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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 heart, already lighter since finding Luzi’s hiding spot, lightened more still. She hadn’t realized how much the last months had worn at her. How long she’d been waiting for one of the women in her life to feel that sort of protective love. The kind that placed a necklace carefully around a neck. The kind that listened when she spoke. The kind that forgave. Elisabeth lost herself in the relief of having it from Sophie—even if only for a fleeting moment.

When Sophie was beckoned away by a servant, leaving Elisabeth in the so-called capable hands of Esterházy, Elisabeth felt the loss like an ache. And she missed her sister more than ever.

FORTY-SIX

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FRANZ’S CONCENTRATION HAD GONE TO HELL. ALL HE wanted was thirty minutes, fifteen—five even—alone with her. To breathe in her scent, press his face to her hair, feel her body warm and soft and strong against his. That almost-kiss, outside the carriage. He thought he might come apart with the wanting, with the tension of holding back. She’d said once that she wished he was a tailor, and oh, how he wished it for himself today. If he were a tailor, no one would be watching. No one would expect him to follow protocol. No one would have separated them for months. Months! The longing was pain and pleasure all rolled up together.

And now she’d been whisked away yet again. This time for dress fittings or some such thing. He pictured it in his mind’s eye: seamstresses unlacing Elisabeth’s dress, letting it fall from her body. Her naked. Her laced into another dress. Then naked again. His whole body flushed and straightened with the image.

He needed to be fully present for this meeting, this conversation about the fate of Habsburg. He forced himself to focus, to think of anything but Elisabeth. The purple marble columns, the sea-green walls, the long table set with a map of Europe and ringed by important men in uniform—and his mother standing seriously across from him.

“France and England have officially entered the war against Russia. The Russian army near Odessa has been under fire since yesterday,” one advisor said.

The news sank heavy into Franz’s heart. Every new move and countermove of their neighboring nations made the war harder to stay out of.

Echoing Franz’s own concerns, the advisor spoke again. “Your Majesty must take a side, or a side will be chosen for us.”