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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

The truth was he’d had to. If he hadn’t gotten out of that sickbed, he would have fallen apart. The skin at his neck may have stitched itself back together, but the tears in his mind hadn’t. A noise or smell, a trick of the light, could send him straight back to hell. Every day he felt the blade go in, felt the life leaving his body, felt the hate behind the act. The only cure was constant motion, perfect control.

Franz rolled his shoulders, shaking the thoughts away. Today of all days, he couldn’t afford to dwell. He hoped it looked like he was just stretching. He couldn’t let Maxi see any hint of weakness.

“Your Majesty. It’s time.”

Franz turned to face Theo—in the past few months, his confidante—the one person in the palace who knew his secrets and laughed at his jokes. They didn’t do more than exchange a small nod now, but even that action made Franz feel steadier, supported. He didn’t know how he would have gotten through those months without Theo.

Franz let his eyes wander past Theo to the palace in the distance. The white facade had softened to gold in the early morning light, the rooftops a metallic green: a beautiful exterior that hid something colder and harsher inside. He clenched his fist.

Maxi was watching him closely, so Franz shook his shoulders again, tried to smile. It felt wrong, his face out of practice.

Maxi retrieved his mask and turned to follow Theo up the hill. Franz walked close behind—slowly, reluctantly. Leaving the garden set his heart racing, his sense of danger spiking. He reached down to run his fingers over the silk-soft petals of a rose to remind himself where he was.

You’re not dying, Franz. You’re not in danger.

You’re only going to an execution.

THREE

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NOW ELISABETH WAS THE WINDSTORM. WILD AND free, her horse, Puck, gaining speed beneath her, breaking into a gallop. Her nightgown clung to her sides, and her hair bounced with the rhythm of the horse’s movement. Riding away from self-important dukes, away from mothers who tried to pinch her into a smaller shape—lacing her soul into a corset. She would not shrink, not for anyone.

She knew she would fall in love one day, and that love would make her more expansive, not less. She’d written poems about it, her favorite lines etched deep in her soul. As she and Puck cantered through the forest and leapt over meandering streams, she recited them to herself:

In deep, rocky gorges

In bays wreathed in vines

The soul always seeks

Only him.