The gallery was bright with the curtains all open, and it was exceptional for seeing the color in all the paintings. Saxony knew he was overly proud of his collection, but he had created many of the pieces himself and been exacting in collecting others. They were by the great masters and he knew how to judge a piece of work. 

Perhaps it was self-indulgent to maintain his own expensive collection when there was such significant economic stress in the country. But he had lived through so many changes of time, and he knew that it would pass eventually. Art was eternal, and it would continue whether the economy was blooming or floundering. 

Saxony was standing in the gallery looking at a particularly striking seascape. It was not the most technically perfect, but that did not matter. It was off the coast of Gdansk, and the connection to his dear husband was enough to make it one of the more precious pieces in his collection. 

He heard the sound of footsteps on the marble. Footsteps he was very much expecting. He turned to see Poland walking across the gallery. He looked well, very well. For a man who had been at the center of a war, he looked remarkably good. He was handsome and fit as ever, as though the war had barely left a mark on him.

 Poland only stopped when he was right next to him. He looked at the painting and said, “I know this view.” 

Saxony heard the warmth in his voice, like the view gave him nostalgia. Poland said, with the smirk turning the corner of his mouth, “And I think I also know the artist.” 

He gave Saxony a knowing glance that made it very clear what he meant. Saxony smiled back as he said, “I am sure that you do.” 

There was something about seeing Poland in the warm sunlight that always made his heart race. It was like looking at an angel, as snide and self-centered and flawed as that angel could be. If he had a camera, he would capture the sight so that he could always look at it. But he also found photography to be more vulgar than a painting, so it was better without. 

He saw the way that Poland rolled his eyes before he said, “It is not that at all. Your work is all beautiful. I know because you have a signature; I can see how much love goes into your work.” 

Apparently oblivious to Saxony staring, Poland said, “I think I am standing right next to him.” Saxony was certainly flattered that his old lover could recognize his art so easily.

He felt a modest warmth in his cheeks as he answered, “I’m sure you can tell because it is not as masterful as the others.” 

Saxony found himself shocked that the man was putting it so clearly. He had accepted long ago that not being aware of other’s feelings was one of Poland’s faults. He had no desire to question the newfound awareness. 

Instead, he said, “Do you want to see the paintings you came here for?” 

He meant the room that was exclusively for the pieces he painted when they were married. He had saved as many of them before the partition as he could and had been safeguarding them for more than a century from any hungry Great Power that may want to steal them. 

He had never been entirely sure if it was because of a selfish desire to maintain his own art or a certainty that Poland would be independent again. He would love to say that it was all in the spirit of love, but he was aware of how attached he was to the canvases that he labored on. 

Poland gave him a small flirtatious smile and said, “I came to see you.” 

It was shockingly sincere and Saxony was not sure what to say back. Though Poland could be easily affectionate, he was not usually so vocal about it. Saxony couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that Poland must want something from him and was slowly easing him into it. 

Poland continued, “I didn’t send you letters during the war just because I wanted some paintings back.” 

It was true that he had sent letter after letter. The first one had arrived, much to Saxony’s surprise, a week after Russia had entered the war. He glanced at Poland and tried to read his expression. His eyes had the usual shine of cunning, but there was some sincere affection as well. The letters had been the same; they were long accounts of Poland’s ambitions to regain his independence and to have all of his lands back. Those ambitions lay bare had been an act of enormous trust and intimacy. 

Saxony had seen the deeply determined man that he had fallen in love with years ago in those words. He said, “I was surprised that you were able to send them at all. Tsarist agents don’t take kindly to sending letters to Germany.”

Poland scoffed with all his usual aristocratic charm. He answered, “Tsarist agents? Fools. You underestimate me, my dear, if you think that I cannot get a letter past them.” 

He looked every inch the fox that Saxony knew him to be. He smiled at the thought that none of Russia’s dominion had erased what made Poland so charming.

Poland continued to speak, “My compatriots did tell me not to send letters to an agent of the Kaiser. But they don’t know you like I do. I know you didn’t willingly join Gilbert’s empire.”

With that he touched Saxony’s face softly and said, “You would never.”

Saxony answered, “It was at the tip of a Prussian bayonet. When Dresden fell, I had no choice. Gilbert-“

Poland put a finger to his lips and said, “I know, darling. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I understand compromising to survive.”

Saxony wanted to kiss him so badly, but he decided it was better to stay on topic. If he kissed him, he knew he would not stop, and the paintings would be utterly forgotten. He could see the way that Poland was staring at his lips as he said, “You do still want your paintings, don’t you?” 

The other man was still staring fixedly at his lips as he answered, “I want back everything that was once mine.” 

Saxony caved and allowed himself to lean down enough to equalize their height difference. Poland did the rest. The touch of his lips was hungry, like he had been starving. Saxony had not imagined how badly he had been missing the feeling. He felt himself whine slightly as Poland ran a hand over his face.

If not for the art, he would have gladly let himself continue. He pulled away and said, “Let me show you what I’ve kept.” 

Poland bit his lower lip and nodded. Saxony knew Poland had not wanted to stop, but there was at least one matter he wanted to get sorted. 

He led Poland to another room of the gallery. It was full of portraits of Poland and a couple that included Lithuania. Saxony knew how he looked, but he had been caught by a muse and the utter fascination had not let him go. He had even finalized many of his sketches after the partition. It had felt like a labor of love to reproduce the man’s face even while they were separated.

Poland looked at him for a moment and then said, “I want you to paint me again.” Saxony had guessed that Poland wanted something from him, and he was glad that it was just a portrait. He would gladly take the chance to paint the man who was always in his mind.

Poland looked around and whistled, “These have multiplied since I last saw them.”

Saxony answered, “I missed you, so I painted you.” 

He asked, “A portrait to celebrate your independence? Perhaps in uniform?” He could already see it in his mind’s eyes, the handsome victorious soldier with a general’s star. 

Poland looked so glad to hear it. He said, “I knew you’d understand. That sounds absolutely perfect.” 

He put his hand on Saxony’s face again like a reward for understanding him so well. Saxony chuckled and said, “You will have to remember that the first rule of sitting for a portrait is that you can’t touch the painter.”

Poland had never been enthusiastic about the transition of leadership, because this election of a king had been complicated. The result was disquieting because it would force him into a crown union and he was not excited about the prospect of getting married again. Marriage was not the ease he had hoped for, and he had been married to Lithuania long enough to know that it would be difficult.

As he stood in his own bedroom, he contemplated whether this was bound for disaster. From what he knew, his intended was a German, and that was disquieting in itself. He thought of the handful of times he had met his Western neighbors.

The first one who came to mind was Prussia, who had once been an upstart order of knights under Polish protection. The days had been good when he had been powerful and the little Teuton had been an annoyance.

But, that was not who he was about to meet, not the man he was about to marry. He remembered meeting Saxony when he had been the Electorate of Saxony, and that had been relatively brief. They had also met a few times at the border, but that had also not yielded much. What he remembered was that Saxony had been a quiet boy with lanky limbs and messy blonde hair.

There had been some noise a century or two ago about him protecting Martin Luther, which Poland had been dwelling on the night before. It was hard to think that he was about to marry a man who had made it possible for heresy to spread through Europe.

He had been assured that the king had already converted and convinced the personification of his kingdom to do the same. But, that did not mean that Saxony had renounced his Lutheran faith, which would make the bonds of matrimony complicated.

There was little choice left in the matter. The election was over and it was decided. The new king was going to be crowned in a few days, and that would seal their crown union.

Poland let out one more sigh before walking out to find the man he was going to marry. He made his way to the audience chamber, where he expected Saxony to be, hopefully waiting impatiently for him.

It would bring him a bit of joy to know that someone was waiting for his presence. But, to his surprise, when he walked into the room, there was no one staring at the door, waiting for him to appear. For a moment, he thought that there was no one waiting for him at all, which gave him the curious feeling that he had been left at the altar.

That only until he noticed the tall blonde man who was kneeling next to one of the paintings. He had not even looked up when Poland had entered the room. Poland could already feel the pout forming on lips. He did not like being ignored.

He took several angry steps to where Saxony was kneeling, fully intent on giving him a piece of his mind. He cleared his throat to get the German man’s attention, while tapping his foot against the floor.

There were many things in his mind that he could say as reproach. Saxony straightened up slowly, which made it abundantly clear that his limbs were now perfectly proportioned, not like they had been when when he was a child.

Saxony then swept the curtain of silky blonde hair that was between them over his shoulder. Every word Poland had intended to say evaporated from his mind. The only thought that he could express with any coherence was: My god, his eyes are so blue.

Saxony said something, but Poland was too busy contemplating the gorgeous slope of his cheekbones to even register a word of it. It took a moment for him to realize that anything had ever been said. His cheeks were burning at the thought that this man was going to marry him in a few days.

Saxony repeated himself, “You have beautiful paintings. I was looking at the brushwork.” Poland nodded like he had been listening at all. Then, trying to regain something of his composure, Poland said, “I want to speak to you about the wedding.” Saxony smirked and said, “That is a fine excuse to get me alone. But, I would be happy to.”

The days passed in long conversations, where Saxony soothed every worry he had about this union. He also spent the time getting acquainted with his new king, who Saxony had already told him was an indulgent man with strong appetites of many kinds. The stories of him bending horseshoes with his bare hands seemed far fetched, but Saxony assured him that it was true.

There was nothing that really made him objectionable, and the nobles had accepted him, so nothing was going to stop this union now.

Saxony had a fascinating habit of walking around the castle and spending hours in front of certain paintings if no one stopped him. Poland had walked in on him fixedly looking at a piece of art, and he had learned that not interrupting him was the better option. It meant being able to watch his charming fascination.

He was eccentric, but also impossible to look away from. Poland found himself more enamored with his fiancé day by day, as he noticed little habits like the fact that Saxony seemed to always wake early to watch the sunrise with a sketchbook in hand. Or the look he always had on his face like there was a secret joke that he would never share. Or that he would smile whenever their eyes met. It made the days until the ceremony unbearably long.

The wedding came and went in a flurry of velvet and ermine. The ceremony was quiet, but intimate. They traded rings in a Wawel Cathedral, and Poland tried not to get distracted by how good Saxony looked in dark green velvet and gold. In the light coming through the windows, he looked almost ethereal. Poland put his ring on the opposite hand from the one on which he wore the ring from Lithuania. Then Saxony swept him, with very little ceremony, into the bedroom.

Poland was laying on Saxony’s chest, looking at the ring that was on his finger. It might be heavy and a bit uncomfortable in the moment, but he knew that it would all be routine in time. He ran his hand through the other man’s long blonde hair, and smiled to himself.

Saxony said, a light chuckle in his voice, “Do you still have your doubts about this marriage?”

Poland looked at him, and knew the answer immediately. He wound a piece of Saxony’s hair around his finger, marveling at how soft it was, and he said, “Not anymore. And you get to be married to me, you lucky man.”

Poland felt a hand softly stroking his hair. He could melt into the feeling of that soft touch. Saxony replied with a look on his face like he found the world amusing, “Judging by the way you blushed when I first got here, you are the lucky ones.”

Poland felt himself blush furiously scarlet. He had hoped that Saxony had forgotten the awkwardness of that first meeting. He said, attempting an explanation, “You are very handsome.”

Saxony leaned forward, implying what he wanted, and Poland was glad to give it. Their lips touched and it felt so sweet. When he pulled away, Saxony said, “You are very handsome too, Felix. I can’t wait to take you to Dresden. You will see how beautiful my city is.”

Poland was already imagining the future, the years that they would be able to spend together. Of course, he already had one husband from a similar political agreement, but there was no reason he could not have both.

He voiced his thoughts, “And I can’t wait for you to meet Toris. We will all get together so wonderfully.” Saxony chuckled again before he said, “You want me to meet your other husband? You Catholics will never stop puzzling me.”

Poland heard the implicit answer to one of his concerns, but he did not care in the moment. He was too comfortable to take the comment too seriously. Instead, he said, “You’re one of us now, since you converted. I hope you are looking forward to it.”

- Augustus II (better known as Augustus the Strong) the elector of Saxony was elected King of Poland-Lithuania for the first time in 1697. He converted from Lutheranism to Catholicism to take the crown.

- The bond between Saxony and Poland was severed a couple years later by the Swedish invasion of both kingdoms during the Great Northern War, which forced Poland to accept a different Swedish-backed monarch.

- After Russia’s defeat of the Swedes at the Battle of Poltava in 1709, Augustus returned to Poland and ruled the Commonwealth until his death.

- He was followed by Augustus III, who also served as both King of Poland-Lithuania and Elector of Saxony. The Saxon connection was again severed by the partition of Poland.

- During the Napoleonic Wars, Saxony changed sides after the defeat of the Prussians at Jena. It then remained a French ally until the defeat of Napoleon.

-Poland was briefly returned to the European map as the Duchy of Warsaw after the Treaty of Tilsit, which stripped Prussia of its gains from the partition. This new Duchy was a personal union with the Kingdom of Saxony, with Friedrich Augustus I as the new Duke of Warsaw.