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Back The Empress
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

None of that mattered.

Elisabeth had chosen her path and the boyish grin on Franz’s face settled her heart. She had found her great love, and she’d fight for it if necessary.

FORTY-FOUR

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HELENE’S HEART WAS A FORTRESS, HURT LOCKED UP inside, anger standing sentry.

She’d watched through the carriage window as Sisi flew from her own carriage and into Franz’s arms. He stopped her from kissing him—a scandal—but they held hands until the last possible second, fingers still reaching for each other even as they stepped away. It made Helene feel exposed, rubbed raw. Her resentment burned brighter.

Her very bones ached with the failure of it, watching how easily love had come to them and not her. Thinking about how hard she’d tried and how little it mattered. How deep the betrayal had cut. She could feel everyone staring at her as she stepped from her own carriage. She straightened her spine, steeled her eyes. Stare all you want, she dared them all silently. Your uncharitable thoughts can’t break through.

Mother emerged behind her, and Sophie embraced her warmly. “Sister, so good to see you.” That made Helene angry too. Mother had Sophie; Sisi had Franz. Who would be happy to see Helene? No one. Helene had gone from hopeful to invisible in the space of a single day. She wished, not for the first time, that Mother had let her stay home.

After their greetings, Sophie—every inch as regal as Helene remembered—led her, Sisi, and their mother briskly through the palace. Sophie’s necklace chimed as she walked: five golden orbs hanging from black cord. The kind of necklace Helene had hoped to own and now never would.

Papa had wandered vaguely toward a fountain with Spatz in tow, and a servant was dispatched to bring them along whenever they were ready. Now the women’s footsteps echoed through the marble hallways. Life-size stone cherub statues held up large golden lamps, intricate and frozen in motion, so real that Helene felt they might reach out and touch her.

They made her want to break something.

This could have been her home. She could have belonged to the high ceilings, the lemon-cream columns, the intricate purple marble doorway, the swirling, intertwining lines of relief sculpture at the base of each column. She’d have commanded the endless halls, the wood-trimmed rooms beyond whimsically painted doors in blues and pinks and greens.

Helene barely heard the conversation ahead of her. Sophie was instructing Sisi already. Something about a glass carriage, a church, a waltz. Sisi would hate all of it: A glass carriage drawing every eye to her. A ceremony in front of hundreds of noblemen and dukes and countesses. Formal waltzes where she’d be required to—crime of all crimes—wear shoes.