Of course, it would be only the second time he’d done something without his mother’s involvement. It felt somehow both wrong and daring to keep her out of it, but he didn’t want anyone—especially her—to shatter his dream. Now she and the cabinet were pressuring him to take a side: Napoleon or the Russians. They’d see the railroad as a distraction. He’d defend his plans when the time came, but he wanted to wait until it was ready first—everything in place, no piece of the plan unfinished and open to critique. He’d engage his experts, map the routes, and then share his plans with his mother and advisors.

Franz stopped, faced Von Bach. “We tell them when everything is perfect.”

And after he’d told Elisabeth. He wanted to tell her first, to see how she’d react. He wanted her to know she had inspired the whole thing. He wanted to tell her before anyone else.

Von Bach nodded, turned to go. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

Franz was back in his sitting room, at his desk, when a knock sounded on the door: Franz’s next meeting, and one he wasn’t looking forward to. The excitement of his earlier railroad conversation had been fully replaced by the preemptive anger of this one.

Theo ushered Maxi into the room, hands in his pockets. Cool. Casual as ever. A sharp contrast to the formality of the room itself—decorated with the busts of historic men, the golden crests of centuries-old lineages.

“Brother.” Maxi stepped to the desk where Franz was sitting, elbows propped against dark wood, fingers steepled. “You wanted to see me?”

“Maxi.” Franz steeled himself for what was coming next, leaned back, and let the disapproval in his heart show fully on his face. “Are you taking your role at court seriously?”

“What does that mean?” Maxi narrowed his eyes, irritation bleeding through the casual facade. “I’ve been your advisor for months. Though I know you only have ears for that ferret Von Bach.”

Franz took a long, slow breath and directed his eyes to the other man in the room, sitting quietly against the dark green wall to his left. Lieutenant Krall—a tall colorless man with close-cropped hair threaded through with gray. His eyes were serious, lines etched into his face by war and hardship. He’d lost an arm in the revolution, lost worse more recently. When he had come to Franz earlier that week with his story, it had taken days for Franz to look at Maxi without wanting to strangle him.

“Lieutenant Krall gave his arm for the empire during the revolution.” Franz motioned to the man and he stood.

“How nice.” The indifference in Maxi’s voice made Franz want to shake him.

“The lieutenant has two daughters. Agnes and Emilie.”