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Back The Empress
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 WAS A SHARD OF GLASS LODGED IN her chest.

If only he weren’t the emperor. If only he were a tailor! She had never wanted court, never wanted formal dinners, dresses, dances. Certainly never wanted anything that had happened today. It had hollowed her out, the reality of it, how very much coming here, saying yes, was surrendering herself—her will, her very body—to the empire.

Tears blocked her throat, and a headache nudged at her temples. She loved Franz. Loved him like trees loved rain, like flowers loved sun, like a horse loved the wind through its mane. Her love was a visceral, physical thing—rainstorms, thunder, shooting stars. But what was Franz’s love? What was his love worth when he’d sent her away?

In just a few minutes, he’d erased her certainty that he was the rock she’d hoped for, the great love of her poems, her dreams.

It’s not too late, Helene had said after the engagement. Sophie had said it to Franz. Maxi had said it to her in a letter. Maybe everyone was right.

Maxi. There was someone who would talk to her, someone whose face had flashed concern and understanding instead of alarm when she’d spoken up for herself. He had invited her to his soiree tonight. She still had the little card. And now, she knew she had to go. She wasn’t exactly sure whom or what she would find there; she only knew that she didn’t want to stay here, crying herself to sleep in the shadows of her doubts.

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Elisabeth re-dressed in her bedroom, thankfully without the aid of six ladies, whom she’d asked to stay in the adjoining sitting room. She pinned her hair up in two messy buns. She felt so much more herself like this, her hair wavy and comforting as tendrils brushed against her exposed neck and ears. A white lace top was gauzy against her skin, a deep-blue vest offering contrast. She kept the necklace Sophie gifted her around her neck and added others in varying lengths—jewels upon jewels. Making these little choices about what she wore and how she styled herself was like taking something back. It steadied her, drove away the tension in her throat, the knots in her stomach.