: ̗̀➛ 𝒘𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔 (prince friedrich x f!reader)
@acupnoodle requested: hii, if requests are open could i get a drabble for prince Friedrich from bridgerton if you write for him? enemies to lovers maybe? they meet at the ball after a long time and lots of jabs at each other just to hide the fact that theyre jealous? and they get tgt at the end?? Totally fine if you dont want to write it but thank!!!
summary: "And so Colin knew what London didn't. England's most coveted Duchess had found and lost her heart between foreign hands, and Prussia's dashing heir carried many an anguish from his first trip overseas."
word count: 4.2k
features: f!reader, colin bridgerton as my thirdwheeling emotional support golden retriever, loosely following show canon (set sometime after season 2, but the fling between daphne and friedrich didn't happen). mentions of praying/religion. jealousy, angst with a happy ending. it's about the Yearning.
author notes: because i cannot imagine friedrich antagonizing anyone (he is just so sweet<3) reader & him are not exactly enemies... but I hope you find the bad blood between them satisfactory!
soundtrack: the ghost of you | 𝄞
𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐖𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 of champagne always produced this curious white foam, or was it yet another property of Lady Danbury's extravagant buffet?
Perhaps if you inspected your glass closer... shook it counterclockwise...
"Wouldn't you agree, Lady Y/N?"
Your head shot upward, your gaze leaving your three-quarters empty flute to meet an Earl, whose name had blurred with those of the other guests the second you'd been introduced.
"Ah, no doubt about it, my Lord."
The unnamed Count gave a satisfied nod of the head, and his naively hopeful gaze flickered—like that of the Queen's silly little dogs when they were promised food—, a sign he was thoroughly pleased with your answer.
Very few Lords in London would have felt dispirited at a young Duchess's reply, as disinterested and fabricated as it may be. But very few Lords in London asked questions worth answering earnestly.
The Earl, all thinning quiff and gnarled knucklebones, opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could utter a word a silhouette stood out from the colorful cloud of sequined dancers in the background; its firm hand and clear eyes reached you before the man's could.
"Lady Y/N," Colin Bridgerton greeted as he bowed, then turned to the other man, now disgruntled. "Lord Argyll, Your Grace." Of course, Colin remembered every inexhaustible flatterer in high society—winning people over, with his timely pleasantries and enthralling tales, was second nature to him, as effortless as it was for you to sulk behind flowered pillars; and perhaps such was the reason behind your unlikely friendship. Or perhaps was it because Colin Bridgerton was among the few who did not deem your title too high to befriend.
Or the even fewer who deemed it too low, you thought with acerbic laughter, but swatted the barb away.
"I believe I am next on your dance card, your Grace."
You did not bother to check his claim—it would not be the first time you and Colin had danced, him a far more energetic partner than the doormats of the ton; and it would certainly not be the last a Bridgerton came to your daring rescue.
"Certainly, sir—If you will hold this for an instant, my Lord?" In saying so you handed the disoriented suitor your glass of champagne, and he had no presence of mind to protest. "Thank you kindly..."
"But Lady Y/N—"
"I fear my obligations have caught up to me!" you exclaimed, led away by an emboldened Colin.
He stifled a laugh at that; leaning over to observe him, you saw the quiver of his lips, and almost lost your composure yourself. How easy it was to laugh with the Bridgertons, if only for an instant! If only to forget the catastrophe your heart still bore, heavy as lead and profound as a ravine...
"I see you continue to find yourself in the clutches of every demon this side of the Thames, Your Grace."
"Oh, tell me about it. You would think they were insects driven to madness by the faintest light."
"Light, you say? I had thought of fire, rather."
"If only! Then they would burn and never return..."
But the promise of a sizable dowry and prestige of marrying up loomed over you like an omen of terror, leaving you to fend off every increasingly pathetic suitor alone. Well, mostly alone—Colin faced you, cheerful and relaxed, and you both fell into the brisk steps of a quadrille as the violins picked up.
"But will you not give any of them the time of day?"
"Mister Bridgerton—"
"I merely seek to understand your position!" He dropped his voice to a whisper, twirling around you with astounding agility, fabric brushing against fabric. "There is the matter of two years ago, I know..."
"Must you really bring this up?"
"You say you will not marry into my family, you hardly have other friends among the ton—"
"Diplomatic as ever, sir."
"Yet you will not entertain any of the men vying for your affections. You wish to marry, only..." he vaguely embraced all the room and its bustling partygoers, graceful enough in his dancing to camouflage it as part of a twist. "Someone else. Is that correct?"
"It is a bit more complicated, but..."
A spin on your heels brought you facing the main doors, and the gathering of sweeping hairdos before them. A gentleman moved, a lady shifted; and in the crook between an ear and a shoulder, you saw them. The glimmers of navy blue and silver. They shone in the dim light for a split second—gone the next, as you danced forth and turned your back on them; but the mere mirage of them knocked the wind out of your chest.
Colin might then have asked if you were quite alright, but your ears only registered a shrill whirring, as if the violins had gotten jammed on a shriek. You craned your neck until it hurt, almost tripped on your feet trying to catch a glimpse. But it was him. Clear as day, poised and bright as the spring sky in regal blue, his every smile an accidental love song to the squealing debutantes before him. Him, him, him...!
Every single day for the past two years, you had begged heaven to let you forget his face, and yet suddenly he was all you could see, all you could breathe. A paralyzing cloud creeping down your lungs.
"Were you not forewarned? His Majesty is to spend the next four weeks among us..." murmured Colin.
His coddling tone betrayed immense empathy, and an evident realization you had not, indeed, been warned. Yet you remained oblivious to his sorry compassion, clumsily dodging his shoulder at the very last second. Your eyes stared unseeing at Prince Friedrich and his cohort, motionless but nervous underneath the glass chandeliers. And he, charming and ingenuous as ever... as if he'd never known the ballroom. As if he hadn't torn your heart out right there, under the furtive shadow of the alcoves.
"Whatever for?" was all you could mutter. "I thought he only dealt with royal company."
"Your guess is as good as mine," Colin's voice hummed from afar, the bitter edge of your words not lost on him.
The Bridgertons' third son was perhaps the last person you'd ever imagined sharing your heartaches with—word was on the street he had broken his fair share of hearts himself, not by malice or depravity but simply his outstanding blindness to anything remotely sensitive. Yet fate had bound your amorous disillusionments, two years prior: him, humiliated before the ton for daring to believe in disinterested love; and you, foolish and prideful enough to love a Prince and suffer the burn.
And so Colin knew what London didn't. England's most coveted Duchess had found and lost her heart between foreign hands, and Prussia's dashing heir carried many an anguish from his first trip overseas.
"Heavens above, Colin, he's coming this way," you gasped and grabbed onto your friend's shoulder for support. He recoiled at the unexpected touch, leading you off the floor, by the idle musicians, but didn't mention the aghast pallor of your eyes. "Please hide me. He must not see me..."
"Shall I fetch you some water? You look like you're about to pass out."
"No! Don't you dare leave me alone, Bridg..."
All your valiant efforts to disappear between Colin and the large cellos collapsed in one instant. Your stomach dropped; a shiver washed over your whole spine.
"Mister Bridgerton!" And your entire body trembled at the accent, so familiar yet half forgotten already, that would murmur the world's most harrowing poetry in secret coves. "Congratulations on your brother's nuptials, I must—"
He stopped. His breath hitched, and though he hid it well, you knew your souls were woven from the same thread and would have known his every heartbeat in the rumbling vastness of the ocean.
Nothing in this world, however, no desperate prayers to the skies and no sorrowful expiation on canvases and blank notebooks, could have prepared you for the moment your eyes collided.
"Lady Y/N Y/L/N," he breathed, eyes wide and disbelieving, carrying the stigmata of a painfully closed wound. "I thought you..."
I thought you would be in your country abode, wed to another, nursing children of your own. I thought you would be on your throne, leading empires to their doom. I thought you would be draped in fine silk and dripping in gold, on some powerful heir's arm. I thought you would speak another's name with that insurgent devotion, the one that brought me to ruin. I thought I would never see you again...
Somehow you remembered how propriety expected you to behave, and the hand you extended for him to kiss barely trembled.
"Your Highness," you whispered curtly, caring little how wrong and distraught the formality sounded. Colin tensed, still standing between the two of you.
"Did you have a safe journey, Your Highness?" he aptly interrupted the tension, and you eventually caught your breath.
"Perfectly splendid, thank you."
He spoke with that flawless politeness of his, always charming and restrained, baring so little of his spirit... To find the man you'd loved so ardently standing in front of you, to reach within his soul and find a phantom so translucent and thin... Maybe his prayers had been granted, and he had erased it all. It made you sick.
"We weren't expecting you to be back so soon in London, in truth," continued Colin, and even his dazzling extroversion was suffering on your behalf.
"Well, every man eventually finds a reason to retrace his steps... return to what he has left behind. I trust you understand that too, mister Bridgerton?"
It took you a second to catch his bitter tone, so uncharacteristic of him—another second to notice his pointed look at your hand. It still clasped Colin's shoulder, way too close for comfort.
"Oh—!"
"Forgive me—"
Your whole face and neck burnt as you fiddled with your moist hands, but all Friedrich gave you was an unspeakably painful grin, halfway through regret and vitriol, perfectly mirroring your own. He had not erased anything.
"Colin!"
A partly-disheveled brown updo bounced into view from behind Colin, sparing but a glance at the Crown Prince of Prussia.
"Colin, we need your help at once, Francesca spilled her drink on some obnoxious Baron and locked herself in the ladies' refreshing room to avoid the embarrassment, you must talk her down from the hysteria, Mother is about to tear her hair out. Gentleman, Y/N," Eloise hurriedly added, and if she did notice the medals and distinctions on Friedrich's chest, she showed nothing of it.
"Oh! I will go talk to her, if that could help—"
"I'm afraid it must be my brother. He has a way of defusing even the direst of straits like you wouldn't believe, and he knows our sister well..."
"Eloise, are you trying to make a scene in front of the Crown Prince—" Colin admonished between his teeth, redness gripping his cheeks, but Friedrich shook his head with an easy smile.
"It is quite alright. I know a thing or two about rambunctious siblings."
Caught between Eloise's pleading, impatient eyes—and God knew her as impatient, but pleading?—and Lady Y/N's, that threatened irrevocable murder... Colin exhaled shakily.
"Please excuse me, my lady, Your Highness..."
He had disappeared into the crowd, Eloise's ridiculous feathers in tow before you could grab his sleeve and curse his whole lineage. Friedrich, on the other hand, found sweet hilarity in the Bridgertons' antics, if his subtle smile was any indication... albeit lacerated by the terse flick of your fan.
"You look the picture of radiance, lady Y/N."
"What are you doing here?"
He frowned, and his shoulders tensed ever so slightly. If you held your fan just right, wide open and below your nose, you would manage to hide the tremor of your lips, the faltering of your resolve.
"Well, you certainly remember frequent voyages around Europe are part of a royal's duties..."
"Yet you made it abundantly clear you had no business in England anymore, Your Highness."
His expression darkened, like a storm brutally obscuring the horizon, and he let out a sigh rumbling with fatigue. Your grip on your fan weakened as he fidgetted with the hem of his gloves, but you forced your eyes not to leave his evading gaze.
"I had hoped we might have a civil conversation, but perhaps I was mistaken."
"I do apologize, Eure Hoheit," and his eyes snapped back to your face at the effortless, disdainful German, but you stood firm and cold. "Surely this party lacks guests of royal rank, to elevate the conversation."
"Y/N—"
He had heaved the name with scandalous familiarity and leaned close so that the only witness to your desperate rage would be the crook between your mouths. And the party behind you melted away into fury.
"After all, a vulgar Duchess is much too lowly to amuse the heir to the throne. Or is that not the sentiment in Prussia?"
"You know I never insinuated anything of the sort—"
"But you let the thought run and fester until everyone in Prussia believed I was a... a lowlife, which amounts to the same—"
"What do you reckon I should have done? Disobey my family, my kingdom—"
"Perhaps you should never have crossed my path nor addressed me a word!" You were pleading in a whisper, all defenses bared, your fan wilted against your chest. "If I had known you had never intended to be true to your word, and all your vows were for naught..."
"Please, my lady. You cared little for any of my vows when you were on Colin Bridgerton's arm," he hissed with such resentment you were taken aback, and it seemed the recoil of his words wounded him too, because his voice crumbled then. "You deserve every bit of happiness he may give you, but do not fault me for attempting what you have evidently accomplished already."
"You are gravely mistaken..."
But you trailed off, bewitched and confounded and unsteady, lost to the swirling seas of genuine grief in Friedrich's eyes, the shaky grimace into which his lips contorted after he spoke.
Where did those eyes stop and where did the horizon commence, in such a vast expanse of wordless meaning? Were those not the exact hues of the sky you'd pleaded and begged so desperately to relieve you of the memory?
Had you been praying to him all this time, your only god the dizzying warmth of his bare hands on your chest?
"Your Highness! There you are!"
The bubble ruptured, and you emerged gasping for air, fanning yourself with urgency. Thankfully, miss Edwina Sharma had either the requisite naivete not to notice, or the tasteful diplomacy not to mention, the fierce tension she had punctured.
"I am terribly sorry to spring up on you this way, but, ahem... I believe your aunt had promised me your first dance, do you remember? And, well..." She only noticed you then, and her eyes enlarged. "Are the two of you acquainted?"
"Only slightly."
"I know of her."
Neither reply embarrassed itself with courtesy, but Edwina still withheld any acknowledgment, much to your relief.
"I was only unaware that His Majesty was... eligible."
Edwina's quizzical glance swayed between both ends of the quarrel, but Friedrich could not tear his eyes away from you. You, shattered and powerless, but too proud to let any hint of devastation show, who calmly nodded to yourself when he did not answer.
So it had never been about the title, had it? What his family, what his entire country detested was not your lack of royal parentage. It was you. Down to your barest existence.
Had he intended to honor his pledge at all, when he had promised you infinity with his burning fingertips? To honor you, when you were both so certain you'd be wedded that you had let him worship you in the twilight?
"Forgive my absent-mindedness, miss Sharma. Shall you do me the honor?"
She took his arm. The brush of fabric against fabric hissed in your ear; white-hot stars veiled your vision, long enough for the pair to disappear on the dance floor, still too fleeting to soothe the pungent ache.
Seconds, minutes wafted past your sad little corner of the party, invisible teardrops cutting across your skin. The only indication time had not swallowed you whole was a blurry, outstretched hand waving before your eyes.
"Y/N? Lady Y/N, you're decidedly unwell. Do you wish to go home?"
Colin's concern shook you out of your lethargy, the colors of the dancing room falling back into place. Thankfully, your friend seemed too preoccupied with his lopsided handkerchief to notice the sob you gulped.
"You cannot imagine how lucky you are to have well-behaved siblings. Only my family would cause such a scandal at Lady Danbury's... and send me, of all people, to settle it! I hardly believe Benedict could not spare a second of his brooding to solve the conundrum. Are you quite alright?"
"Will you dance with me?"
Colin almost dropped the handkerchief.
"I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me right. We should dance. I insist."
"But—twice in a row? People will..."
He looked over his shoulder at an indefinite point beyond the waltzing crowd. Even among the faces and through the cigar smoke, Penelope's fiery red curls were unmistakable. To him, at least.
"I promise, mister Bridgerton, that if everything goes according to plan, miss Featherington shall have nothing to fear from me starting tonight."
If anything had ever swayed mister Colin Bridgerton, it surely was a lively dance with a good friend at an exhilarating party... and so you were anything but surprised when he offered you his arm and marched you back into the lion's den. Now all you had to do was find the lion and reason with him. Beg him, perhaps. Whatever demanded less courage.
Polite clapping from the outer edges of the dancefloor marked the end of the waltz. From the corner of your eye you sighted Edwina, a vision in coral and virtue—perhaps had you been the same on your debut, doe-eyed and devoted. Friedrich wore courteous interest well, and was as graceful in his steps as in his conversation; still, scathing darkness permeated his every move, crevices so deep only the crude shadows of laughter escaped them. Neither of them made the move to step off the floor. Mordant flames pranced over all the couples; understanding flickered in Colin's eyes, then something like compassion. Cellos picked up a fast tune, the go-ahead to a race. Like a single man, the pairs began their dance.
Never before had you been so grateful for Colin's apt dancing. He led you exactly where you needed to go, discrete enough not to break the meticulous formation, breezing past unsuspecting pairs. If you planted your heels in the ground hard enough, you might just convince yourself you were grounded enough for what was coming... until the violins trilled, Colin gave you away with a resolute nod, you spun with calculated precision, and found yourself face to face with your new partner.
Friedrich did not tremble when your paths crossed, but grazed your hand with an easy smile. Could he taste it, too? That thunder of sulfur rumbling in your throat?
"Miss Sharma is a marvelous young woman. You chose well."
"She is. Though I am afraid I did not have much say in the matter."
His voice was but a strained chord as you circled one another, his hand on your shoulder both a caress and a gash. So close and never enough. His suppliant eyes pulling and pulling you in…
You both snapped back at the same time. He twirled and you spun, back to back, and returned to your previous partners. Colin's raised eyebrow seemed to enjoy the parleys much more than you did.
"And here I thought there existed no man more obtuse than you…"
You missed Colin's snicker. The levity he brought disappeared when Friedrich's handsome frown replaced him once more. Acid bubbled in your chest again… until there was none, and a gaping hole in its place. Only remained the certainty you loved Friedrich. You loved him still. And you would long after the empires he battled crumbled.
Amidst the millions of questions he had incited, only one burned your tongue. You leaned in with the music, murmuring just below his jaw.
"Did you ever love me, Friedrich?"
The very air from his lungs halted.
"Or did you lie to me, like you are lying to her now?"
Not a sound escaped his open mouth, from lack of courage, or because the song came to an end just then. You bowed, a hand to your heart, and swallowed your spleen away. Then you were gone, speeding past a distraught Friedrich and a bewildered Edwina, out of the ballroom like the very walls were draining you out of your blood.
Your feet carried you a few meters beyond the door, until you collapsed against the railing, grabbing its cold metal with all your might. The winter drizzle stung your bowed head, like sharp pearls of rain; you couldn't even tell whether your tremors were the cold of the night or barely contained sobs. Below, the night flickered, blurry, like a jagged picture that the black horizon and the laughter from the party struggled to encompass.
Only the hurried footsteps behind you shook you out of your daze.
"Y/N. Please."
Gentle, as always. Soft and kind. The sheer utterance of your name carried hundreds of years of devotion. You turned around. How come the dimming light framing his face made him even more beautiful and aching?
"I cannot bear to see you like this. Even more so if it is my fault."
"And yet it is all I have been since you departed," you retorted, calling on the sky to give you any remnant of vigor. "Do you not understand? I loved you wholly and unconditionally like I shall never love another. I sacrificed my body and soul for a love so grand, and—and you relinquished it all overnight! You made me a wanton in Prussia and a pariah in England—you exiled me, Friedrich, for there is not a place on Earth I may walk where I am not reminded of you, yet I cannot loathe you. How could I, when you still hold my heart in captivity, and will forevermore?"
He took a step closer, a trembling hand on his heart. Though you furiously blinked away the tears, his shaky words only ignited more.
"I have been a coward and a scoundrel, and there is not a single day that goes by where I do not pray you may forgive me one day. But never have I been dishonest with you."
Another step. The moonlight sparkled, full of silent explosions.
"I loved you then, with all that a man possesses. I loved you still when the King commanded me back to Prussia and introduced me to every princess in Europe. I loved you, feverish and desperate, when my aunt insisted I pursue miss Edwina Sharma. And I love you, foolishly indeed, but no less ardently, now that I am back before you, pleading you will forgive me. Every waking hour, every second I breathe in the sunlight, and in every dream I have, I love you."
"What reason do I have to believe you now?" you cried, not realizing you had stepped forward yourself. Pulling and pulling you in…
"None, I fear. I should only like you to know... that I have suffered every day without you like a hundred of torture… yet seeing you again tonight, right here but so far, is more agony than I thought a man could endure. I realize now I have demanded far too great a sacrifice from you to expect to be loved selflessly in return… but should you want me again, I vow to love you as you deserve. Out in the open, like a firework and a medal to my chest."
Something within you rustled, then shattered, quietly, then all at once. As though the world had lilted, you fell forward, into his arms.
Friedrich caught you, steady and soothing, and his deep breathing and the fresh scent of his dampened collar rocked you with care. How vastly the universe had shifted in just a split second! How easy it all was, to be held and adored by him, like the last two years had been nothing but a bad dream you just woke up from…
"Your people hate me," you murmured through the torrent of your tears.
"They won't."
"Your father disapproves."
"He will learn."
"You will stay?"
"Forever."
Droplets caressed the crown of your hair, perhaps the timid rainshower, or your lost Prince as he kissed the top of your head. You sighed, and chuckled for no reason at all, until you heard his chest purr with undisguised mirth.
"Whatever is so funny?"
"Nothing. And everything, all at once. Forget it."
He did. He would have forgotten anything, with no qualms nor effort, neither fear nor doubt, blanketed by your body's graceful warmth.
Thousands of miles off the ground, a gentle moon smiled down on two fated lovers, forever locked in a forbidden embrace.
tagging; @softeninglooks @alexxavicry (all my writing) @retvenkos @noesapphic (bridgerton)
