Chapters (68)
- Cover
- Dedication
- 1853
- PART I
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- 1854
- PART II
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
She stood, wobbly on shaking knees, and started toward the door. She needed to talk to Franz. To hold him. To cry, probably. He was the only person here she could trust.
Before Elisabeth could escape, Esterházy held up a hand to stop her, her voice all resentment. “We have so much more to do today, Your Majesty.”
“No. We don’t. We can’t. I have to find Franz.”
The woman only gave her an irritated look. “Majesty, that is not possible—nor proper. The emperor has important business this afternoon. And you must prepare for tonight’s celebration. The maids are waiting with a facial treatment for you as we speak. You can’t be looking exhausted tonight—or at your wedding tomorrow.”
As if facial treatments could possibly matter now. As if Elisabeth wanted any other person touching her. Her stomach flipped and flipped again and then her mind snagged on Esterházy’s last word.
Tomorrow. The word she’d reveled in just hours ago was sheer panic now. Tomorrow would seal her fate, trap her here at court forever. She loved Franz. She wanted him. She’d chosen this. But doubt stabbed cold through her now. If this was what court was like on her very first day, could she really handle it in the weeks, months, years to come? Could she really stay—even for love?
The idea of leaving was a horror, but so was the idea of staying. She felt frozen in place, all paths leading to pain and humiliation and being robbed of her very soul. Her father was right: she’d lose herself here.
She needed to see Franz, to hear him say that today wouldn’t be what every day looked like, that he wouldn’t let them hurt her like that again. She needed to see him dismiss the priest, dismiss Esterházy, chastise them all. Her chest tightened with the need for someone—for him—to share her horror.
“I need Franz. Now.”
“Majesty, with all due respect, that is not how this works.” Esterházy took her by the elbow, her bony fingers cold and sharp as she led Elisabeth to the dressing room.
If Elisabeth knew where Franz was, she’d run. She’d leave Esterházy choking on the dust her feet kicked up. But she didn’t know, and her knees were shaky, so instead she pulled her elbow from Esterházy’s grip, ordered everyone out of the room, locked the door, and cried.
FIFTY-THREE
