w. charles delacroix, prince of france // @dxlacroix
when frederick was told he was to marry an english princess for an alliance to bring peace, there was little he knew about the deal he was getting himself into. to begin with, he wasn’t the one supposed to marry rosalind: the agreement was for her to marry the crown prince of austria who, at the time, was his older brother, who was still alive. with the oldest baeder’s death, a lot had fallen on the man’s hands—a marriage, a crown and people to rule, advisors to put him on line, to make him a king and not the soldier he had became. with the crown prince’s death, frederick ended up in this family, brother-in-law to the english king, who is married to an french princess, who was the sister of no one else than charles delacroix.
it is like life has played him, to bring him at the point of having to meet the same man who he confronted several times in the course of the past eight years, who injured him and who he had injured just as well, both always meeting in battles between austria and france, both princes and second sons and just a war to fight. to make things even worse (on frederick’s point of view), he’s known how his wife was betrothed to this man for the longest time, knowing him since childhood and, to say the least, he dislikes all this dearly. “oh, we’ve met. several times... right, your grace?” he says with a light and forced smile, trying to keep calm.