So, Franz was away. Not in his rooms, even if Elisabeth could get their location out of Maxi and slip away to find Franz herself. She took another drag on her cigarette, the pleasant warmth of two glasses of bubbles dulling the disappointment and sparking something else: hope. If Franz was at a meeting, perhaps he would still make an appearance at the party. She’d wait for him till then.

The next hour passed in a blur. Maxi introduced her to a dozen people she couldn’t now remember. She sat on a settee and let the lively music carry her away. She danced with strangers. She laughed until her sides hurt. Her ladies-in-waiting—to her delight—acted like normal people. Not babysitters. She learned another of their names. A first name. Amalia. Who would have thought remembering names would feel like delicious rebellion?

Maxi eventually joined her on the cream-and-gold settee. She smiled, happy to see his friendly face, the dance and drink and smoke and freedom still sweeping her away. He reached across the space between them, lifting the gold-yellow necklace gently from the top of her vest.

“Do you like it?” she asked. “Your mother gave it to me.”

“It belonged to our great-aunt, Maria Antonia.” He dropped his hand.

“Marie Antoinette?” Elisabeth tilted her head.

“She was wearing it when she lost her head to the guillotine.”

Elisabeth’s nose wrinkled involuntarily. Why was he telling her this? And just as she’d started to relax? The danger—the edge—of court intruded again on her joy.

Maxi released the necklace, his tone turning dark. “My family has a talent for using pretty things for ugly purposes.”

“Franz said you had a dark side.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You will too if you stay long enough. A storm inside you, ripping you to pieces.”

So few words, and yet she felt so exposed. Her heart was a storm, and it had only taken one day to make it so.

“Why are you here if you despise the court so much?”

“I’ve tried to leave many times.” Maxi turned more serious, let the ghost of a troubled expression flit across his face. This was the Maxi from the letters: earnest, honest.

“Elisabeth.” There was something wild in his face, a rawness. And in his voice: a tremor. “The first time we met, I … I thought you were made for this life. That you were made for me.” The words were unexpected, the force of them even more so: sure and wild, a crashing wave, a whipping wind.

“Maxi, I’m getting married tomorrow.” Even as she said the words, she wasn’t sure she believed them. Was she getting married tomorrow? After everything? Would she still choose this life, even now?

“It’s not too late.” Maxi leaned in, his eyes caught on her lips.

He reached for her, and Elisabeth felt—

Nothing.