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Back The Empress Save as PDF
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

“Yes.” Her voice was breathless. “Keep going.”

She felt—unexplainable. Happy in a way she hadn’t been before, with no worry lurking at its edges. She was immersed in the moment, tingling with it. Her skin, her heart, her body fully engaged. Vulnerable and loved. Beautiful in a new way, a way beheld by someone else.

She reveled in each sensation, how different the press of lips felt from fingers, how different fingers felt from—

Tongue was the one that left her gasping for air, shocked, pleasured. He’d taken his time and she’d sunk into the bed, felt her body arch without her trying, twisted her hands in silk sheets.

They explored for hours, pressed against each other, into each other, and then, as he gasped in a new way, hands grasping harder at her hips, another feeling emerged.

“How do you feel?” he asked again, now lying beside her, skin to skin as they both let their heart rates slow, as she marveled at it all, replayed it bit by bit in her head.

“Happy,” she answered. Then, after a moment had passed, “Safe.”

Another heartbeat. “You’re what I’ve been waiting for my whole life.”

He interlaced his fingers with hers. “Me too, and I didn’t even know it.”

It was worth every battle she’d ever fight in court. He was worth it. They were worth it.

FIFTY-NINE

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FRANZ HAD GIVEN UP ON TRUE LOVE, BUT IT HAD FOUND him anyway. Found his laughter and his heart, the most hidden parts of himself, the ways in which he needed to be seen and known. They’d fallen asleep pressed together, silk sheets caressing them both. Before that, they’d talked: railroads and roadways, big dreams and small ones. Freedom, travel, horseback riding. She wanted to visit Hungary; he wanted to take her.

And now he’d get to. She’d get to. They’d get to together.

Now it was their wedding day.

He stood at the front of the church in a newly starched uniform, next to a priest with a basset hound face. He wondered if that observation would make her laugh later: them married by the basset hound priest. Patron saint of the dropped beef bone.

She’d left the palace in the glass carriage: it a snow globe, her the princess. Empress. The only time he’d seen her more radiant was the night before, as they lay together after. After. Her eyes had been stars, her laughter the unbridled joy of a babbling brook.

Today’s beauty was a different kind. Eyes glittering with mischief through the glass carriage, lips rouged red, hair interwoven around a silver crown. She’d reached out to touch the inside of the glass when she saw him. He’d reached out to touch the other side, pressing his hand to it until the coach was whisked away.