AN: This is the chapter where Prussia is introduced! At first I was severely opposed to fem!Prussia (I mean, it's PRUSSIA! He's so manly!), but now I like her. It's actually a lot more IC than you'd expect!

Happy reading! Sorry it took me so long to get Gillian in here... *sweatdrop*

It was hot, so Gillian didn't bother pulling the hood of her cloak up, as her father always asked her to do. He told her it was to protect her fair skin, which burned easily in the sun, but she knew why he told her to always wear her hood up. It was because she was a freak. White hair and red eyes on an otherwise lusciously gorgeous girl was enough to send most people running. Running from their produce stand, fearing she had infected the vegetables with her demonic aura. Running from any marriage offer. Running from even standing in her presence. Demon. Monster. Freak. Beast. She'd heard them all before.

No matter how many times she heard them, no matter how many times she told herself they didn't bother her, each word was a barb. She hated them all. All the men who dared to stare down her body with desire and then run when she smiled at them, hoping for the touch of a lover who would not be afraid of her. All the women who snickered and whispered behind her back, always just loud enough for her to hear. The neighbors who warded their doors with crucifixes to repel her from entering. The father who could not look her in the eyes, and went out of his way to make sure no one else did, either. The mother who had died giving birth to her, leaving her alone, devoid of the one person who might actually love her. That death had fueled the whispers that she was demon spawn more than anything else.

Gillian could not remember a time when she had not been full to the brim with hate and despair. The world hated her, and she hated the world right back. It had never given her any reason not to hate it.

But if she acted on that hatred, even snapped a cross word at anyone, it would confirm to everyone that she was what they were already convinced she was. So she kept her mouth shut and her swallowed back her acid words and tried to pretend that there was nothing wrong, even when all she wanted to do was cry and scream until somebody, anybody, noticed her for what she had to say, not for what they thought she was.

"Gillian Beilshmidt?" asked a timid, male voice at her elbow.

She turned, and automatically breathed deep so that her breasts swelled in the swooping neckline of her dress. That was one of her coping methods. Even though she hated it when they ran, she liked men to look at her and see something to be desired, not feared. That might have made matters worse—people said she was a seductress, that she wore glamours that made her so irresistible—but it gave Gillian a vicious sort of satisfaction to see the husbands of the women who said such things looking at her with almost unbearable wanting. Besides, even if she wore dresses that covered her from chin to toe, it would do little to keep men's eyes off of her. The sweep of her curves was so dramatic that even conservative dresses weren't enough to hide the shape of her enough to make it seem anything less than mouthwatering. At least in the kind of dresses she wore, molded to her form and scooped low in the front, men knew she was willing.

But somewhere inside, she knew that it wasn't enough. She'd been touched, held, kissed, even been bedded more times than she could count, but she had never been loved. Even she knew that giving up her body so willingly, to any man who was willing to lavish it for a night, wasn't going to win her love. And yet she continued to do it. Any man. Every man. Just to feel wanted. Just to take her hatred and pain away for another night. Just for the pleasure, which nothing else could give her. Just holding out hope that for once, her father would notice that she didn't come home at night and ask where she'd been. Just taking another feeble shot at finding love, a shot that would never hit its target. Sleeping with men meant a lot of things to her, or at least promised to. Every time she followed a man home, she thought that it would finally make her feel something once she had her clothes back on and left the bedroom on silent feet. But it never did.

Unexpectedly, the man was not wearing the rough clothes of your everyday villager. He was bedecked in the fine wool livery of a palace servant. Still, even palace men were not immune to her. His eyes popped so wide Gillian thought they might just fall down her dress.

"I am she," she prompted when the man continued to gape instead of speaking.

"Oh!" His gaze snapped back up to her face. It wasn't long before his eyes wandered again, though. "Um… Prince Alfred… He extends an invitation to… Present you to his brother…"

"The lindorm prince?" Gillian chuckled in a sultry way. She spied easy prey, and just when she was feeling most depressed. What excellent timing the man had. He wasn't particularly handsome, but he had nice eyes, and she was curious to see if palace men knew what they were about.

Slowly, she stroked a finger down the fine wool of his livery. It was softer than she could have imagined fabric could be. "Sounds interesting. How about you tell me more? I know a fine inn we could retire to."

The man's eyes somehow grew wider at her mention of an inn. "I really must… Return to the palace…" She could see his resolve weakening by the second.

"We'll not be long," she urged, giving him a crooked smile. "Please?"

He followed her to the inn. Gillian learned that palace men were no more entertaining than the kind she had at home, and that she was to report to the palace to see the lindorm prince tomorrow.

By the time Gillian emerged back into the street, the sun was falling. Her favorite time of day. By nights she frequented the town's tavern, hoping to meet an eager fellow there.

This time, she did. He was a small man with tousled blond hair and piercing green eyes, rather handsome really despite his age. Much more so than the servant she'd reduced to a blathering idiot with kisses. The man was half-drunk after only a few beers, and the alcohol had made him more open to share both his bed and his words with her. His name was Kirkland, and he was a soothsayer.

"A soothsayer," Gillian purred between kisses. "I have never met a real soothsayer before. Tell me, have you ever foretold anything interesting? Anything scandalous, or heroic?"

"Many times," he said, kissing his way up her arm. Delicious tingles raced through her, but as always, they seemed hollow. She knew he did not touch her in love, just the same as everyone else.

"Really? Which foretelling was your favorite?"

"I foretold the birth of the lindorm prince, as a matter of fact," Kirkland said smugly. His hands touched her, and she did not flinch. She was used to being touched where most women had never been touched but by their husbands, and it was little shock anymore.

"What a strange coincidence! I am to see him tomorrow."

The soothsayer's hands on her abruptly froze. "You are to see Matthew tomorrow?"

"If Matthew is the lindorm prince, then yes." Gillian kissed the soothsayer in an attempt to revive his still hands, but he remained unresponsive even under the ardent pressure of her lips. "What is it?"

"You are not…afraid?" The soothsayer pulled back. "You do not fear the lindorm?"

Gillian shrugged. "Not particularly. He does not seem like an evil monster. He has not hurt anyone so far, has he?"

"No, but no one ever seems to remember that." Kirkland regarded her curiously. He seemed to have sobered up quickly. "Gillian, would you marry him? If you had the chance."

Marry him. Marry anyone. It was her dream come true. Even a monster, even a beast. She'd had people call her both of those things, and she knew better than anyone how untrue those accusations could be. In marriage, there had to be love, did there not? "If he would have me," she said quietly. "If he could love me."

Kirkland quickly laced up his mostly-undone shirt, and re-donned his discarded coat.

"What are you doing?" Gillian protested, affronted. No man had ever left her in bed! Ever!

"I could never sleep with the woman who will be Matthew's bride," the soothsayer said with a smile. "Now let me tell you a little story, Gillian."

It was definitely a first. She had never gone halfway with a man before, and she had certainly never spent a good two hours sitting on the same man's bed, listening to what sounded like a fairy tale, but one that had taken place just a scant league from her own home. And hearing a secret that could mean a future that she'd never dreamed of was within her grasp.

AN: *gags* Prussia x England. Horrible pairing. But I guess no pairing's too deplorable for a lightskirt like Prussia...

Oh jeez. I just used the word lightskirt. I need to stop reading old-timey books.

Please review even though the author's a nerd!