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Back The Empress Save as PDF
Chapters (68)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1853
  4. PART I
  5. ONE
  6. TWO
  7. THREE
  8. FOUR
  9. FIVE
  10. SIX
  11. SEVEN
  12. EIGHT
  13. NINE
  14. TEN
  15. ELEVEN
  16. TWELVE
  17. THIRTEEN
  18. FOURTEEN
  19. FIFTEEN
  20. SIXTEEN
  21. SEVENTEEN
  22. EIGHTEEN
  23. NINETEEN
  24. TWENTY
  25. TWENTY-ONE
  26. TWENTY-TWO
  27. TWENTY-THREE
  28. TWENTY-FOUR
  29. TWENTY-FIVE
  30. TWENTY-SIX
  31. TWENTY-SEVEN
  32. TWENTY-EIGHT
  33. TWENTY-NINE
  34. THIRTY
  35. THIRTY-ONE
  36. THIRTY-TWO
  37. THIRTY-THREE
  38. THIRTY-FOUR
  39. THIRTY-FIVE
  40. THIRTY-SIX
  41. 1854
  42. PART II
  43. THIRTY-SEVEN
  44. THIRTY-EIGHT
  45. THIRTY-NINE
  46. FORTY
  47. FORTY-ONE
  48. FORTY-TWO
  49. FORTY-THREE
  50. FORTY-FOUR
  51. FORTY-FIVE
  52. FORTY-SIX
  53. FORTY-SEVEN
  54. FORTY-EIGHT
  55. FORTY-NINE
  56. FIFTY
  57. FIFTY-ONE
  58. FIFTY-TWO
  59. FIFTY-THREE
  60. FIFTY-FOUR
  61. FIFTY-FIVE
  62. FIFTY-SIX
  63. FIFTY-SEVEN
  64. FIFTY-EIGHT
  65. FIFTY-NINE
  66. SIXTY
  67. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  68. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Elisabeth’s skin went cold, and her hands began to shake. Puck had been her horse, her friend, her comfort for more than ten years.

“I can’t,” she whispered.

“You caused the damage; you pay the price.”

Her father was so good at blame. Never mind his own flaws. Elisabeth bit the inside of her cheek.

“Puck isn’t damaged goods to be thrown out. He’s my friend.” She knew what her father would say, but Puck was worth fighting for. Even fighting a losing battle.

“He’s a horse, Elisabeth. Not a person. And you shouldn’t have even been out here.” He took the gun back, aiming it at Puck. Her poor, precious, wild, free Puck.

Elisabeth grabbed the barrel. “No, wait. It will heal. I know it.” It was a hopeless plea, but still she made it. If she said it out loud, maybe there was some small chance that Father would believe her. Or just forget long enough to let Puck live out his life in a cozy pen eating apples out of Elisabeth’s hands.

Father stood firm, his expression unmoved, and Elisabeth’s breath wound tight in her chest, stealing her words. Time seemed to narrow in on itself, slowing, quieting. The birds went silent, the breeze stopped—even nature taking a moment of silence for her dear, sweet Puck.

She went to Puck one last time, pressed her hands to his soft face, then pressed her cheek to the top of his nose. She willed him to read her thoughts. I’m sorry, Puck. I’ll miss you.

“Move, Elisabeth,” came the words behind her.

So she did. And then she wept.

FOUR

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IT WAS A GOOD THING THE HABSBURG UNIFORM WAS stiff as a tank, because Franz was shaking like a leaf inside it. He hated that he couldn’t stop. His only hope for composure was that no one else noticed. The collar on his shirt rubbed roughly against the scar on his neck—a constant reminder, but at least it was covered. He wouldn’t let those bastards see the marks their cause had left on him: the scar nor the shaking.

Franz was standing in his room, surrounded by an army of slick-haired, white-gloved servants who had spent fifteen whole minutes sealing him into his monstrous uniform. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his reflection—elegant, regal—in the gold-rimmed mirror to his left. But the room around him felt as stiff as the uniform today: the wallpaper drab, the rich umber of the heavy curtains unyielding. It was amazing how a room could reflect his own mood back at him.