Surprise flickered through Elisabeth. Was Maxi the type of person to say something shocking just to get a rise out of his mother? Or was Franz actually with another woman? Her heart twisted. Helene was going to end up like their mother, pretending her husband wasn’t entertaining other women right under her nose.

Elisabeth’s surprise reflected on Sophie’s face before disapproval took over the older woman’s features. “Darling, Franz would never jeopardize this union. Be careful of the accusations you make.”

“Mother, don’t pretend he doesn’t have secrets. We all do, you included.”

“Your Royal Highness, your guests are waiting in the salon,” announced a servant.

Elisabeth peeked out from behind her curtain and watched the group turn down the grand hall. She knew there was another way to get to the salon. She still had time to reach it—but only if she ran.

Elisabeth was flushed and breathless, barely having made it into her seat before a servant pulled the double doors open and stepped inside. “Her Imperial Highness, the Archduchess. And Their Imperial Highnesses, the Archdukes of Austria.”

Helene flashed her a look of pure panic, her cheeks blotchy with nerves, but all too quickly Archduchess Sophie was in the room, and everyone’s eyes were on her. Here was a woman who took up space in a way that Elisabeth had only seen men do before. Everyone in the room stood in respect.

They all curtsied.

“Ludovika, my beloved sister,” Sophie said, reaching for Mother and kissing her on both cheeks.

“You must excuse us.” Mother ducked her head apologetically. “There was some trouble with the dresses.”

Sophie paused, taking in their mourning clothes, and then gave Mother a curious look. Elisabeth couldn’t tell if it was disappointment or indulgence.

Sophie stepped toward Helene, about to speak, when a servant announced, “His Majesty, the Emperor.”

The room stilled. Elisabeth’s breath caught in her chest. A strand of hair escaped her braids and tickled at the back of her neck as she glanced over at Helene, who looked on the verge of collapse.

Franz strode into the room, eyes bright. He’d traded his riding breeches and cloud-white shirt for a blue-checkered jacket and a teal necktie that brought out the shades of blond and brown in his hair. He looked so light, so alive, even though his face was much more serious than it had been in the garden.

He glanced from one woman to another, his eyes landing on Elisabeth and—

Lingering.

Or perhaps she only imagined it.

“Ladies,” he said.

“Your Majesty,” her mother said with a bow.

“Your Majesty.” Helene’s voice was an excited whisper.

“Your Majesty.” Elisabeth’s was a private joke.

Franz’s eyes caught on hers again, and the silence stretched between them. It tightened across her skin.