair- dying it raven black, and hiding it under an elaborate hat. How would he recognize her like this?
Wyn was powdered and rouged, so much that she resembled a cheap whore. Her mind was spinning, thinking, trying to piece it together.
What is your motive here, Roderich?
What games are you playing this time?
Wyn had to keep herself from crying out when she saw the couple that entered from the floor-to-ceiling doors at the other end of the throne room. She stood beside Roderich's throne, like some begging whore, the part she was instructed to play.
"You'll do it right, or I'll have to threaten and visit you, just like in your role," he'd said with a smirk.
"Gilbert, bruder," Roderich said mockingly. "I missed you for all these years. What have you been up to, oh mighty conqueror? What have you brought me this time?"
"I came to do business," Gilbert proclaimed. Wyn was cold inside, sick to her stomach when she saw him leading the girl by the hand.
The girl had beautiful elfin features, delicate but refined and poised. She had a definite air of confidence, but was timid before Roderich. Her dark auburn hair fell in waves around her face, and she wore a dress the color of dark summer leaves to match her eyes. A pink camellia was perched in the hair above her right ear.
"Interesting. Over what?" Wyn heard Roderich say. She saw that Gilbert was even taller now, sterner maybe, with more responsibility. He was easily 6'1'', asserting dominance over Roderich. His shoulders were wider and his white hair was tousled. Wyn longed to run her hands through it, remembering its softness the day she had left, and the war that commenced. He had a new black Iron Cross in place of lace on his shirt.
Did she iron that for you? Wyn could see herself accusing him. Was I so easy to forget?
"I want Silesia back, and I'm willing to trade a larger territory for it," Gilbert said. Wyn felt her heart lift, but pushed it back down, remembering her promise. This isn't the Gilbert I remember, she thought, but waited for him to continue. "This is Elizaveta Héderváry, the country of Hungary."
His eyes searched Roderich's expressions and landed on hers for a split second. Wyn wanted to run to his arms, fling herself upon his awesomeness and laugh. Then she noticed the small yellow ball on his shoulder, asleep.
Gilbird!
Please wake up and recognize me, Wyn prayed. Let him know I'm here.
Roderich pretended to think, and when he spoke, Wyn knew he was lying. To some extent. You scheming, worthless bastard! "Alright. I'll so it. Bring her in!"
On his signal, to Wyn's bewilderment, the side doors of the grandiose room flew open, and a stunning woman walked in, wearing Wyn's old, familiar, torn coat over an ivory dress. Wyn's sword was buckled at her waist, and Poppy – Poppy! – was drugged and sitting stupidly on her shoulder.
The ivory skirt should be a giveaway, Wyn cried out in her mind. But maybe Gilbert had forgotten. She also noticed the unnatural streaks in the woman's white hair. It's dyed!
But otherwise, the woman bore a striking resemblance to Wyn, even though she was far more beautiful, with a demure smile and flashing eyes.
What broke her heart, though, was Gilbert's reaction.
He ran forward, grabbing her waist, and spun her in a circle. His face was radiant, happier than Wyn had ever seen him, lit up with a grin. "Wyn…"
If that wasn't enough, he kissed the woman passionately. Wyn stood, watching, and the lump in her throat grew. Her heart stopped pounding, and she felt what seemed to be splinters in her chest, burning their way through her. She choked on a sob, only to be roughly grabbed by Roderich. "Now, now, you were doing so well. Keep up the act or else-"
"Who's she?" Gilbert's voice cut in. His arm was around the woman's waist, and Wyn forced herself not to look into his eyes. Elizaveta was quietly waiting behind the couple, clearly not understanding German.
"Oh, just another whore," Roderich said nonchalantly.
"Is she actually crying?" the woman mocked. Oh, Gott, she's been studying how to imitate me, Wyn realized. But her accent is wrong. Please, please see that, Gilbert.
"She's just moved by your joyful reunion," Roderich caressed Wyn's cheek. "Aren't you, Analiese?"
He was referring to Wyn, and she realized tears were falling down her cheeks, leaving white trails behind. She forced herself to nod, feeling every movement as a breaking of her body and soul.
Wyn didn't remember what happened next, only that she was replaced. Numb, she saw them leave, his arm never leaving the woman's body, eyes never leaving her face. Isn't this what you wanted? To see him happy, to remember him that way? Wasn't that the reason that you live like a slave now, without freedom, oppressed, alone in a foreign land? Wyn scolded herself.
But another part echoed, if you don't know me, if I'm that easily replaced by an imposter, how can I love you?
Like a darkened flower, without you, I just keep saying it's painful, sad, alone.
I am slowly dying, but you're not here
Anymore, anymore, anymore. (4)
(1) German sausage
(2) Austrian chocolate cake
(3) Scottish savory pudding made from the offal or pluck of a sheep or goat (lungs, liver, heart) with seasoning and spices
(4) Gone, Not Around Any Longer by SISTAR19
Whew, a long, heartbreaking chapter... :'( Hope you're crying, jk ;) I really hope you enjoyed this chapter, as much as I cried writing it, but the PLOT TWISTS! The depth of character! Heart wrenching.
As usual, I'll be writing as much as possible! Remember to READ AND REVIEW! I can't wait to see where it keeps going...
Also, don't miss out on In Essence, a post-Wyn Trilogy fanfic! Look for it on my profile and on FF, please R&R that too!
NOW READ AND REVIEW! R&R!