The Empress
Chapters (68)
- Cover
- Dedication
- 1853
- PART I
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- 1854
- PART II
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Cover
Dedication
For my sisters, by blood and choice: RJ, Natalia, Sarah, and David
On the wild waves of the North Sea
Beloved,
You lay stretched out;
I have consumed you bit by bit,
Covered in salt and foam.
—THE DIARY OF DUCHESS ELISABETH OF BAVARIA
1853
1853
PART I
ONE
ELISABETH’S MOTHER WAS PANIC AND FURY, A WINDSTORM of skirts and schnapps, rampaging through the house loud enough to wake the dead.
“Sisi!”
Elisabeth hated that nickname, and her mother knew it. It was a child’s name—and her mother’s excuse to treat her like one.
“Sisi, where are you?” Mother’s voice was closer now.
Elisabeth was hiding behind an elegant sky-blue floor-to-ceiling curtain. The curtain matched the rich blues of the plush chairs in the sitting room where she was hiding, which in turn matched the rich walnut of the wood floor, which matched the richness of her mother’s tastes. The rest of the house was similar: baby-blue archways and doorways, jewel-toned bedcovers, warm wood floors laid with rugs, everything swirling with flowers or twining with vines.
Elisabeth’s eight-year-old sister, Spatz, slipped behind the curtain beside her, conspiratorial. Elisabeth wiggled her eyebrows at her tiny, wide-eyed sister and pressed a finger to her lips. But Spatz didn’t need to be told to be quiet. She knew the hide-from-Mother game well by now. They all did. Only Helene had recently become very serious and stopped playing.
The thought made Elisabeth’s eyes close involuntarily. Her sister had scolded her just yesterday that she needed to grow up. “You sound like our tutor,” Elisabeth had replied, unable to keep her disappointment from spilling out. Now Helene had given her the silent treatment for half a day.
“Si-si!” her mother shouted again, pronouncing each syllable of her name separately as if that would draw her out of hiding.
Elisabeth knew Mother wanted to do something with her hair. She could picture the next two hours of her life: Sit still, Sisi! Don’t fidget, Sisi! Let us yank your head in every direction and stab you with pins, Sisi! Even when she tried to do what her mother wanted, it was never enough. Every breath was a fidget. Every accidental wince a complaint. Elisabeth had tried—really tried—the last time a duke came calling about an engagement, but in the end, it still turned out the same: with her mother angry and the duke gone.
Today, she’d rather hide.