She removed the bear head like a hood, her face coming into view in the low lamplight—hair dark as raven wings, cheekbones high, eyes faintly smudged with makeup almost as if he’d already ravaged her. His body responded with a flush of heat.

“I say, whatever turns you on.” She traced his lips with a bear claw. “Nothing shocks me.”

It was true, and it was still titillating even after a year of these clandestine meetings.

“We don’t have much time,” Franz said, starting to remove his suspenders and stepping away from the mirror. He was expected at an evening event and had only come in for a few moments of peace.

But Louise turned away, sidling up to the portrait of Helene that had been delivered to Franz’s rooms. Teasing, she locked eyes with him. “I heard you are to be engaged.”

Franz didn’t answer. He didn’t want to talk about obligation brides when what he really wanted was in the room with him right now.

“She looks very obedient. Do you like her?” Louise traced a finger along the edge of the wooden frame.

Franz stepped to the edge of the rug and lowered himself into a cushioned chair, watching her movements—measured, sensual, as if the very air on her skin gave her pleasure. She was the kind of person you couldn’t help but watch.

Louise raised an eyebrow at him. Someone who didn’t know her might think she was jealous. But Franz knew she was only mocking his intended. Louise knew she was the sexier, wilder, more desirable one. The court’s little secret: disobedient, unobtainable.

There was a time when he thought he might love her. But eventually he realized that wanting wasn’t love. When he told her his dreams—how he wanted to improve the empire, improve the lives of the people—she asked him why he’d bother. When he wanted to hold her hand, she slid that hand down his trousers. Not that he was complaining. But this was a meeting of bodies, desires—not minds and hearts. They both knew it.

“Come here.” Franz’s voice was deep and low, echoing in the quiet room. “Now.”

Her bare feet moved silently across the thick rug. And then she was a few feet away and dropped the bearskin, letting it slide down over her arms, breasts, waist, and hips. She was all soft curves and sharp knowing eyes, and Franz’s body tightened with desire.

Louise leaned across the chair, her hands on the armrests, and kissed him. Long, slow, deep. The way she liked it. When she pulled back, her eyes gleamed with mischief.

“What’s wrong with her, I wonder? Does she have a mustache?” Then, after a pause: “Come, my emperor. What do I have to say to make you laugh, just once?”