"Has he been cracking anytime soon?"
Prussia shook his head before continuing to unravel the bandages around his ankle. France watched complacently by the fireplace, trapped in the Prussian's steel silence.
"Have you been interrogating him at all in the first place?"
"Who do you think I am? A sadist?" Prussia said, aghast. He blanched at France's smirk and threw his dirtied bandages at him. "You're sick."
"You fool me well enough," France sang, playing with an ornate dagger scabbard left on the fireplace mantelpiece. He ran his finger across the curling design as if following a long and dangerous pathway across the smooth metal.
"I'm not," Prussia insisted earnestly, massaging his injured ankle. It still throbbed angrily even after it was treated. He barely suppressed a wince before starting to wrap it again with clean bandages. "And no. He hasn't spilled anything. Not that I expect him to."
"That's a surprise," France commented, "considering the horrid pain you inflict upon him."
"It isn't horrid. You speak of it as if it were completely out of the ordinary," Prussia said indignantly. "Any other country would do the same to their prisoners. I know that for a fact." His face darkened considerably and he hurriedly returned his attention to nursing his wound.
"Ah, but what a way it is to treat a guest!" France said teasingly. "What a horrible impression you make upon them. You should treat them to soft pillows and wine instead of what you're doing now."
"I do not aim to try to seduce everyone that enters my country's borders, France," Prussia said testily. "A good lot that would do. What kind of formidable superpower would I be if I handed out sweets and alcohol?"
"All you care about is being seen as intimidating," France lamented. "I would much rather be loved and appreciated than to be feared."
"And look where you are. Pummeled by the English," Prussia said coolly. "That may suit you fine, but I've got different plans."
"Harsh words spoken to a true friend," France said dramatically, gently placing the dagger sheath back to its original place.
"…Sorry," Prussia muttered. "Look—I didn't mean anything bad, it's just—"
"No need, no need," France said lazily, waving the matter aside. "I understand your nature. It's natural for you to retort like that."
"Natural?" Prussia asked confusedly.
"Of course," France said casually. "You're the warmonger, after all." He leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on Prussia's desk. "Though you are more so in this situation. If it were anyone else besides Austria, I'm sure you would be a little more lax in your treatment."
"I suppose," Prussia laughed. France raised an eyebrow.
"Why him specifically, of all people?" France inquired.
"Why not?" Prussia retorted incredulously, as if the answer was blatantly obvious. "Everything about him! I won't bore you with the details; I know that I've done it too many times already." His face grimaced with disgust. "And he's a liar. He said Hungary was on his side. How could she be? That is nothing like her. She never declared war on me either." He gingerly rose to his feet.
"How did that happen, anyway?" France asked, nodding at Prussia's ankle.
"Not in battle," Prussia said shortly.
France raised an eyebrow. "But that hasn't told me anything. What happened?"
"What does it matter?" Prussia muttered. He hesitated before continuing. "You remember how there was an attack on that one military fort not too long ago?" France nodded. "I was trying to drag a soldier out from under a pile of wreckage but then the enemy launched an attack that knocked even more rubble down and it buried my leg. It should be snapped in half, but somehow I just got away with a sprain."
"Ah," France muttered. He raised an eyebrow curiously. "And the soldier. What of him?"
Prussia didn't respond immediately. He stared off into space for a moment before averting his gaze toward the floor and absentmindedly fiddling with the buttons on his navy coat. "He was completely crushed. What would you expect?"
France remained silent, cautiously watching Prussia as he distractedly straightened out his uniform, desperately donning strained indifference. Prussia sensed the watchful and uncomfortable silence and turned sharply at France.
"Come on. I've got to get back to interrogating Austria again," Prussia said hurriedly to cut short the silence. "You might as well come along and enjoy the show, considering you're already here."
"Would I be able to participate in it?" France asked saucily.
"Though my treatment of prisoners is more typical, I don't believe 'rape' would be quite as acceptable," Prussia said dryly. France chuckled before following Prussia through the capacious and crowded Prussian military fort that was surrounded by a thick and impenetrable stone wall with a pair of heavy locked doors fitted tightly on one end. Guards watched over the door with sharp and steely eyes; France reckoned that they were so mistrustful and paranoid of anyone coming in that the guards never once opened the door unless a company of wounded Prussians were at the door.
"It's like its own little kingdom instead of just a military fortification," France commented blithely. "It's large enough to be a town, I imagine."
"And even more orderly," Prussia added. He halted before a windowless building, fashioned to be both the infirmary and the prisons in two separate wings. He nodded to the guards at the door, who immediately stepped aside and let their nation walk in.
"He's lively today," Prussia remarked simply, noting the loud but incomprehensible strings of shouts unraveling from the pit of the prison.
"I've never imagined that the little Austrian could get so worked up like this," France said playfully as Prussia led him down the dim stairway, their boots clicking cleanly on the stone like the sharp cocking of rifles.
"Austria," Prussia sang, drawing out the first syllable playfully. "Look what we've got here. A guest for you to entertain."
France could barely see Austria in his cell, squeezed in the heart of the shadows that the stingy oil lamps refused to shine light upon. Prussia unhooked a ring of keys from his belt and slowly unlocked the door. The door swung open with a welcoming groan in its old and weathered voice, bidding Prussia and France to enter.
"I believe," Austria's voice croaked as he rose to his unsteady feet, "that I am entitled to at least a letter back to my empress so she would at least know where I am." His voice sounded fifteen years older than usual.
"I've already taken it upon myself to do it for you," Prussia said carelessly. "No need to thank me."
Austria's face spoke no more calmness and tranquility that was once his trademark. It was etched in pure resentment.
"And what were your terms?" Austria demanded.
"What does it matter to you?" Prussia said shortly. France gave a wary sidelong glance at Prussia. His ally had suddenly adopted an unfamiliar aura that was both mocking and menacing, both a double-bladed dagger and some salt to pour on the wounds. "It's for your precious empress to decide whether or not to take the deal, not you."
"More land, I presume," Austria said disapprovingly. "Silesia wasn't enough for you?"
"Not even close," said Prussia.
France could feel Prussia's bitterness level steadily grow in the cramped cell. It pressured him uncomfortably and France had to fight the urge to escape the prison. Prussia's presence had suddenly become too oppressive to bear.
"I wish I had some sort of painter around," Prussia muttered, tugging on his black gloves, "so he could paint a picture of your miserable state and send it to your little empress. Maybe that would quicken her end of the deal."
"What did you ask for?" Austria repeated. Prussia did not respond immediately. He took his time retrieving a half-full bottle of beer that had once belonged to one of the guards from the wooden chair propped against the wall.
"Your precious piano," Prussia said sardonically as he uncorked the bottle. The heavy and thick scent of alcohol stung their noses. It made France cringe.
"It wouldn't be much of a loss for you, would it?" Prussia said dangerously, lazily running a gloved finger down the glass bottle like a drop of rain would slide on a glass windowpane. "Considering your house is weighed down with so much extravagance that it would make Solomon's riches lose their luster."
His eyes suddenly flashed like a wolf's. France didn't notice that he was slowly backing away from his own friend until he felt his back press against the cold wall.
"You must think you're living the high life, don't you?" Prussia said breezily, taking a quick swig of the drink. "Like a king. The riches. The loftiness." He took a step closer. "The slaves."
"They aren't my slaves," Austria said quietly.
"They were forced under your rule to do your bidding whether they liked it or not," Prussia shot back fluidly. "I don't know what you call it, but it certainly isn't any way you should treat her!"
"What have I done wrong?" Austria cried out. "I would never do anything to hurt her."
"But you would break her?" Prussia retorted. "Then what's the difference?"
"I can promise you, Prussia," Austria said earnestly. "I want her to be happy as well. I wouldn't do anything that would upset her. I care about her."
Prussia didn't reply. His eyes flickered to the ground and his fists tightened. He looked as if he wanted to speak up, but he held his tongue. For a moment his coldblooded façade cracked, revealing only sliver hints of his true emotions. He didn't seem angry; only uneasy.
France could hear distant footsteps run down the stairway. Prussia's attention jerked to the newcomer. It was a young messenger bounding down the stairs, clutching on a grubby note in his hands. Prussia tilted his head curiously before pushing the cell door open.
"What news?" Prussia demanded.
"This—this came for you," the messenger coughed, handing Prussia the note. The grimy light from the oil lamps barely sufficed to read the scrawled letters. "It's from the Kingdom of Hungary!"
Two hearts immediately skipped a beat at the sound of the name. Austria clenched his teeth, anticipating both the best and worst. He knew how determined Hungary was to defeat Prussia, but a cold premonition nagged him in the back of his mind, telling him that it couldn't be this easy and this quick.
"I see," Prussia said gently. "Thank you, Rolf." The messenger nodded before hurrying out of the chilly, grisly prison as if doom was at his heels. Prussia turned the letter around in his hand, eyeing it contemplatively. After a moment, he finally tore it open and held it up to the light to read. He immediately recognized the sharp and haphazard handwriting scrawled across the paper like a row of spikes. He held his breath in anticipation and began to read the contents.
France could feel the impossibly overwhelming tension in the room. Austria looked as if he was about to burst from his corner and crash through the obstinate iron bars and even through the powerful stone walls; the hidden power was practically visible, coursing through his anxious and taut muscles. Prussia was as immobile as stone, as if he was a white marble statue. France felt as if he was caught in between.
Prussia suddenly looked up from his reading, and France was relieved to see his excited smile and his red eyes brighten. It was the same Prussia he knew long before the beginning of the war; the sane Prussia. He rushed over to France, his grin broadening as he handed him the letter.
"She's coming here," Prussia said feverishly like an innocent schoolboy. "She wants to discuss our international relations. She wants an alliance."
Austria felt as if a meteorite had crashed through the ceiling and pummeled him. His mouth suddenly felt very dry and every heartbeat ached.
"I haven't seen her in so long," Prussia said in an elated whisper. "So long." He looked down at the paper and read the words again, as if to make sure he did not misinterpret her letter. There was no mistake; it was stamped out in bold black ink.
"Look at this, Austria." Suddenly Prussia's voice grew dangerous spikes like a mace. He had not forgotten what company he was in. "In her own hand." He tossed the letter to Austria, who fumbled to catch it. It was difficult to read anything properly in the murky shadow, and Austria refused to step out into the light and look too eager. But there was no mistaking her familiar handwriting. His heart stopped and then it sank. What was the meaning of this?
Prussia quickly took it from Austria's hands, gentle enough as to not rip Hungary's words. Austria swallowed hard, suddenly breaking out into cold sweat. What in the world was Hungary doing? This could be too dangerous; what if she got hurt? Too many questions were bubbling over in Austria's mind and no answers to appease them. When Prussia and France left him locked alone again in his prison, he still did not calm down.
It had to be some sort of ploy. She hated Prussia, as she had mentioned so many times to Austria. Ever since the war began, she cursed Prussia's name every time Austria returned, utterly trounced from the Prussian attacks.
What if Prussia hurt her?
He didn't care how many beatings he got or how long he would be forced to rot in the Prussian cell. If Prussia did anything to harm Hungary, he would never forgive himself. He would rather face Prussia's wrath to its fullest capacity than have her hurt.
If anything wrong happens to her, it will be your fault.
You aren't even strong enough to protect her or yourself.
He would have thought that this voice, this devil with the serpent's tongue, would sound like Prussia's voice at least, but it didn't. It sounded just like Austria's voice.
Maria Theresa studied the map of Europe carefully, her eyebrows knit in determination. Her very country might have been kidnapped and held captive in some anonymous dungeon, but that wasn't going to stop her from fighting.
She pressed her fingertips together in thought, her mind quickly calculating the possible tactics or battle plans that her military needed. She had to admit, she was feeling rather nervous and uncertain. Hungary had gone off with some soldiers to meet with Prussia. She had no idea how Austria was faring. Her country was doing poorly in the war. It was enough stress for her to bear.
"Do you know if Hungary has reached Prussia yet?" Maria Theresa asked her men anxiously.
"She left last night, your Highness," an official answered calmly. "It would take a lot longer for her to reach the military fort."
"Of course. Of course, you're right," Maria Theresa murmured hurriedly. "…do you know if she's close to it?"
"I don't have an idea," the official said tiredly. Maria Theresa bit her lip and nodded.
"Your Highness!" Maria Theresa quickly looked up from her work. A servant dashed inside, waving a letter in his hands. "It's word from the King of Prussia! He sent a letter regarding the terms!"
Maria Theresa immediately stood from her seat and ran toward the servant. She quickly snatched the letter from his hand and ripped it open. Her careful eyes scanned the contents of the letter and she let out a sound of disbelief.
"What terms are these?" Maria Theresa exclaimed. She reread the letter as if to make sure she understood them correctly. "Why would the Friederich ask for something like this?"
She turned the letter over in her hands. Her officers watched her with curiosity, dying to know what the Prussians demanded in exchange for their country. Maria Theresa narrowed her eyes before folding it back.
"It doesn't have the king's stamp on it," Maria Theresa announced in a low voice. "Friederich did not write this letter."
"Then who wrote it?" an official asked with disbelief.
"Prussia himself," Maria Theresa muttered. The officers exchanged wary looks with each other. The mention of the great kingdom made their blood grow cold.
"What did he demand?" one man inquired.
Maria Theresa stared down at the map of Europe. She quietly traced her finger around the Austrian empire, pausing when it reached Hungary. She pursed her lips, digging her nail into the Hungarian border.
"He demands that we let Hungary become its own nation, free of the Austrian Empire," Maria Theresa finally told them. Exclamations of disbelief echoed throughout the conference room.
"But…why?" a man asked dubiously. "Does Prussia want to take over Hungary? It doesn't seem like a plausible idea, though."
"I don't know," Maria Theresa said uneasily. In all honesty, Prussia wouldn't need Hungary to be completely independent if he wanted to become one with her. It didn't add up.
"But Hungary is on her way to meet with Prussia this very moment," the man pointed out. "Would that cause complications?"
"I hope not," Maria Theresa said quickly. But she still had the growing dread pulsing inside of her.
"Hungary is a strong country," an officer said stoutly. "They could certainly defend themselves if Prussia tried anything."
"You're right," Maria Theresa echoed. "I should worry more about Prussia's welfare after Hungary gets a hold of him." She gave a lighthearted smile to her men. "Let us disperse for now. I think this is all we can do today."
Her men murmured in agreement before slowly filing out of the conference room one by one. Only Maria Theresa remained before the map, rapping her fingers on the sturdy oak. She scrutinized the worn map, biting down on her lips.
Of all countries, of all things Prussia could have demanded, why did he choose this? And why did he not have his king write it instead? The letter was etched on weathered, yellowing paper without any indication that the king even approved of the letter before it was sent out. Did Prussia do it in secret? Did Friederich even know his country was keeping Austria captive?
What if Hungary was right now running into the arms of a very terrible ploy?