FRANZ’S HEART WAS A STONE IN HIS CHEST. HE’D BEEN on his way to the ballroom, so ready to see Elisabeth, anticipating the dance lesson like a child waiting for dessert. He’d made it through hours of tense meetings—with the generals, with Maxi—and when he’d finally had a moment to himself, a few minutes before Elisabeth was due to join him in the ballroom, he’d stopped at an upper window to look out over the grounds. He was looking for her, and he found her: a bright-yellow-and-purple sunburst against the white-and-green maze of the gardens. His heart leapt—and then sank.

She was with Maxi. Maxi walking beside her. Maxi leaning in, too close. He paused there, so long, whispering something into her neck. Was this Maxi’s endgame? Had his letters, as Franz darkly suspected, been laying the foundation for an attempt to steal her away—or at least undermine him? It wasn’t that he believed Elisabeth would hurt him. But he did believe she might not see Maxi coming. He did believe in his brother’s power to manipulate.

And he did believe that Maxi wanted to hurt him like this. Like Franz had—accidentally—hurt Maxi when he started his affair with Louise. Franz hadn’t even known Maxi was interested in Louise. But that didn’t matter. Maxi felt the betrayal keenly, no matter Franz’s intent. And if his brother—who had already stolen the affections of one woman Franz had loved—could return the hurt now, Franz had no doubt he would.

Pull away, Elisabeth, Franz’s heart whispered.

She didn’t, though. Only stood there, still for another moment, before one of her ladies moved her along.

Franz’s chest tightened, his stomach clenched. He turned away from the window, pressed his back against the white floral wallpaper of the hall. It was just a walk, just a whisper, but still he felt betrayed. He pressed a hand against his too-fast heart.

Why was his body reacting so strongly to such a small thing? He groped in the dark of his mind for the answer.

Fear. That was the revelation. It was fear that sent his heart racing over as small a thing as a whispered word. A tiny fear was starting to bloom larger than life in him. He was afraid he’d never touch Elisabeth again, feel the warm press of lip on lip, the electricity of hand on hip. He was afraid Maxi’s manipulations would work, and Franz would have to spend his whole life watching her love his brother instead of him. Just like he’d spent his childhood, knowing Franz was the best-behaved boy, the oldest, the heir, but Maxi was the favorite—the king of hearts. Maxi liked to say that Franz got everything he wanted, but Franz knew Maxi’s power over everyone, even if he didn’t know it himself.