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Chapter 7
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Tilsit, East Prussia, 1869
Sergeant Kohler was a thin, reedy man whose hungry, deep-set eyes did little to endear them to anyone their gaze fell upon. Currently that person was Gilbert Beilschmidt, the new commander of the Tilsit gendarme garrison. It was no secret Kohler wanted Gilbert's position. He had been at the garrison the longest and trained most of the men himself. The son of a city councilman, he had grown up in Tilsit, knew all the residents by name. By all rights, the position should be his. But instead the higher-ups decided to give it to this man Beilschmidt from Berlin.
Being passed over for promotion left a sour taste in Kohler's mouth. Within a week of the new sergeant-major's arrival, he had the men believing Gilbert was some witch's bastard son. Wild rumors quickly spread through the troops, with many surmising Beilschmidt had some kind of supernatural powers that he used to secure his position. The men called him devil or demon behind his back. His pale complexion and strange, almost colorless eyes only served to enhance their impression the new commander was some otherworldly being.
Gilbert knew of the rumors of course. His appearance attracted stares and gossip in Berlin as well, though far fewer people there still clung to such folk superstitions as those living around the kingdom's fringes. He also knew Kohler had been the one to spread them so vehemently — and the only way to tamp them out was to eliminate the source. He assigned Kohler to border patrol, minimizing his dealings with the man to weekly written reports concerning trespassers or contraband smugglers. Though Gilbert knew he would not be so lucky as to ever fully get rid of him — that decision belonged to officers whose rank exceeded his own. And Kohler, it seemed, was bent on undermining the sergeant-major at every turn — which was why he stood now in Gilbert's office, impatiently waiting for the sergeant-major to finish reading his latest report.
Kohler cleared his throat for what must have been the hundredth time. Gilbert's eyes flicked up, his irritation evident as he watched the sergeant over the rims of his reading glasses.
"Are you sure I can't get you anything to drink, sergeant? Some water, perhaps?"
"No, thank you. It's just a bit of a tickle I've developed. The weather has been so damp as of late."
"And yet you seem remarkably dry," Gilbert commented, flipping to the next page of the report.
Kohler pursed his lips. "Only because the sun has finally decided to shine. Perhaps opening your curtains a bit more to let in the light would aid your reading."
"Unfortunately days like today are not the kindest to my eyes. Forgive me if I prefer the dimmer room to the awaiting headache from the brightness outside."
Gilbert finished reading then set the report on his desk. "Well?"
Kohler blinked, momentarily taken aback at being addressed so abruptly. "Well...what?"
Gilbert took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes a moment. He did indeed feel a headache coming on but felt quite certain it had more to do with the sergeant's presence than the light beyond his window.
"I'm honored you took the time to deliver this report yourself, sergeant Kohler, rather than relying on a runner to do it for you. My only question is why you even bothered? There is nothing here that hasn't already been brought to my attention."
Kohler arched a brow, lips twitching as if trying to hide a smile. "Which is exactly why I came myself. The situation at the border is...growing more tense. Russia is blaming us for being too lax, for permitting too much contraband to slip through. They have patrols three lines deep and ours aren't even half that. I have written again and again of our need for more reinforcements and yet none have been provided. Two days ago, a smuggler broke through both their lines and ours, and I feel certain if we'd had more men at the border, we could have apprehended him."
"I understand your frustrations, sergeant, but as I've explained in my correspondences back to you, I have asked for reinforcements but resources are slim at the moment. Most have been routed to the kingdom's western borders should anything substantive come from France's growing agitation."
Gilbert sighed, his patience wearing thin. He and Kohler both knew the higher ups had bigger problems than an eastern border town chasing after vodka and book smugglers. But Kohler was a dog with a bone — he refused to let it go and stood there, looking unconvinced.
"We'll increase patrols in town," Gilbert conceded, knowing he would have to get ahead of this or Kohler would only cause more trouble for him. "If we can't stop them slipping through, then we'll cut off the head by putting a stop to their means of operation."
Kohler's eyes narrowed a fraction as he nodded and thanked the sergeant-major. Gilbert saw him out, wondering if Kohler was already planning his next move. He shut the door, half considering asking for a transfer, but he knew it would only get denied — just like all his other requests.
If only the men were right, he thought. If only he did have some mystical power that he could use to influence others. He would not be in this damned gendarmerie in this border town, that was for sure.
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o
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Tauragė County, Lithuania, 1855-1856
Tauras shifted his weight from foot to foot, watching as the black carriage gradually approached. The summer sun was directly overhead, casting its heat down upon the gravel drive where he stood with his father and mother. The household staff flanked them on either side — except for Nanny, who was in the nursery watching over Tauras' little brother and sister. They were too young to understand the importance of the count's arrival and would only prove a distraction, his father had said. Usually he hated being made to stay indoors, but under the baking sun, Tauras envied Matas and Aurelija now. He pulled at the stiff collar of his suit, a bead of sweat escaping down his neck. A quick side-eye glare from his father, however, made him cease all fidgeting. Tauras' hands fell to his side as the dark speck at the end of the drive drew nearer and nearer.
The carriage finally arrived with a crunching of wheels, sending a few pebbles skittering away as it pulled up in front of the house. A footman rushed forward to open the door. Tauras had never met Count Łukasiewicz before, but he had heard his father speak often enough about him whenever he returned home from his visits to Kaunas. As the carriage door opened, Tauras found himself craning his neck, eager to get a good look at the man his father held in such high esteem.
A man of about fifty with wispy blonde hair exited. The count smiled warmly as he greeted Tauras' father, though there was something guarded in his eyes.
Tauras' shoulders slackened. A part of him thought that, being a higher rank, the count would have looked more...impressive. But as he stood now, exchanging a few words in Polish with Juozas, he seemed so ordinary. Dressed in a modest dark grey suit, the count looked more like a solicitor than an aristocrat. He was short, round, and fair — a marked difference to the taller build and darker hair favored by both Tauras and his father. Even the snatches of conversation Tauras overheard were nothing but everyday pleasantries. Feeling this visit, as well as his father's friendship with the count, was nothing more than Juozas' attempt to raise his family's social status, Tauras let his gaze drift back to the carriage, where the countess was being helped down by the footman. She, at least, struck a more stunning impression. Younger than the count by a number of years, her bright floral dress stood in stark contrast next to her husband's bland suit. She greeted Tauras' mother before turning to Juozas and curtseying. Her bright green eyes swept over the servants gathered outside and offered them a nod of recognition.
Tauras glanced at his father, wondering if now they would be permitted to go inside away from this heat, but his gaze was quickly drawn back to the countess — and the head of straight blonde hair that appeared at her side.
"Our son, Feliks," the countess said. She stepped aside, revealing a boy about the same age as Tauras. And for one wild moment, he thought of Eduard. But his cousin had been sent away to Germany three years ago.
"Do forgive him," Countess Łukasiewicz continued, "he's shy."
The boy — Feliks — stood with his head slightly bowed and gaze averted, as if trying to will himself invisible. Tauras thought the likelihood of that succeeding to be slim, considering he was dressed just as brightly as his mother in blue and green plaid pants with a matching green waistcoat. Compared to them, Tauras was beginning to feel very provincial in his summer linen. He wanted to run off to the woods, disappear among the trees until the count and his family left.
As Juozas was leading the count inside, Tauras thought he would get his wish. Feliks trailed after his mother, close as a shadow. But the countess, sensing her son's presence, turned and said: "Perhaps you would like to see the rest of the estate. I'm told the gardens here are lovely."
"What a wonderful idea. Tauras would be delighted to give Feliks a tour," his mother chimed in, sending her son a pointed look.
Feliks slowly detached himself from his mother's side, one arm wrapping around the thick newel post at the base of the grand staircase, while the adults continued down the hall to the parlor. He leaned against the banister, lifting his downturned gaze and fixing Tauras with a piercing stare. His eyes were the same vibrant green as his mother's.
Tauras blinked, wanting to look away. He suddenly felt as if he was being scrutinized. He cleared his throat.
"Would you, um...like to see the gardens?"
Feliks arched a brow, giving a lazy shrug. "What is there to do around here?"
"What?"
"Do — like, for fun? What do you do?"
"Oh! Well...I go riding sometimes. And fishing. The woods are nice to wander through, too."
"...That's it?"
"There are festivals in the village. Although father never lets us go to the pagan ones."
"Mmm. In the city, we go to the theater every Friday night. Sometimes we see a chamber concert. And there are always parties and balls." Feliks' eyes narrowed then. "Do you know any dances?"
Tauras looked down, the color rising in his cheeks. "Yes, but...my governess says I have two left feet."
Feliks smirked. "We can fix that."
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o
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Two hours later, Tauras collapsed, breathless, on a settee in the music room. He was dizzy, and not just from the summer air drifting through the opened windows. Feliks had led him around the room, spinning and turning through countless waltzes and polonaises, some fast and others slow.
The young count settled beside him, one leg crossed primly over the other. No trace could be found of the closed expression from before as he smirked down at Tauras, the look on his face almost feline.
"I hope I didn't wear you out already. I'm not sure how I'll entertain myself the rest of the week."
Tauras pushed himself up, shaking his head. "No."
"Good. And I don't know what your governess is talking about. Your dancing is just fine."
"Really?"
"Mmmhmm." Feliks tipped his head back, flicking his hair away from his face, and in that moment, Tauras couldn't help but believe him.
"Maybe she just isn't the right partner for you," the young count continued.
Tauras considered this for a moment. His governess did make him nervous. And dancing with Feliks had felt so...effortless.
The serious expression on his face must have amused the young count, for the next thing Tauras knew, Feliks was elbowing his arm with a bright laugh, shaking him from his thoughts.
Feliks stood and stretched with a yawn. "Well. I think I shall go and find my room. It was an exhausting trip from the city."
"Wait!" Tauras said, suddenly not wishing to leave the young count's company quite yet. "Would you still like a tour of the gardens?"
Feliks smirked, shrugging his shoulder lazily again. "Maybe later. See you at dinner." And with that, he swept through the door out into the hall.
Tauras could only stare after him, puzzling over the curious young count as the music room fell to silence once again. His mother had said he was shy. And perhaps he was, to some extent. But in Tauras' presence, Feliks seemed to instantly bloom.
He stood, paced before the windows a moment, then went over to the piano. Lifting the lid, Tauras ran his fingers over the keys, seized by need to fill the room with sound.
Strange.
Silence never used to bother him before.
But when Feliks left, he took more than just the sound of his voice, his laugh, with him. It was an absence Tauras couldn't quite name.
Aside from Eduard, Tauras had never had a friend — and when his cousin left, he sought solace among the trees and streams surrounding his family's estate. They became his new companions, along with the birds singing overhead, the rustling of small creatures through fallen leaves. They had eased the sense of loss he felt, the yearning to just be with someone like himself.
Tauras felt a twinge of it as he watched Feliks leave. Though he knew the count and his family were staying through the week, Tauras did not want to face that hurt all over again when they left. He decided to put whatever friendly affection that was growing between himself and the young count away. It was better this way, he told himself. This visit was nothing more than another orchestration by his father to elevate his family's position. And he would take no part in it. Tauras closed the piano lid and went for a walk in the woods.
It would be another year before he saw Feliks again. Only then it would not be so easy to escape the growing attachment he felt for the young count. Feliks stayed with the Laurinaitis family that summer while the count and countess Łukasiewicz went on a tour of Europe. Tauras tried to keep his distance, but every time Feliks was around, he was drawn ever nearer.
Tauras was fourteen — fourteen and slowly falling in love, though he did not know it at the time.
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o
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Tauragė County, Lithuania, 1858
The rain came on suddenly as Tauras and Feliks were riding back from the village. In a quarter of an hour, the storm would be moving on, and Tauras half considered pressing on to his estate. But the rain was a soaking one, the thick droplets quickly dampening their light summer clothing. And the young count's mood had been less than agreeable that week. Knowing it would be in their best interest — and not wishing to hear any more complaints — Tauras guided his horse away from the open country road and toward the tree-line for cover. He dismounted just as Feliks appeared at the forest edge.
"Why are we stopping?" the young count asked, his tone laced with impatience.
"Waiting out the rain," Tauras said, knotting his horse's reins around a low branch, his back deliberately turned. "Unless you'd rather arrive soaking wet, that is."
Feliks slid down from his mount as a low rumble of thunder sounded overhead. "What about the horses?"
"They'll be fine. They won't spook as long as they can see what's around them."
Feliks joined Tauras at the branch, looping his reins around it, then stalked off to stand under a nearby tree.
Tauras clucked his tongue.
"Did I do something wrong?" Feliks demanded.
"No. You just have to knot them, like this," Tauras said, fixing Feliks' reins by tying a quick-release knot around the branch. "It's easier to free the horse this way if they do startle."
"Forgive me for not being as accomplished as you when it comes to horses. In the city, we'd just take a carriage and leave someone else to worry about the beasts."
Tauras kept his head down, doing his best to ignore the jibe. "I'm sorry. I thought you'd enjoy the ride." He took some oats out of a saddle bag and fed both horses, brushing his hands on his pants when he was done. He did not miss the way Feliks' lip curled in disgust.
"What I would enjoy," the young count huffed, "is being in Paris right now with my mother and father. But instead I'm here. This is the third summer they've left me here for a tour of Europe. I'm sixteen! I should be out in society, and not — " He broke off, casting Tauras a side-eyed glance.
"Not what?" Tauras bristled.
Feliks shook his head. "Just forget it."
Tauras busied himself checking the saddles and harnesses. He hated when Feliks was like this. It made him grateful for his decision to keep their friendship at a distance, and yet...a part of him could not help but feel that distance was the cause of these rifts between them. Whenever he was around Feliks, he felt such a pull towards the young count. Something like gravity. And fighting against it often felt more tiring than just giving in. Tauras confessed as much to Eduard in the letter he wrote just last night. That letter was reason they had ridden into the village. Tauras wanted to post it in the hopes of having an answer from his cousin as soon as possible — and Feliks needed a distraction from mundane country estate life.
The rain began getting heavier, driven on by a strong wind. Tauras felt the temperature dropping as the storm head continued to build. The worst of it would blow past them, bringing the heaviest rain and wind just east of his family's land. The horses remained calm, but Feliks huddled under his tree, drawing his arms around him, glancing up nervously each time there was a roll of thunder. The tree he had chosen was really no more than a sapling — he would be soaked to the bone soon anyway, despite Tauras' effort to keep them dry.
"Get under this one," Tauras called above the loud rush of rain. He gestured to a tree with a wider trunk and canopy, but Feliks refused.
Not wishing to argue anymore, Tauras gave the horses a final rub then went and leaned against the trunk of the larger tree. Only a few raindrops made it through the thick leaves to splash down on his neck and shoulders. Feliks continued to look miserable, standing under his sapling. His shirt was considerably wetter, and with the temperature dropping, was liable to get sick.
"Feliks, come on — "
"I'm fine here."
"Stop being stubborn!"
The young count shot Tauras a glare over his shoulder. Whatever retort he had ready soon died in his throat as a loud clap of thunder echoed through the sky. He startled, darting over to Tauras' tree, but his foot found a root buried under the leaf covered ground. Feliks tripped, landing inelegantly against Tauras, hands splayed across his chest. The Lithuanian caught him around the waist, steadying the young count.
Feliks lifted his head, his fierce green eyes softening. Tauras' heart hammered at his ribs. He was certain Feliks could feel it. He swallowed, glancing away.
The young count's brow furrowed. He placed a gentle hand on Tauras' cheek, directing his gaze back toward him. "Why do you turn away from me? And it's not just today — it's not just now, it's...whenever we're together, I can feel us growing close. But then there's this distance you put up like a shield. Do you want us to be strangers to each other?"
A lump settled at the base of Tauras' throat, tugging at him the same way that feeling of gravity pulled him whenever he was around Feliks. And he felt it ever stronger as he stood holding the young count, drawing him nearer and nearer. It was time to stop fighting. It was time to give in.
His lips brushed against Feliks', cold and wet from the rain.
There was a pause, hardly more than half a heart beat, but one that lasted an eternity to Tauras, where his mind screamed he had made the biggest mistake of his life. But then Feliks kissed him back, and Tauras felt the walls he had built up around himself crumbling to sand. His whole body sighed, almost laughing, with this newfound freedom.
"What is it?" Feliks asked, feeling Tauras smile against his lips.
The Lithuanian gave a small shake of his head. He drew back, taking all of Feliks in. "Nothing. It's — I was afraid. Afraid that if I let you in, I might get hurt. So...I told myself these lies — that our friendship was a fabrication, built solely for the purpose of gain. But the whole time, I couldn't help but be drawn to you."
Feliks reached up, brushing a lock of hair away from Tauras' brow. "You idiot," he breathed, kissing Tauras. "All this time, I thought it was me."
Tauras pressed his forehead to Feliks'. "It could never be you. Please...forgive me."
Feliks stroked his hair, kissing him again.
The rain soon moved on. Shafts of silvery afternoon sun pierced through the forest canopy. Feliks shivered in Tauras' arms, his clothing damp from the downpour. Tauras unhitched the horses and they rode back to the estate.
They both changed into dry clothes. Feliks joined Tauras in his room, a knit blanket wrapped around his shoulders, his face still pale from that afternoon. Tauras rang for some tea to brought up. When it arrived, he and Feliks sat on the small couch at the foot of his bed, exchanging furtive glances over the rims of their cups, as if discovering each other for the first time.
Tauras edged closer until his knee was touching Feliks', but the young count seemed preoccupied by the contents of his cup.
"What do you see?" he asked, showing it to Tauras.
Tauras' brow furrowed. "Um...tea?"
Feliks laughed. "No, look at the leaves. What shapes do they make?"
Tauras shrugged. "I don't know. It just looks like a bunch of mush."
Feliks made an exasperated sound. "Finish your tea and give the cup to me."
Tauras did and watched as the young count turned the cup this way and that.
"There! That one," Feliks exclaimed, pointing to a shape in Tauras' teacup. "That's a heart — a very good sign." He nudged the Lithuanian's shoulder. "The one that looks like a bowl means 'summer'. You've also got a chain, which signifies responsibilities, and — "
Feliks broke off, frowning.
"What? What is it?" Tauras took his cup back, examining the leaves. There were two other symbols — an X and a trident. "What do those mean?"
"They're cautionary signs," Feliks said vaguely. "Here, you do mine next, now that you know how to look properly. What do you see?"
Tauras took the young count's cup, setting his own back on the tray. He still felt a little unsettled by the last two symbols, and Feliks' reaction. But it soon dissipated as he examined the tea leaves, trying to discern the symbols. The young count also had a heart, a downward pointing arrow, a horseshoe, something that looked like hills, and wavy lines.
Feliks interpreted the images, informing Tauras his cup was more favorable than the Lithuanian's and poured them each more hot water to re-steep the leaves.
"When I was younger," he began, "we used to spend the summers at our country estate. And every year, a group of travelers would camp on my family's land in exchange for helping the tenant farmers plant for the autumn. In the evenings, I would sneak down to their camp and the women would offer to tell my fortune by reading my palm or tea leaves."
Tauras drank his tea, noting again the appearance of the X as the leaves clung to the sides of his cup.
It became a habit. One he did his best to not let his father see. Juozas would surely have something to say about the pagan practice of reading tea leaves. Tauras saw the heart and the X most, and only when Feliks was around — which was considerably more often, following that day in the rain. They spent nights in each other's rooms, whiling away the time talking or enjoying the simple pleasure of being together. More than a few times, Tauras awoke to find Feliks still in his arms. He would gently rouse the young count and sneak Feliks back to his own room before even the servants were awake, then collapse back in his bed, his arms heavy with the weight of emptiness.
The morning Feliks was due to depart, the young count swept into Tauras' room and threw his arms around the Lithuanian, kissing his cheek. As Feliks pulled away, Tauras noted the count had fastened a necklace around his neck.
"What's this for?" Tauras asked, examining it in the mirror. It was a small cross on a delicate gold chain.
"It was my grandmother's. She gave it to my mother on her wedding day. And my mother gave it to me to give to the one I..." Feliks trailed off, eyes dropping to the floor. "The one that I love." His hand found Tauras', fingers twining around his.
Tauras pulled him close, tipping his forehead against Feliks'. "Do you mean it?"
Feliks swallowed and nodded.
Tauras kissed him deeply, longingly, not wanting to let go for fear of losing this moment.
An ache was building in his heart — one that echoed in his gut. He knew he would have to let Feliks go, eventually. And the thought of facing that absence made him want to hold on even stronger.
There was a knock at Tauras' door. Reluctantly, he and Feliks parted. The young count smoothed his hair, mussed from Tauras' hands.
"Enter," Tauras said, tucking the necklace down his shirt front.
A servant appeared, there to fetch Feliks. The count had sent his carriage out early to pick up his son. Tauras nodded, fists clenched at his sides. Feliks followed the servant out, turning one last time at the door. His eyes met Tauras' briefly, and then he was gone.
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o
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Tilsit, East Prussia, 1869
The streets were crawling with gendarmes.
Five days had passed since Eduard was shot crossing the border, and Tauras could not help but feel the increase in patrols was due to his cousin's near miss at being captured. He slowed production on the third printing of the professor's book, not risking running the presses late into the night in case his neighbors had any mind to complain. And Eduard wisely kept his mouth shut on the matter. In fact, his cousin had grown a degree more solemn following the incident at the border. He still smiled and joked with Raivis, ruffling the boy's hair, but there was a seriousness in his eyes that Tauras had not seen since they were young.
Rather than start planning his next con for quick money, Eduard had taken to helping out at the print shop. His arm was healing well — he had removed the sling and the color had returned to his cheeks, though Tauras still caught him biting back a wince whenever he exerted it too much.
Eduard was helping Raivis pull prints from a lithography stone Tauras had etched the day before. The prints were wedding announcements for Mr. Kuprys, a farmer who lived across the river. His daughter had gotten married shortly after Christmas, though most of his friends and family could not be there to see it. Like Tauras, Kuprys had fled Lithuania after the rebellion — as did other members of his family. But instead of Prussia, they had decided to leave Europe altogether and settle in America. Tauras had spent the better part of that week working on the announcements, designing a floral border to decorate the edges and making sure the script was in his neatest penmanship. It was a lot of work for what amounted to about fifty cards, Eduard thought as his eyes traced over the intricate lines, admiring the care put into it. Being always on the move, he had never really had a chance to fathom what all went into his cousin's work until now.
The door to the shop opened. In stepped a harassed looking Tauras, arms laden with parcels from the butcher and bakery. Strands of hair flew wildly around his face, blown about by the river's icy wind. He had returned from the market on the high street, their payment from the professor having arrived two days ago. And though Tauras did not like to spend money as extravagantly as his cousin, his purse was considerably lighter than he preferred.
"They're everywhere," he fumed, setting his purchases down on the work table and shrugging out of his coat.
"Who?" Raivis asked.
"Spikeheads," Eduard said. Then, addressing his cousin: "You didn't see any heading this way, did you?"
"No. Although I did overhear someone at the baker's say the gendarmes have been targeting taverns and breweries, searching for signs of smuggling or contraband. But we should still — "
"Lay low until this all blows over," Eduard interjected. "Yeah. I get it. And I'm not arguing."
Tauras' jaw clenched. His cousin had been unusually touchy regarding the increase in gendarme patrols lately. He wondered if Eduard was somehow blaming himself. Though the timing was too coincidental, neither could be sure it was due solely to Eduard's near capture. The gendarmes had yet to pay a visit to any of the printers in town. And the printing of illegal books was generally of a much lower concern compared to the much more profitable and heavily taxed alcohol.
Gathering up his purchases, Tauras went into the kitchen and began putting them away. Eduard followed.
"Did you see your friend?" he smirked, leaning against the counter.
"What are you talking about?"
"The white-haired gendarme. Raivis told me about what happened at the Fasching festival."
Tauras swore under his breath. "No, I didn't..." He paused, briefly considering how strange it was he had not seen Gilbert with any of the patrols. "And he's not my friend. He's a nuisance. They all are."
Eduard arched a brow, sending his cousin a teasing look, one that said he did not believe him.
"Are the announcements done yet?" Tauras demanded, feeling the heat rising in his neck.
"Yeah. They just have to dry."
"Good. I'll deliver them tomorrow."
Eduard shrugged then sauntered out of the kitchen, still wearing that irritating smirk. Tauras picked up a rag, wanting to clean something, but threw it down again as he watched the kitchen door swing closed.
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A/N Eduard knows what's up ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
And I know I said Gil and Tauras would have more…interaction in this chapter….but I decided to split this up since the scenes with Feliks were longer than I originally planned (and you guys have waited long enough for an update anyway). So what was the last half of this chapter will now be chapter 8. Sorry. Now onto the notes:
France's growing agitation – Gilbert is referring to what will eventually become the impetus for the Franco-Prussian war in 1870. Long story short, the main cause of the war was dispute over the Spanish throne, which was left vacant when Queen Isabella was deposed in 1868. The Prussian Prince Leopold of Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen was persuaded to take the throne by Otto von Bismarck and Spain's interim leader Juan Prim. This move pissed off France even more – the country was already feeling threatened by Prussia's defeat of Austria in the Seven Weeks' War in 1866. During this time, France was afraid to lose its position as the dominant power in Europe. A union between Prussia and Spain meant France would lose its top spot.
Gil's fanon interpretation – according to fanon, Gilbert has albinism. Vision is often affected resulting in nearsightedness, farsightedness, or astigmatism, and light sensitivity. For this story, Gil has a mild astigmatism and needs glasses for reading. He also has light sensitivity and gets headaches because of it. Historically, people with albinism were frequently treated as a curiosity and often became part of a traveling circus. It would be rare during this time period for someone like Gilbert to reach the status he's achieved – another reason why the men at the garrison don't trust him.
Poles in Lithuania – Poles make up the second largest ethnic group in Lithuania, and for this story, Feliks' family live in Kaunas
Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it :)