Rifiuto: Non Mirena
A/N: Magda's comment about Wilhelm in the previous chapter is true; Kaiser Wilhelm II (27 Jan 1859 - 4 June 1941) was exceedingly jealous of the British. He had a continuous love-hate relationship with Britain, wanting not only to be British, but be better at being British than the British themselves were, all the while he hated and resented them because they did not accept him because he was half-German. And while he did not start World War I, he did greatly encourage it, especially for the advancement of Germany.
January, 1858
Buckingham Palace,
United Kingdom
The kiss was gentle, cautious, for they were testing the waters.
He held her waist tenderly, as at first, for the briefest of moments, she fought him, before slowly relenting, her hands eventually coming to rest against his chest. Nearly seven years of teasing and mockery, of arguing and fighting, had finally culminated in this moment... Minutes passed, before the kiss slowly broke, and he ducked his head as she blushed, gaze drinking in the dress she wore before finally meeting her gaze.
She is growing to look more and more like Auntie Elsa every day. I hate that Bertie was the one to tell her how lovely she looked, to make her laugh- If Affie were honest with himself, it was jealousy that had him poking fun at Camilla earlier in the evening; jealousy that she was dancing with his older brother, that Bertie seemed to bring a smile to her face with absolute ease, simply by complimenting her dress.
Camilla did truly look lovely; the dress she wore was a soft blue in color- similar to her mother's- with delicate lace along the hem, the sleeves were short and puffed, and the neckline off the shoulder and scooped slightly. A simple light blue ribbon was tied around her neck, the snowflake brooch pinning it closed in the front. Elsa had even personally done the young princess's hair, agreeing for the first time that her beloved oldest daughter could wear her hair up, instead of in the curls she normally wore. The Scandinavian Queen had brushed and quickly braided her daughter's hair, twisting it into an elaborate braided style at the back of her head, similar to the style she wore. She had then added a simple light blue ribbon, before finishing with a nod. The girl had been thrilled, accepting the lace gloves her mother had handed her, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Because Milla was not yet fourteen, her skirts did not reach her ankles, and instead, settled an inch above her ankle. Once she made her debut in November, her skirts would be lengthened to cover her ankles, and she would be forced to wear her hair up instead of down, as she'd been allowed the past few years.
When she'd entered the ball on her brother's arm, behind her parents and ahead of her younger siblings, she, like her parents, had stunned the rest of the guests, for despite her auburn curls, she was a carbon copy of her mother. And Elsa, the Snow Queen of Scandinavia- as the British court called her- had turned heads, generating whispers, for it was seen as inappropriate in Britain for a woman in her condition to be seen out in public, even though Elsa had said nothing in regards to her condition except to her family and the British Royals, who had agreed to keep it a secret. Any whispers that she was again expecting would be considered pure speculation until said otherwise.
"You look lovely, Milla," He whispered, meeting her gaze. "you are lovely, and smart, and charming and... so similar to Auntie..." He swallowed thickly. "That I do not understand how people cannot see that you are Uncle's daughter. You are a perfect balance of both of them. And I..."
"You what, Affie?" She hadn't moved from where she stood, leaning against the door. He leaned close, nudging his nose against hers, his hands still on her waist.
"I... I find myself..." Just as their lips brushed together once more, a knock sounded, followed by a voice.
"Milla? Affie?"
The pair jolted apart, hurrying into the middle of the room as the door opened. Affie quickly released her, and stepped back, as Annes and Vanja poked their heads into the room. The young princes glanced between the thirteen-year-olds, before sharing glances.
"What are you two doing in here?"
"Annes, how did you-"
"Nothing!" Milla cried, as her younger brother crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow. In that moment, both Affie and Milla felt as though they were staring at the Southern Isles King, and Affie couldn't help wondering if Annes was truly what his beloved Uncle looked like as a child- for despite the snow white locks the boy had inherited from the Arendellian Queen, everything else about the young prince was a carbon copy of his father. "Nothing's going on, Annes! Why would you even consider-"
"I'm twelve, Millie, not stupid."
"I didn't... say you were, Nethie." Milla whispered, as Affie snorted softly at the nickname. The Crown Princess's head snapped towards him, a glare crossing her pretty features, and he quickly swallowed it. It was well known among the Scandinavian Royal family that while all the children had nicknames used by not just their family, but those within their household, there were also very specific nicknames for each of the children- that only the children themselves were allowed to use on one another. It had started with Annes giving his beloved older sister the nickname of 'illie', before it became 'Millie', and likewise, Milla called her little brother 'Nessie', because as a toddler, she'd had trouble pronouncing 's', but as she'd gotten older, 'Nethie' quickly became replaced with 'Nessie', which all the other children used as well. Yet only Milla was allowed to call the boy 'Nethie', because it was something special between them and only them.
"How... how did you know we were here?" Affie asked, turning back to the matter at hand.
"Mama sent us." Anja replied, tossing his head, auburn curls falling back into their place over his forehead. The boy rolled his eyes up, just barely able to see the wayward curl that had decided to stubbornly hang in the middle of his forehead, brushing between his eyebrows with each movement of his head. "She and Papa couldn't get away from the party."
"She wanted to make sure you were all right, Millie. She saw Affie follow after he upset you, and thought you were going to fight again. She told Papa he needed to follow, just in case he needed to separate you two like when you always fight." The almost-ten-year-old prince huffed, reaching up to rake the curl back over his head, only for it to fall back into its place over his forehead seconds later.
The young pair had the decency to look ashamed; clearly, their past behavior had left a mark on how everyone else in the family had viewed them and their interactions together, to the point where the Scandinavian King and Queen clearly believed that anytime the pair were together, a fight would ensue. After a moment, Milla turned to her brothers, smiling. "Well, there wasn't any fight. We argued, and Affie apologized, right?" She turned to him suddenly, and he quickly nodded in agreement. "So how about we go back to the party so Mama and Papa don't worry?"
The four quickly left the library, Milla falling in step with her younger brother; as Anja and Affie returned to the party, Annes grabbed his sister's hand, tugging her back into the shadows just outside the ballroom. "What really happened in the library, Millie?"
The girl bit her lip, not wanting to share the sweet moment she'd shared with the young British prince, but knowing that her beloved younger brother wouldn't let her get away so easily. After a moment, she glanced behind them, before taking his hand and pulling him further down the hall, towards the a pair of huge, cathedral-style windows- only for the pair to stop at the soft giggle. The children ducked behind a suit of armour, peeking around it to see two figures standing in the darkness, arms around each other."Who-"
"Shh."
It didn't take long for the children to figure out who it was, as the shimmer of what the children knew to be their mother's ice. And if their mother was there, then-
"Hans, we have to get back. Victoria and Albert will be wondering where we disappeared to-"
"... Vicky just married, I highly doubt her parents will be looking for the visiting king and queen-"
"Mmm... and what about the children? We sent the boys to check on their sister and Alfred, what if they've killed each other?"
"... then it's one less argument we will have to break up, and one less child we will have to shuffle between Arendelle and the Isles-"
Annes slapped a hand over his sister's mouth at the moment their mother's palm made contact with their father's cheek. "Johannes Christian Andreas, how dare you say such a thing! And about your own daughter!" They watched as their mother left the shadows, skirts whispering behind her as she moved, the shimmer of her ice sparkling like diamonds in the darkness.
"Eli...Eliza!" Hans caught her hand, trying to tug her back towards him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. I was trying to lighten-"
"- the mood?" She raised a hand, and the children could hear the crackle of ice as their mother flexed her fingers. In seconds, they heard the familiar sound of snow hitting its target; the queen yanked her hand from the king's grip, and stepped back. "Next time,think before you speak, Johannes Christian Andreas Westergård, or if you don't want to, then keep your thoughts to yourself."
And without another word, she turned and stalked back towards the party; seconds passed by before their father followed, brushing snow from his face as he did so. Once they were gone, the children turned to each other. Neither knew what to say, and after several minutes, they returned to the party, in time to see their mother accept an offer of a dance from Bertie. As the Scandinavian Queen and the sixteen-year-old Prince of Wales waltzed about the dance floor, Elsa made a point of ignoring Hans, instead turning her attention to Bertie, who said something that made the queen laugh.
"What did Uncle do to make Auntie Elsa mad at him? She's been ignoring him ever since they came back to the ballroom." Milla glanced behind her as Affie sidled up behind her, watching his brother waltz with his aunt, as Hans asked Alice for a dance, and took the fifteen-year-old around the dance floor eagerly. The girl nodded and smiled; despite her desire to understand the people more, she was still a girl, and closer to her older siblings than her younger ones. Vicky's marriage had greatly upset the princess, and Victoria had finally given up trying to talk to her; ultimately, it was Hans and Elsa who had managed to get the girl to not only understand why Vicky was marrying Fritz, but accept it. Though it still pained her deeply to lose her sister, Alice was much calmer since she'd talked with Elsa and Hans earlier, before the wedding.
"Papa said something stupid, and Mama threw a snowball at him, that's all." The Crown Princess replied matter-of-factly, turning back to watch her parents. As the music changed and they were forced to change partners, the Scandinavian rulers stopped, facing each other. Milla held her breath, reaching out to take her brother's hand as they watched their parents study each other silently. Annes slid his fingers between his sister's, squeezing gently as they- and everyone else, both on the dance floor and on the edges of the dance floor- watched the king gently take the queen's gloved hand; their gazes locked as he slid his other hand around her waist, moving to rest firmly yet gently against the small of her back, at the base of her shoulder blade. A soft gasp escaped the queen as she straightened, and stepped closer to him.
Her other hand came up to rest against his bicep, as they slowly began to join in the dance; eyes locked on each other, they were unaware of the rest of the dancers, of the other guests, of the children or the British Royals who watched them, they were only focused on each other. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to throw a snowball at you-"
"The fault is mine, Eliza. I should not have said what I did, but I was trying to-"
"I know, Hans, I know." They followed the other dancers in a circle around the ballroom as the waltz picked up again, passing by Milla and Annes as Anja and Sof joined their older siblings. Bertie and Alice had both stepped off the dance floor, joining their siblings and cousins as they watched the Scandinavian monarchs; Affie turned at the feel of his father's hand on his shoulder as their parents joined them.
"We noticed Elsa return to the ball in a huff, something must have upset her, but we did not ask."
"Papa said something stupid, and so Mama threw a snowball at him. It's normal." Milla turned back to her parents. "Mama's favorite thing to do is throw snowballs at Papa when he says something she doesn't like."
"... second to my love for you, Eliza. You are my first and greatest love,"
"And Milla?"
"Camilla holds my heart; were we to lose her, I would lose half my heart. That's not to say I don't love our other children,"
"But?"
"Milla's special, just as you are. Eliza-"
"Yes, Hans?"
She rose on tiptoe as he met her; their lips brushed softly together, hands joining from their positions and fingers threading, unaware of the waltz still continuing around them. The kiss deepened briefly, before they slowly broke apart at Elsa's soft hiss of surprise at the feel of light fluttering in her belly. She looked up at him as she rested a hand against her belly, which Hans covered, before they both glanced over each others' shoulders, now aware the dance had ended and they were the object of everyone's attention. After a moment, they stepped apart; she dropped into a quick curtsy as he bowed, and soon, they turned and went their separate ways.