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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

“Grazie,” Francesca murmured sweetly—and then smacked him with her walking stick. Not understanding German wasn’t the same as not understanding body language. Elisabeth smiled to herself. If Elisabeth’s Italian were better, she imagined she and Francesca could be friends.

In the distance, Helene laughed—the sound burying Elisabeth in emotion. Joy because she loved to hear Helene laugh. But also a sinking, drowning knowledge that Franz was the one who had inspired that laugh and—worse—Elisabeth wished she were the one laughing.

EIGHTEEN

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FRANZ OWED IT TO HIS MOTHER TO TRY HARDER.

He had been quiet at lunch, polite but uninterested. Now, as he and Helene wove through oak groves scented with springtime flowers, he tried. As they meandered past manicured hedges, their leaves sharp edged, he tried. And as they passed over little wooden footbridges, their feet beating out an even rhythm on the oak, he tried again. He asked questions, thanked Helene for the gift, took her hand to help her down the stone steps, took it again to help her up onto the circular stone terrace where they’d paused their walk.

His mother wasn’t wrong about her: she was pretty, elegant. She floated more than walked, seemed embarrassed to be sweating, ducked her head when he asked her a question. She was what an empress should be.

But Franz was tired. It took so much effort to talk to Helene. And the way she looked at him … that look told him he was failing her by feeling nothing. She was all hope and nerves, bright eyes and shaking hands—the things he should be feeling, he supposed. Instead, duty tightened around his neck like a noose.

His mother had told him in no uncertain terms that love at first sight didn’t exist. But what if it did? What if love at first sight was secret laughter in a garden? An unexpected smile over cake? What if love was easy, if it just happened without so much damn work?

Franz’s jaw ached from the fight raging in his head. Why couldn’t he just be content with his lot?

The rest of the party soon joined them on the terrace. Mother and Ludovika, heads bowed in conversation. A collection of servants carrying food and drink. And Maxi with his Italian mistress, who—Franz suddenly realized—looked strikingly like Isabella.

Franz took a cold drink from a servant and handed it to Helene. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his mother’s face, approving. He supposed this was the answer: he could keep doing the right things, even if they felt like the wrong ones.

Sophie raised a toast. “To our emperor, my son, Franz Joseph, and his new year of life. To the beginning of a new chapter.”