“You want to attack, not defend,” Franz replied. Did they really not see the difference?

“I recommend waiting.” A moderate man held up a hand. “The situation is still too confused, the right course of action unclear.”

And then, Maxi’s voice broke in, tinged with a disdainful sort of laughter. “Confused? Please.” He stood from where he’d been lounging, his navy coat unbuttoned over a blue-and-white vest with a lavender-gray neck bow. With everyone else in uniform, he stood out in exactly the sort of way he loved most.

Everyone went quiet as Maxi simplified the situation with a smattering of fruit on the map they’d all been poring over. Figs were French ships, strawberries British steamers, grapes the Russian infantry, each placed strategically. Maxi tossed a grape into the air and caught it in his mouth, smacking loudly. Ever a showman, never with a conviction about what was right.

“As you can see, the tsar will be destroyed with or without us.” He motioned to the map. “So, we should look to the West. We could learn something from the French and the English.”

Sophie stepped in, then, her voice silencing even Maxi. “We shouldn’t go against Tsar Nicholas. Our alliance with the Russians safeguards our position in Europe. We must stand against the West.”

Everyone turned to Franz: tiebreaker between mother and brother. And yet—not. Because Franz was not going to enter this war. He summoned Elisabeth’s conviction. “Getting involved on either side is a waste of money and—more importantly—lives. I have bigger plans for Habsburg.”

After a long pause, one of the generals raised a hopeful hand. “I implore you to reconsider, Your Majesty. The envoys from Paris and Saint Petersburg are here for the wedding. They want to know which side Habsburg will take.”

“You have my answer.” Franz stood firm and then dismissed them all. He wondered what Elisabeth’s expression would be when he told her what he’d done. He’d already faced off with his mother about his marriage, and his heart was lighter for it. Now came a greater test: the fight to keep them all out of an unnecessary war.

Von Bach waited outside the room and followed Franz as he left, the clip of their footsteps on the tile floor echoing off burnt orange walls and marble side tables.

“I fear your mother hates me,” Von Bach said.

Franz almost laughed. “Don’t worry about it. You’re one of many.”

“When should we tell the cabinet and archduchess about your plans?”

Franz felt the familiar push-pull of excitement and dread. Dread because there was still so much standing in his way. Still ways the war might force itself upon him. But excitement because if he could pull it off, the railroad would change everything.