Yay, Spain/Austria-ish :D got some of the history mixed up, here. Their divorce was in 1700, not...during the Austrian War of Succession.
As usual, I don't own the characters or the series, and I most surely don't own the history.
He hadn't expected to feel so betrayed the day Spain declared war on him. Really, he wasn't all that fond of the man, he couldn't have been. It was just another arranged marriage, a move made to ensure the livelihood of his existence, nothing more. They hadn't spent much time together, they argued often over the custody of North and South Italy…it wasn't a happy marriage, but it was a long one.
Austria stared at his ring, nestled sweetly on his finger. He had been pleasantly surprised when Spain had given it to him so long ago…it was a gorgeous ring, it truly was, and he flashed it more often than most of his other accessories. But…no, it was a meaningless, worthless ring. It wasn't required; it wasn't necessary. It was simple to conclude that Spain had only presented it to him in order to gain his favor…of course. That was the reason. There was nothing more to it.
He moved to remove the ring, but as he began to tug it off, a heartstring was yanked along with it. Perhaps…perhaps it would be better to keep it on. He had become accustomed to it being there; after all, what kind of emptiness would it leave him to quit wearing it so suddenly? It would be a missing piece of nonsense; it wouldn't matter. It shouldn't, it couldn't.
As Austria stared at it, admiring the way it glimmered in the dying sun, he found it incredibly bothersome that it did, in fact, matter.
With an angry huff, he turned away from the source of sunlight, his coat flipping behind him. He was expecting company, soon, that of England. The nights he had spent agonizing over Spain's involvement over the claims to Maria Theresa's throne were doomed to be pushed from his mind, the betrayal had to be ignored. It was to be expected…it was a loveless marriage. He should have expected this outcome, that Spain would do what benefited him, rather than the ties that bound them. Yes…to be expected.
England was quick to denounce France and claim offensive rights to go to battle with him, much to Austria's annoyance. He hadn't wanted an ally, but was forced to make nice with an island nation he was never particularly fond of. But, in the event that a naval battle was to be necessary, it was best to have him on his side. Austria had seen what England's fleet could do, how it could rack and rattle the mind of a nation in his Golden Age, how it could destroy a man from the inside out. He had experienced first hand the terror of a broken pride, a destroyed passion.
He cleared his throat pointedly, interrupting whatever the shorter nation was going on regarding his plan to "beat that bloody frog bastard." England, displeased but more than polite to shut his mouth, nodded and settled back into his chair. Austria stood, pacing away from the table, away from his "ally."
"Pardon my being frank, but this isn't your war." he said sternly, cupping his hands together behind his back. England perked when he had done that, staring intently in the general area of Austria's left hip. "While it isn't my place to offer my say in the relationship you have with France, I would prefer it if you—"
"A ring, Austria?"
Austria froze, stiffening every muscle in his body. "P-pardon?"
England cocked his head curiously; of course he had seen it, with that greedy gaze of his. "On your finger. That's a marriage band, is it not?"
"It doesn't matter."
"That's utter nonsense if it is what I think it is."
"I'll repeat myself once, it doesn't matt—"
"You realize Spain has turned his back on you, correct? He's quite involved with the frog and Prussia, if you haven't been informed."
Austria flushed red in the face, straightened his arms out by his sides, fists clenched, and turned crisply to walk away. "I-I have absolutely no time for this!"
He had barely reached the door when England called to him. "We have to settle this, Austria, before we even consider attacking! I don't want you pulling out because of some…attachment."
Austria turned on England holding his left hand behind him. "I have absolutely no attachments to that moron! The ring is a piece of meaningless jewelry, that is all!"
"Now, now, I doubt that. Come, sit down and we'll talk."
But the aristocrat stood planted in his spot. "I refuse. He's obviously made up his mind about where we were going, if anywhere at all." He put his hand on the door's handle. "There is nothing to talk about." he spat before leaving the room with a slam of the large, heavy doors.
"Mr. Austria, are you in there?"
Austria rubbed his eyes, put on his glasses and said much harsher than intended, "I don't wish to be bothered right now."
For a moment, the gentle knocking ceased, but was only replaced by the creaking of the door opening, then by hesitant footsteps entering the room.
"I said--!"
"Ve! I-I'm sorry, Mr. Austria!"
Austria looked up to see Italy, wearing the male clothing he had been donned with recently, and slumped forward, rubbing his temples. "Oh, it's just you."
Italy wrung his hands together, nodding frantically. "Ve…it's just me. I heard something weird from your room and…"
"And you were worried."
"Yes!"
Austria looked up at him, sighed, and made no hint at moving. With the lack of sun from his windows, his red face was well hidden by the shadows. "As you can see, I'm perfectly fine. Go do your chores before I have you do Hungary's portion, as well."
Italy pouted and shifted in his spot. "Ve…Mr. Austria, did you love Spain?"
"Excuse me?"
"Big brother Spain!"
"I know perfectly well which idiot you're speaking of, my question was what in heaven's name are you asking me?"
By this point Austria had stood up, hovering over Italy with much intent to intimidate, and intimidate he did. Italy, by simple nature, cowered, tears popping from the corners of his eyes. "V-ve, it was nothing! I-I'll leave!"
As Italy began the retreat, one of many, Austria grabbed his arm roughly, pulling him back and forcing brown eyes to meet violet. "Once upon a time, it was perfectly acceptable to believe fairy tales," he stated, making sure Italy was aiming that teary gaze at him. "Now, they are nothing but irrefutable, treacherous nonsense."
He shoved Italy away, turning back to return to his bed. "Those floors won't clean themselves, Italy. And care that you remember what I've said."
Italy nodded and quickly left the room, not bothering to close the door completely in his panic, leaving Austria to stare at the wall, at a spot that held no more importance than it did now. He stared until he was positive that Italy had gone far away, and then he proceeded to sink to his knees, slumped over his mattress, face in his arms.
It was, really, quite bothersome that this entire ordeal mattered so much to him.