A/N: Belsiret over on tumblr requested some M-rated cardverse! The M-rating will come in later, I promise. Until then it is going to be abhorrently fluffy.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters associated with Hetalia.

Alfred was six years old when his father died. He was six and half when his mother followed after. The doctors said she had been struck by a terrible pneumonia and in the weakness of her grief at her husband's passing, she had been unable to fight the illness. But Alfred knew better. He knew the truth.

His mother, Virginia, the Queen of Spades, devoted wife of George, the King of Spades, had died of a broken heart. She had been sick with it long before his father died. Alfred may have only been six years old, but he understood that his father had not loved his mother. He understood that his brother, Matthew, was only his half brother, and that he was the son of the woman his father had truly loved. He understood that that had killed his mother, not pneumonia.

Alfred also understood that, someday, he would be king. Six years old, and he already had the weight of an entire court coming down upon his head. He would have to learn fast, grow quickly and become a king that his people could be proud of.

People, especially the Jack of Spades and current Regent, Yao Wang, said that Alfred looked just like his father. Alfred would often stare at the portrait of his father hanging in the throne room gallery, trying to decide if he agreed. While he had often seen his own face living and moving in the reflection of his mirror, Alfred had rarely seen his father while he was alive. Royal parenting was hands-off at best, and Alfred could recall being around King George less than a handful of times before he died. It was hard to tell from the mass of brush strokes and canvas whether or not Alfred was anything like his father at all aside from the dirty blonde hair and the wide blue eyes.

Alfred almost didn't want to be like his father. Everyone called him a great man and just King and a wise member of the Deck Council, but Alfred didn't understand how a man could be great or just or wise and not love his own wife. He told Yao this one day about a year after his parents' deaths while they sat in the garden. Alfred was supposed to be practising his penmanship but as usual his focus began to wander and he began to ask questions of his tutor.

"That is not the way it is, your Highness. Love is not a factor in unions such as what your esteemed parents had. To say your father was not a good King because he did not love his Queen is foolish. Romantic feelings should not bear any significance in the effectiveness of any monarch's leadership. Do you understand?" Yao corrected Alfred's grip on the calligraphy pen as he spoke, pushing at the young boy's hand until he began writing again.

"No. I don't get it. Aren't you supposed to marry someone you love? That's what all the fairy tales say. You go find a princess and you fall in love and you get married and everyone is happy. You can't really be a king until you do that, right?"

Yao sighed and patted Alfred's head. "I'm sorry your Highness, but real life simply does not work the way that fairy tales do. Those stories are sweet and comforting, I am sure, but they are just that. Stories only. Your Highness must think of marriage as a business partnership. It is for the good of the kingdom and to the benefit of the Deck Council to arrange a powerful match, but neither partner is under obligation to love the other. It is a legal agreement only."

Alfred pouted and accidentally stabbed the nib of his pen through the parchment. "Well that seems stupid. I don't want to have to marry someone I don't love. Common people don't have to, right? Why do they get a choice and I don't? Aren't I going to be King?"

Clucking his tongue and supplying Alfred with a new sheet of parchment, Yao rolled his eyes in frustration. "Your Highness doesn't get to do what common people do precisely because you are going to be King. There is a higher standard of conduct and expectation for royalty."

"That's not fair!" Alfred wailed despondently.

"The cards we are dealt rarely are. I'm sorry your Highness. Now, do you think you could focus on the task at hand? It is very important business for the Kingdom."

Alfred sniffled dramatically, but nodded his head.

Yao smiled gently at him and laid a letter next to the blank sheet of parchment. "I need you to copy this letter in your best handwriting and place your signature at the bottom. You are not King yet, but your name carries much weight and this letter is vital to your future."

"What is it about?" Alfred's previous dismay was put aside by his burning curiosity. Yao was going to let him write an official letter. This was serious business indeed.

Yao coughed awkwardly and looked away. "Well, you needn't worry about it yet. It's something that will impact the House of Spades years from now, so it would be best to wait until you're older for an explanation."

"If I can't know now, why am I doing it now?" Alfred whined, putting his chin in his hands with a frown.

"It is a time sensitive matter, your Highness. We must do it now, or lose the opportunity to benefit from the situation. Now, just copy the words as they are on the page. You can do it, your Highness."

Alfred tried to sound out the flowery words in his head, but he didn't understand most of it. There were big words like "illustrious" and "advantageous" and "betrothal", that even if he did manage to read them, they didn't mean anything to him. Concentrating fully now, Alfred began to copy the letter as neatly as he could, his tongue peeking out the side of his mouth from the effort. He wrote the first line and paused to admire how well he had done.

To the most noble family, Kirkland, of the House of Spades

Arthur Kirkland knew from an early age that he shouldn't expect much from life. He was the second-born of a wealthy nobleman and as such it would be his lot in life to support his older brother and serve him when he inherited the family title. That suited Arthur perfectly, to be quite frank. He could benefit from his family's prestige without having to do much to uphold it. While it did mean that he would never be independent and that his accomplishments would always be over shadowed by those of his brother, it also meant that he would have much more personal freedom. No one cared what the second-born was studying or liked to do. No one cared if the second-born got married and had fine children to continue the family bloodline. Arthur could live as he pleased provided that he stay out of everyone's way.

Currently he was practising his violin out by the pond in the garden. It was his favourite spot to escape to, both because of the quiet and the multitude of faeries that lived in the water and amongst the flowerbeds and trees. Arthur had always been able to see and speak to them. His mother had had the Gift when she was younger, but had grown out of it by the time she was a teenager. At twelve years old, Arthur's abilities seemed to be strengthening rapidly, but no one took much notice. The House of Spades was the most technologically advanced of the four Houses of the Deck Council, so Gifts such as Arthur's were not highly valued. It was seen as backwards to indulge such abilities, but Arthur couldn't bear the idea of parting with the lovely company of the spirits and beings to whom he had grown so attached.

Arthur laughed as he bowed the violin confidently, watching as a young water sprite twirled merrily across the surface of the pond, leaving the faintest of ripples in her wake. Several more faeries were singing nonsense lyrics in the weeping willow above him, improvising and elaborating on the tune Arthur was playing. He was just getting to the difficult portion of the song when he heard a shrill scream come from inside the house. Arthur bolted inside, terrified of the catastrophe he might find when he arrived.

Instead of a catastrophe he found his mother, and father in the parlour. His father was reading over a letter, the top half drooping from the weight of a large and very important looking wax seal while is mother wept in apparent joy.

"What's going on? Mother why did you scream?" Arthur grasped his mother's hands and led her to sit on one of the plush sofas. He didn't think it could be remotely healthy for his very pregnant mother to be in such hysterics.

Arthur's mother wiped the tears from her face, then kissed Arthur on both cheeks. "You wonderful boy! Today is your lucky day! Today is our lucky day!"

Bewildered, Arthur looked to his father for explanation, but he was still reading the letter, one hand rubbing his chin in deep consideration.

"Mother, what are you talking about? I don't understand."

Arthur's mother took several breaths to clam herself, smoothing the flyaway hairs at her temples and arranging her long golden braid over her shoulder. Still smiling, but much calmer, she reached out to stroke Arthur's cheek lovingly.

"We've had a letter from the King."

"We haven't got a King yet, mother. Isn't he still a baby?"

Arthur's mother made a face. "No. I mean, yes, he is young, but he's hardly a baby. He's eight years old now."

"Either way, he's still not actually the King yet." Arthur crossed his arms smartly.

"Fine. We've got a letter from the future King and his Regent, the Jack of Spades. Is that better?"

"Yes."

"Arthur, you aren't making this very easy." His mother was visibly less excited than before.

"Well, I wish you would just tell me what all the fuss is about instead of going on about some royal brat."

His mother gasped, her eyes flitting to Arthur's father and the letter. "Arthur Kirkland, mind how you speak! His Highness is to be your-"

"Elizabeth, be quiet!" Arthur's father interrupted her, his tone harsh. Arthur rarely heard his father speak like that to anyone, let alone his own wife.

Arthur's father turned toward him and looked him straight in the eye. "You know your place in this family, don't you Arthur?" Arthur nodded solemnly. "You understand that as the second-born, there are very few opportunities for advancement that I or anyone else can secure for you?" Another nod. "Good. Then I expect complete obedience on this matter. You have been given high praise, boy, higher than this family could have ever expected and you are to accept his Highness' offer without question." Arthur's father handed him the letter. "Read it."

As Arthur's eyes scanned the page, he felt panic begin to rise in his chest. He had to read the letter over twice, willing himself to slow down the second time, just to be sure that he had understood. Eyes now pricking with tears, Arthur looked desperately at his father.

"What? Why me?"

"Our family is very powerful, Arthur. It is smart match, if I may say so."

"Surely there must be someone else? Someone from another noble family? I'm so much older than he is!" Arthur didn't even bother to stop the hot tears from spilling over and running down his cheeks.

"Come now, love, this is hardly something to cry over!" His mother took the letter from between his shaking fingers, folding it neatly and setting it next to her on the sofa as if to protect it from water damage. "Four years isn't old at all! Your father is seven years older than I am. It will all work out fine, you'll see."

Collapsing to his knees, Arthur shamelessly laid his head in his mother's lap and continued his weeping. "If four years isn't a big difference then why aren't they asking for Andrew?"

Fingers combed soothingly through his hair, but Arthur remained miserable. "Don't be daft, Arthur. Andrew is still a toddler. You should be flattered that you were asked for personally."

"Well I'm not! It's not fair."

"The cards we are dealt rarely are," his father said sternly.

"I don't care! I don't want to marry Alfred and I don't want to be Queen!"

Arthur felt himself being yanked back to his feet by fingers gripping the front of his shirt. He was face to face with his enraged father, and the scare of being handled so roughly only made Arthur more hysterical.

"You promised your obedience! You do not get a choice in this matter! This is a great honour for you and for this family and I will not have you destroy it with your selfishness, Arthur. Now. You will compose yourself. You will come to my study when you have done so, and I will instruct you in writing a reply to his Highness. Then you will begin to pack your things. His Highness has requested that if you find the match agreeable, you will move into the palace in a week's time. You find the match agreeable, Arthur. Do we have an understanding?"

"Henry!" Arthur felt himself being pulled back into his mother's embrace. "There's no need to be so harsh with him. I'm as grateful as you are, but this has obviously come as quite a shock to the poor boy."

"No, mother, it's fine!" Arthur took a deep breath and wiped the itchy tears from his cheeks. "I understand." All life had gone from his voice and he felt an eery calm spread throughout his body.

"Good. Come along, now."

The rest of the afternoon passed by in a blur. As Arthur laid in bed that night, he could hardly recall any of what had happened after the hysteria in the parlour. He vaguely remembered writing out a letter and signing his name shakily at the bottom, but he couldn't remember any of what the letter had actually said. He'd sat morosely at dinner, pushing his food around his plate to disguise the fact that he couldn't eat with the way his stomach was twisting in knots. He could just barely recall the servants being ordered to launder all his best clothing and begin packing it into trunks with sweet smelling herbs. His older brother's congratulations seemed like misty and incomprehensible things now that he was alone in the dark of his bedroom.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," Arthur said softly to himself, fresh tears welling up.

A faint flickering outside his window alerted Arthur to the presence of one of the garden faeries. She tapped a tiny fist on the glass, her gossamer pink dress of spider silk and flower petals bobbing gently as she fluttered. Normally, Arthur would have let her in and she would have curled up next to him on the pillow, telling him secrets and kissing the tip of his nose.

But tonight, nothing felt normal and Arthur rolled over and drew the covers up over his head, screwing his eyes shut, unwilling to shed one more tear over someone he could never love.

A/N: This story will probably be between three and five chapters. There isn't going to be much politics involved; it's basically a romance story.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!