“I don’t care, Néné.” She said her sister’s nickname gently, her voice resigned.

Helene shook her head slightly. “But it’s been arranged. He’s here to get engaged.”

“You take him then,” Elisabeth replied, her words tired and thick with grief. She was a girl without a mother who loved her for who she was, without a sister to support her or a father who would intervene, and now no horse to escape with.

Before she could slip past Helene and up the staircase, the sitting room door banged open, and Mother and the duke spilled into the entryway.

Elisabeth turned to face them at the foot of the stairs, taking in the duke. Today he had chosen to match his yellow plume with yellow stockings, a yellow vest, and a purple coat. He looked even more ridiculous than last time.

Mother sucked in an audible breath at the sight of her, but Elisabeth only curtsied. “Duke.”

“Oh, here she is.” Mother’s voice was shrill, her eyes bulging even as she tried to pretend that her precious, marriageable daughter wasn’t covered in dried mud and blood and tearstains. “Sisi, you remember Duke Friedrich of Anhalt. The duke insisted on discussing something important with you …”

Mother motioned to the duke as if anything about this moment was romantic, as if he could possibly still want to propose. Elisabeth wasn’t sure whether she wanted to laugh, cry, or scream.

The duke paused for a long moment, and then he started to laugh—full-belly, shoulder-bouncing, shocked laughter. Elisabeth supposed it was better than a proposal, but still, he had some nerve.

“You’re laughing at me?” She couldn’t help herself. “While wearing that hat?”

The laughter died in the duke’s throat. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and—without even the slightest bow—he stormed away.

If looks could kill, Mother’s would have put Elisabeth six feet under. But she didn’t have time for more than a passing glare as she rushed after the duke, already spinning some story about how Elisabeth wasn’t quite herself.

“You can’t keep doing this, Sisi.” Helene sounded tired behind her, and Elisabeth turned to face her sister again. “We all look bad because of you.”

Was that all Néné cared about now? Elisabeth wanted her older sister to ask if she was all right, if she was in pain. To ask about what had happened this morning to leave her so filthy.

Elisabeth didn’t understand how a duke she didn’t want and an emperor Helene had never even met were more important than a brokenhearted sister in a bloodstained nightgown.

When Elisabeth stepped into the salon a few minutes later to face her mother, the room’s bright white walls were a jarring contrast to her muted feelings. Helene followed her into the room, closing the door on Mother’s command.