IT SEEMED HELENE’S DAY WAS TO REVOLVE AROUND THE dining room. First, their long lunch, and now back after their walk for coffee and cake with Mother, Sophie, and Sisi—who’d only remembered to attend after Mother sent servants to retrieve her from whatever corner of the palace she’d been hiding in. Helene tried one of the cakes and was surprised at the sunny burst of bright lemon on her tongue. She was equally surprised by how much better it made her feel. Perhaps she’d only been panicking before because of the heat and how little she’d eaten. She’d been too nervous to touch a thing at lunch.

Now her body relaxed into itself. Sophie was smiling fondly at her across the lace-clothed table. Mother looked unusually calm, occasionally leaning over to pat her sister’s hand, the two of them closer away from the formalities of a group setting.

Even Sisi was behaving—sitting quietly, ankles crossed, sipping coffee—and that pleased Helene too.

After some pleasantries, Sophie got straight to the point, her eyes on Helene. “How was your time with Franz?”

“It was very pleasant, Your Highness.”

“And what do you think of him?”

“He’s honorable and kind, Highness.”

“That he is.” Pride lit up in Sophie’s eyes. “The most obedient of my boys.”

Helene supposed the person Sophie was comparing him to was Maxi—the other half of Sisi’s lunchtime disturbance, her sister’s coconspirator. Or antagonist. Helene couldn’t decide which. Helene had noticed how he and Sisi walked together in the gardens, bodies close together and clearly comfortable in each other’s presence. She’d hoped Sisi might fall in love this weekend, but something about Maxi worried at the edges of her heart. He was impulsive, like Sisi. And what Sisi needed was someone to rein her in, not encourage her wildness.

“What does the emperor think of Helene?” Sisi broke in, and Helene’s breath caught in her chest. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the answer to that question.

Sophie raised an eyebrow at Sisi—it was an impertinent question—then waved a hand dismissively. “You know men. They rarely speak of their feelings, unless they’re one of those poetic types, which Franz certainly is not.”

Helene’s heart sighed in disappointment. It would have made everything easier if Franz had told his mother of a spark, an interest.

“Is the courtship going as you expected?” Sophie asked, turning back to Helene.

Helene hesitated. Should she be agreeable or follow Sisi’s lead with brazen honesty? She settled somewhere in the middle. “I’ll confess, Your Highness, I’m as uncertain as you are of his feelings.”

Sophie reached over to squeeze Helene’s hand. “Don’t fret, dear Helene. The boy will do what he’s told; he always does. And besides, love grows over time.”

“Yes, and fretting leads to wrinkles,” Mother chimed in, unhelpfully.