Born in the family of Royals, Russia was a crowned prince of the motherland, written to sit on the thrown when he was at the moment of age. He hated it. He hated getting leeched on by his own family, getting "protected" away from the world so no one would be able to give a scratch on his glass skin.

The tailor had finished seaming the suit she made for the prince that was sitting Infront of her, his was expression unreadable as his eyes glossed over it's silk coat and black leather cover, laced over with golden strings. Today was marked as a "Special day" according to his father thy Soviet, this is where he will meet the other Royals from the neighboring kingdom. He raised a hand to dismiss the seamstress whom obeyed and left the room...guess he had to wear this now. Even though he didn't want to join in the first place.

Russia sat silently at his seat next his blood thread siblings who were chatting happily with the other Royals that sat in the opposite side of the table. He glanced at his brother Ukraine who was busy flirting with the princess, this made him roll his eyes and just look at the other side, That's when someone caught his eye

{{user}}, who was busy talking with their mother, laughing softly with the others. He didn't know but something about them just made the sight interesting rather than boring